#my ancestors were idiots

[galaxyedging]

Both those reasons are so valid. Pedro has some incredible mojo over us. I'm English, but I will back the Irish any day.

Who would win for real?

Pedro, Paul, and Joseph

[legendary-alliance-stance]

related to the last post, but more focused on my own canon of things

i like to imagine that when rama and the commander went through the archives in arborstone, they ran into orion. and he helped them find the book they were looking for, and even offered to help out with rama learning the warding magic

because orion has POURED over every bit of info on that topic over the years, and well. he still hasn’t told valeria or rama about the fact that he uhhhh has their ancestor’s spirit attached to him (he has no idea how to broach that topic), he figured him and viktor being there while rama was trying to learn the magic would be helpful

and viktor was so moved by rama’s determination, and success at learning the spell. he similarly isn’t sure how to approach either rama or valeria (which is part of why orion hasn’t brought the topic up) but he is so, SO proud of them both. watching rama learn the magic that their family was known for made viktor so emotional.

i think sometime after the wrap up of what lies within, orion is actually gonna. introduce viktor to rama and valeria. it’s time for another family reunion, this time featuring Grandpa.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 10:32

You tell Bakugou once that you don’t know how to take the train home, and he almost blasted your ears off with semi-yelling (or full-on yelling at some point) insults. 

“Hah?” He scoffs, eyes narrowing. This information is new to him, and a surprising one at that. 

You? The nerd that always bested him when it came to academics, which pissed him off the first few months in U.A.? The person who was not only book smart but was street and people smart as well? 

The whole goddamn package doesn’t know how to take the train?

Really?

He’s calling bull.

“What do you mean you don’t know how to take the train home? What kind of idiot doesn’t know that?”

“I just—“ you’re abashed and really don’t know what to say, “I didn’t really— I’ve never had the chance to take one until now!” For a consistent honors student, you can’t really have everything, can you?

“How’ve you been getting to school and back, then?”

“We had a driver—“

“Fuckin’ course—“

“But hey! Listen—in my defense—my schools were usually a walking distance from our house.”

“And now what? Gonna stand here and wait for a miracle to happen?”

You nudge his side with a frustrated frown (more like a pout, Bakugou thinks.) “Quit it, asshole.”

He backtracks briefly, though you could barely tell at this point. And it’s clear enough that he takes your words into consideration. It could be the fact that you actually look scared shitless right now, something foreign to your typical lax and carefree persona.

“C’mon.” Bakugou grabs you by the arm.

“Ow— hey! Where are we going?”

“You have to learn somehow, or else you’ll look fuckin’ clueless and dumb, nerd.”

You don’t argue because you really just wanted to get home, and while you could just call in your driver, you considered that this was important information that would help you in the long run. Besides, you do agree with Bakugou that not knowing how to commute like this is embarrassing, especially at your age.

“What’s this?” 

Bakugou hands you a card. It’s decorated with a minimalist logo of Musutafu’s native flower, whose color is your favorite.

“An IC card,” he simply answers.

It’s cute, you thought. You noticed how the other commuters had the standard design, so Bakugou must've gotten it personalized to your preference. How thoughtful.

“You could’ve just helped me get a ticket, though,” you murmur. You fiddle with the card in your hand, glancing at him with a puzzled expression. “I don’t think I’ll be using this card that often. It’ll be a waste.”

“Then try and use it as often as you can, nerd.”

“I’ll pay you back for this—how much was it?”

“Forget it.”

“Really, Bak—“

“Forget it,” he barks. “Keep up, you shitty extra. Or else you’d miss the last train to your station.” Bakugou starts walking, and you follow suit.

You can load your IC card at the ticket machines or the nearest ATMs. Different stations call for different ticket gates that obviously have different fares. The expiration of cards usually depends on what provider you got them from—

“What do I do now?”

You’re hesitantly in front of the ticket gate, with Bakugou on the other side. You’re like a kid who’s lost their mother in the mall.

“Just—“ Bakugou had to take a deep breath and not make a scene in the train station. He pinched the bridge of his nose, calling for all his ancestors to give him the strength to remain patient.

“Place your shitty card on the card reader. That’s it.”

You do as you’re taught, and you awed when the gates opened and let yourself walk through with a stupidly big smile on your face. “I did it!”

Bakugou thinks it’s fucking stupid of him to think that your enthusiasm for mundane things was cute. But fuck, something must be wrong with him because suddenly he feels a flurry of butterflies lodged in his throat, his heart beating ridiculously fast. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

He gives you directions, how to navigate through Musutafu without getting lost, and the basic stations you’ll be passing by to get to your station. He sees you type most of the things he says on your phone, and the way you were so eager to learn was a sight to see, really.

Boarding the metro, people were just as eager to get home as you two. So you two stood, not that there was much room to do anything about it.

“Hold onto the handle unless you want to fall on your ass,” Bakugou says. His tone is hushed to not disturb the other passengers. At least he followed basic commuting etiquette. 

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathe out. The passing buildings were as huge as those of U.A.’s, if not bigger. With the golden hue of the apparent descent of the sun below the horizon, Musutafu just became more beautiful in your eyes.

He scoffs.

“What’s so interestin’ about a buncha tacky buildings? Never seen one before you came here?”

“Of course I have; they’re just not like this.”

Bakugou follows your line of sight, and he thinks about it carefully. He couldn’t see what you saw, but maybe it’s because he grew up looking at this scenery. It doesn’t amaze him as much as it did when he was younger, he concludes. To you, this was a first. 

An experience that could become a core memory in this city. And he’s with you as you live through it. The thought causes a familiar feeling of pride to exude from his chest.

Maybe he’ll learn to appreciate more mundane things with you too in the future.

The train stops at another station, and the people scurry out. Once in motion, you were surprised by the speed when it took off, and the motion had you stumbling back. You stumble against Bakugou.

“What did I say about keeping a firm hold on the handles, you shitty extra? That’s what those are for.” Whether it’s by instinct or unintentional, Bakugou guides your hand to hold onto the support pole. He doesn’t let go, and you didn’t make a comment about it.

“Sorry! Still getting used to it,” you quietly laugh. “I hope the people here don’t think I’m really that inexperienced when it comes to taking the metro home,” you told him. “It’s embarrassing to think that I haven’t taken one until now.”

Bakugou thinks it’s alright because you were actually on set to learn. No matter what those other extras say or comment, no matter if they give you unimpressed glances, he’s there to grant them one of his own spine-chilling glares if they had the balls to do so. 

A passenger who appeared to be around your age stood up from his seat. “Excuse me, you can take my seat. I get off at the next stop,” he says. You’re a bit hesitant to take the offer, but he reassures you that it’s fine. It’ll be an awkward death for you if you don’t accept it, because now he’s standing. “Please, I insist.”

Unknown to you, Bakugou had an obvious scowl on his face until the stranger left.

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

“Shut up, I’m not.”

“Jealous?”

“Hah? Why would I be—”

“Shh!” you kicked his shoe with yours.

“Quiet, remember?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, still frowning. You hold his free hand, cheekily smiling when he tries to free it from your hold. And in the end, he lets you do whatever the fuck it is that you want, but he would never ever admit that he was jealous of some nameless extra. He’s too far into liking you to help you board a train, get you a personalized IC card, miss his stop two stations ago because yours was still three stations after his, but he doesn’t think he’d be vocal about it anytime soon.

He’ll leave it to you to confess.

Then again, you already knew.

Bakugou Katsuki would not go above and beyond like this for anyone else, but he unknowingly does for you.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[what-even-is-thiss]

You know what pisses me off about delaying the end of the world plots? There’s always someone who says “Your efforts were pointless. The world will end anyways.”

My dude, thousands or millions more years of evolution, culture, lives, isn’t pointless.

Like in tears of the kingdom when Ganondorf is like oh haha your ancestors efforts to delay me were in vain

They bought Hyrule over ten thousand years of dicking around time. That’s not nothing. Ten thousand years ago is about when we invented stone buildings. Now we have space stations. Idiot.

Oh buh you only delayed my ascension your efforts are all in vain. Tell that to all the civilizations that have risen and fallen since then, you prick.

[izzabela]

Kinda started out as a crack idea, But Bi-Han x reader, in which the reader is a pretty peaceful monk that is the wing of Liu Kang for the most part, and despite never been seen actually fighting, seems to be pretty respectable among the monks. Bi-Han really doubts there is much to them and kinda seems to dislike the reader until they are sent on a mission together for whatever reason and they end up meeting a group like the black dragon or Shao’s forces or whatever, and Bi-Han goes down, the reader ends up having to protect and Bi-Han still doubting them ends being really suprised when the reader just starts being their asses, and turns out they used to be part of that group that was attacking them

Sleeper Build - Bi Han x fem!reader

in which Bi Han doesn't know you're built like that

a/n: bi han would actually do this for sure

ship[s]: bi han x fem!monk!reader

warning(s): none, crack fic, fluff? bi han hates you at first, mid-kanon

[tf is this idiot doing all alone-]

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

Bi Han doesn't really do "nice".

With the pressure of his ancestors on his shoulders, the expectation his brothers have of him, it's hard for him to do "nice" at all. Especially when it comes to power and strength.

Which is why it is no surprise that he doesn't understand why you're Liu Kang's wing. A person at that level should have the power to defend the Protector of Earthrealm.

So why in the elder gods' names are you in that position. Why you, a little woman with nothing but smiles and a backlog of kind answers, are you his wing?

Bi Han stars at you with judgement and loathing, eyes thin as he scrutinizes everything about you.

Lord Liu Kang is talking about some joint mission, but it's lost to him as he judges you.

Your gentle eyes, your relaxed (yet confident) posture. How can such a person like you, someone without grit, be placed at the right hand of the father.

"...And I will be sending both Bi Han and (y/n) for this mission," he finishes.

Bi Han's eyes snapped to his handler.

"My lord... come again?" he asks. Liu Kang simply repeats himself, both hands on the battle map.

"You and (y/n) will be tasked with this mission against the Black Dragon," he repeats again. "Was something lost?"

Bi Han shakes his head, and you lock eyes with him as he stares you down with that prideful- borderline angry- look.

You don't let it get to you though, and you smile kindly at him. His brothers return the sentiment, but Bi Han is apprehensive.

He bows, then takes his leave quickly, vacating the room before anyone can say anything.

"What a bundle of joy..." Johnny says sourly.

You also take your leave, but not without reminding your friend about humility.

"Be calm, you have your moments as well," and Johnny just nudges your shoulder playfully.

As you take your leave, the chatter of your friends behind you and left in that room, your mind wanders to Bi Han.

That man, as much as he masks it, struggles. His eyes are tired, and the lines and bags are proof of that alone. If that wasn't enough, his voice is rough from the years of leading, and his arms seem to be more rigid than relaxed.

The weight of his responsibilities, perhaps more, have him in a balancing act- be good for everyone.

It's a shame it clouds his judgement, especially since you've done nothing but try and be kind to him.

Let's hope he doesn't skin you alive during this mission.

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

The mission to uncover the Black Dragon's reasons in being in Outworld went sour very quickly. That is something no one should be saying, especially as skilled as Bi Han.

The plan (after Bi Han reluctantly asked his brothers to relay it to him) was to rendezvous at a warehouse with Umgadi and Sun Do police in tow. The Black Dragon had a meeting in said warehouse, and the reason you guys were jumping him was because of a mole.

Well, the mole was a double agent, and the rendezvous point became an ambush. With twice the amount of Black Dragon, Umgadi and Sun Do forces were overwhelmed fast, and downed faster.

It left you all no choice but to split up, praying to any higher being for safe travels and a hopeful return.

You got paired with Bi Han in the midst of the chaos, and the Grandmaster sustained serious injuries in his leg and abdomen area. A semi-deep scar in his abdomen and a stab wound in his thigh. You had carried him from the scene, finally resting in an abandoned shack in the outskirts of the city.

Yes. Bi Han was carried by you, the little firecracker. Effortlessly, you had calmed him down and swiftly took him away from the danger. I mean, it's not like he needed calming down, he's the grandmaster for crying out loud.

Continuing, you set him down carefully on some raggedy cloths found in the shack. It's not much, but at least it isn't lying on the ground and getting infected immediately.

Bi Han groans as you rip open his pants leg and lift his shirt up, the semi-cool air hitting his exposed skin. Or maybe it's the fact blood is actively leaking out of his body, who knows. Point is, he's uncomfortable and about to tweak for sure.

"Unhand me!" you growls, hands hovering his wounds and emitting a soft glow of blue. His powers are at a minimum, and it looks like the cooling he's providing to his leg is working.

He hisses at the chill, then relaxes. You quirk a brow at him, and he scowls behind his mask (the giveaway was how downturned his brows were).

"I need a bandage of sorts," Bi Han commands you. "Anything will do." You cross your arms, denying his request.

"'Anything'," you gently mock with air quotes, "Will give you an infection. A rip from my shirt is fine." Bi Han stops you by grabbing your hand.

"You will do nothing of the sort," his gruff voice echoes from behind his mask. "Keep yourself respectable."

Stay clothed is what he said. Defiantly, you rip your hem wide and clean, supplying him with a decent bandage until backup came. It's a game of push and pull for you two before he concedes, allowing you to wrap around his waist.

Well-built, wonderfully toned waist.

But the danger isn't over yet, and you put the dream on the back burner. You can hear voices echo past the shack, the faintest cries and commands from a hoard of voices. Your eyes narrow, and you begin to ready yourself for the biggest defensive play of your life.

"You cannot do this alone," Bi Han huffs, shakily getting up (and failing). He stumbles a bit, back hitting the creaky wood before you catch his arm. You throw it over your shoulder before helping him sit down.

"Just sit tight, grandmaster," you tell him with an assured smile. "Leave it to me. All you need to do is breathe quieter and no one will hear you."

Bi Han scoffs, and you walk out the shack door to begin your stalking of the Black Dragon members after you.

It should be noted that this abandoned shack has been weathered and beaten by mother nature. Some planks of wood have expanded, leaving a couple holes and places of vulnerability for enemies.

There's also a couple of holes in the wood, most likely from termites that made their home here before.

Bi Han, as quietly and quickly as he can, shifts to a nearby hole in the wall. With nothing to do, and the wait for enemies being tedious, he might as well watch you to get an idea what he'll be facing.

Whatever goal he had in mind: counting enemies, devising an escape, healing, was gone as Bi Han watched you go berserk on the initiates of the evil clan.

You were covered in blood, your face littered with spatters of red around your nose, cheeks, and eyes. Your uniform, the pristine orange kept in a time-honored fashion, became even more ripped, and was covered in blood.

That usual smile on your face was gone, and your eyes remain in a state of neutrality as you bashed two head of some of the members together, their skin bruised and skulls busted wide open.

It's electrifying, but the shock lingers over the fact you have to kill someone just to survive. How the cycle of life and death seems to be fueled by the need to endure, the need to continue living.

Bi Han watches through the hole, how you easily rip someone's head and spine out of their skin, how you break a man's arm clean in a ninety-degree angle.

How you twist someone's head past the regular "snap" noise of death.

You clear these thugs out like a bull in a rodeo, hastily and messily. Still, it buys you two enough time before Bi Han hears the door rattling and some voices behind it.

"Breaking and entering!" an oddly energetic voice screeches, before the door splits into different pieces and splinters.

Johnny Cage, the illustrious actor, stands before Bi Han with an unamused look. He can't help but roll his eyes, but he stills comes to his side to pick him up carefully.

"Man, you look like hell," Johnny unceremoniously points out. "Did Cerberus take a bite out of you?" Bi Han hums lowly and angrily.

"Apologies, grandmaster," Kenshi apologizes for him. "He's.. dense."

As he's carried out, he finds you wiping sweat and blood off your face. Your orange uniform is doing a half-in-half-out look: where half of your shirt is still tucked in, and your upper portion is down and out of your arms.

Water is also getting poured all over you by Kung Lao, and you happily wash your face of all the dirt and germs from the lowlifes you just pummeled.

"Grandmaster!" you exclaim, waving and running up to him.

Bi Han bows, "You fight." You look at him with an incredulous look, but smile still as it is polite.

"Yes. I do. I would not be Lord Liu Kang's wing if I was not capable."

Bi Han nods, and you nod again before walking away and back to Kung Lao.

The scene cleans up well by itself. The Umgadi imprison the ring leader to be brought to trial, while the Sun Do police catch the lackeys for questions and info on more Black Dragon in the city.

You Earthrealmers finally go back home, and you accompany Bi Han to receive his treatment. The sterile infirmary, the only color being the red-dyed wood and the naturally deep brown wood, remained cold as you helped Bi Han with his bandages.

"You did... well," Bi Han reluctantly praises you. "But you are a monk- monk's do not fight like that..."

You chuckle before answering.

"I, uh, used to be part of the Black Dragon," you admit rather easily, still wrapping him with new wraps.

"I left a long time ago, when they were still in their growing phase. I didn't like it, hated the vileness and pure evil that sat in the room with those men," you grow quiet, disassociating as Bi Han patiently waits for the life to come back in your eyes.

"You've done well," Bi Han praises again, this time more thoroughly. "What you did back then, that is strength- loyalty is true strength."

You snap out of it, eyes meeting his for a bit before you look down and focus on wrapping him. The tips of your ears feel warm, though.

Something shifts in Bi Han's heart as he's left alone for the rest of the night. He has to stay in the infirmary for a couple more days, but that's enough time to think.

He didn't know you were built like that, but he'd like to see how far the limit goes with you.

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

it's 1AM and i'm eepy

see yall in the next fic!

[sugurouge]

— call her my obsession : ghostface! ex boyfriend! endo yamato x f!reader

content warnings! DARK CONTENT, mask kink, slight stalking, hunter/prey, possessive topics, lovesick endo, lots of praise, marking, biting, public sex, pet names (doll, good little thing/ thing, darling, bunny, princess, sweetheart, he rambles), dubcon, yandere themes, slight strangling&asphyxiation, hair pulling, remnants of conditioning, toxic relationship, cunnilingus, rough sex, manhandling

summary: endo would do anything to please. even if you have scratched him out of your life months ago, he would never give up on the person he loves that easily. when will you learn that he lives to make you happy? maybe if he brings your wildest fantasies to life, you will let him in again. in the end, he is nothing but hopelessly devoted to you

wordcount: 2.8k | my kinktober masterlist

a/n: this is my piece for the tokyo station ghostface collab! i hope you will enjoy <3

by clicking read more you are agreeing to consume dark content. don't interact if you cannot differentiate fiction from reality.

It all began at a silly Halloween party. You showed up dressed provocatively, in a skin-tight black bodysuit and a laughable excuse for cat makeup, topped off with a pair of fake ears. It looked cheap, but in the best way possible, a pair of icy blues noted amused. His brave little bunny hiding in cat clothing.

Throughout the night, you felt his presence, like a chilling gust of wind that had shivers crawl up your spine. Yes, someone was watching you—someone hiding behind a rubber white mask. You saw many of said mask that night, but he stood out. The tight fitting black turtleneck, muscular build, gloved hands. Everything made him look too hot to be at this shabby party. 

He knew you were watching him, lusting after him. You were probably halfway gone the moment he first touched you. Strong hands hovered over your hips as you swayed to the playlist's songs. Despite the booming of the music, your pathetic mewl rang through to his very core. The tremble of your glossy lips told him all about the dirty thoughts that were racing through your pretty mind.

Naughty little thing.

How dare you leave him alone on the dance floor after eyefucking him as much as he did you? You were an open book, playing hard to get like the princess you are as your heels carried you through the crowd. Yet, that longing gaze over your shoulder was all he needed to keep following you. He could almost smell your arousal. The thought of your wet pussy made him salivate, made him miss everything you two once had even more. Sharp canines dig into his bottom lip to keep him grounded. 

He had to focus; he couldn’t lose you now. 

Not when you finally made it outside the abandoned house, moonlight casting you in an ethereal glow, making you look like an angel.

But where are you taking him? Why are you so certain he’ll follow you? 

With only one goal in mind, your feet follow the pathway until you reach the edge of a little forest. You can’t help the curiosity that screams at you to just give all this a try. Those scenes in horror movies that make you unconsciously press your thighs together, make you bite your nails until your old company pointed out your adorable reactions. It was embarrassing back then, realising that such twisted scenes turn you on, and even more so, the wish to be chased for once. You never expected this to actually happen. 

So this is all your own fault. Because of your stupid social media and movie obsession. What kind of idiot would actually want to play catch in the woods with fucking Ghostface? With a stranger of all things. Your ancestors would be so disappointed. 

The forest looms ahead, dark and foreboding, each shadow seeming to stretch out, eager to swallow you whole. Your breath quickens, heart pounding in your chest as you venture deeper. The moonlight barely pierces the dense canopy above, casting eerie patterns on the forest floor.

It all seemed like child’s play, until actual fear settles in your bones. Until your heels make your escape harder, getting stuck in the dirt or caught on roots again and again. The game has turned dangerous, as adrenaline surges through you. The echo of your pursuer's footsteps grow louder, closer.

He teases you with the cracking of branches beneath his heavy footwear, he must have an easy time stalking behind. “Sweetheart, where are you bringing me?” His raspy voice rings through the trees, as clear as if he were to stand right behind you—looming above your smaller frame like a starved wolf. Your mind races, torn between the intoxicating excitement and the creeping terror as a whimper seems like your pathetic answer to his question. You have fantasised about this moment, but reality is far more intense. The fear is real, and so is the man chasing you. “I thought you wanted to play with me as much as I wanna play with you, bunny~” 

How dare you try to get away from him?

Maniacal laughter echoes through the woods as Endo watches you stumble through the dark, refusing to speak with him, you seem unable to think. Are you really that scared? "Stop trying to run from me," he warns, impatience starting to lace his voice. "You were such a good little thing, got me all riled up. Now let me catch my reward."

The forest seems to close in around you, shadows dancing and whispering secrets as you desperately search for a way forward. But the footsteps of your pursuer only grow louder, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot mixing with your staggered breaths. Endo revels in the chase, the joy of witnessing your fear, and the promise of what comes next.

"I want the woods to hear your pretty moans, all for me," he nearly moans the words as he tears off the Ghostface mask to see better. His crazy blue eyes lock onto you, the moonlight illuminating his face, twisted with a mix of lust and madness all for you to see. 

You stumble upon the initial scare, heart pounding wildly in your chest. How? Why? Out of all the people in the world. “No backsies~” Endo warns, as you lose sight of him in the trees. Anyone, anyone but him. You hide behind a tree, eyes heavy from the tears you were fighting back now spilling free. The forest, once a place of curiosity for your dark fantasies, feels like a trap. And Endo is closing in on you. 

It’s an eerie atmosphere as silence holds your body still like a ghostly embrace. You are too scared to speak, move, or look. You should really be on the lookout for your surroundings, but your eyes remain tightly shut, tears seemingly unending as they ruin your makeup and taint your cheeks.

The stillness is unbearable.

Until Endo reaches you. His strong frame overwhelms you in an instant. Somewhere along the way he rid himself of the constricting sweater, freeing his heated skin to let his signature tattoos greet you. The sudden proximity of his body wraps a blanket of intense, nearly unbearable heat, around you. It battles the stark contrast of the chill that clings to your body. His hand grasps into your hair recklessly, yanking you back until you have no choice but to stumble into his broad chest. The tattoos that snake along his arms are suddenly around your neck, his fingers pressing into the delicate skin to successfully constrict your breath.

Endo hums cheerfully, much unlike the given situation, his sugary voice vibrates against your ear as he whispers, "Found ya!" The sweetness of his words contradicts sharply with the crude actions that follow as he presses you against a tree, his teeth bruise your shoulder before he nibbles along your neck.

His canines break your skin with ease as his nails dig into your hips, to perfectly hold you in place. You feel your body break beneath his strength, effortlessly being handled like Endo's favourite toy when he arches you into the tree, your ass out for his cock to rut against while he abuses your skin, littering it with love bites. "Fuck me, you smell so good, pretty thing," he murmurs while shamelessly inhaling your scent, just as sweet as he remembers. “I’ve missed you so much, you can’t imagine…”

Deep, raspy moans of your name and filthy mumbles are a haunting symphony of his deep love. 

He can no longer contain his excitement. The need to have you, to feel you, to taste you again reigns over him. Endo's large hands run along your outer thighs before moving to the insides to let his fingertips tease your overly sensitive skin. Greedily, he cups your pussy in his palm, his fingers brushing against your clit through the fabric. Oh, he loves how much you leak because of him. He has no other choice but to rub in just how much your body reacts to him. 

You fulfil Endo. The pathetic cry that escapes your lips? Heavenly. The plea of his name? Delicious. And the nimble fingers trying to push against his strong hand? "Fuck, you’re so cute," Endo whispers in a most lovesick way possible.

But enough playing around. Enough hiding from him. Endo focuses back onto the task ahead, onto the flimsy bodysuit you’re wearing. Which is, by the way, so easy to tear, to conquer what he needs, just like that: His fingertips dig into the fabric between your thighs and the harsh ripping sounds have you jolt awake, have you pull away from his grasp like a spoiled brat—he hates brats.

"Stop putting up a fight," he murmurs, "You asked for this." The sharp sting in your scalp is a brutal reminder of your place as Endo yanks your hair once more, pulling you back into his grasp. Your head rests on his shoulder, his crazed gaze locking onto your widened eyes, fear evident in your pretty pupils. Two fingers pump deeply into your cunt, scissoring your walls to prepare you for his own twisted desires. "Look at you, clinging to my fingers like a cockhungry little monster," he chuckles, relishing in his own words and your ashamed reaction as you struggle to maintain eye contact. 

"Why don’t your pretty lips beg for me as well?" he whispers into your ear before his teeth graze your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. "Beg for me to fuck you out in the open. Beg for me, come on, pretty girl, I need you to tell me how desperate you are for me right this fucking moment." His eyes widen with excitement, a manic grin spreading across his face, making him appear almost unhinged—yet, to you, insanely hot? 

His maniacal love brings back memories you repressed. No matter how sick his affliction was, it filled you like nothing else. And now that he’s back, Endo will make sure he never messes that up again.

This is all you wanted, isn’t it? The hunt, the chase, the inevitable claim of the prize. You nod quickly, lips pressed tightly together before they part again, though you can’t stop grinding against him like an animal in heat. "Please, fuck me, take me, I’m all yours, you won, I really, really wanna—" Your pleas are cut off by a high-pitched moan as he thrusts a third finger into you. Your eyes roll back from the intense stimulation, but a sharp spank to your arse drags you back to reality.

"Didn’t say it was enough—go on," Endo urges, his eyes searching your face, desperate for praise. "Can’t think of anything but getting fucked by you tonight. Please, please, please, I need you!" Of course you do. And he needs you just as badly. He knows you so well, knows exactly how to make your sharp tongue forget how to form words, how to make you chant his name like a prayer. The sounds falling from your lips fuel his madness, his eyes frantically searching yours for every scrap of affection you can offer him in this obscene display.

Your back meets the rough bark of a tree as Endo lifts your legs effortlessly, placing them on his shoulders as he kneels before you like a man devoting himself to his goddess. You barely have time to catch your breath before his mouth is on your pussy, his head buried between your thighs as he laps at your folds with fervour. His tongue, hot and insistent, drags along your puffy lips before pushing against your throbbing flesh, circling your clit with maddening precision. His groans vibrate through your body, and you clench your thighs around his head, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging violently at the roots—just the way he loves it. He savours the shivers running down his spine, the tightening in his gut, the aching weight in his trousers.

"Fuck, you’re driving me insane, doll," he moans into your pussy, his teeth grazing your clit until you jerk, too sensitive yet craving more. You could never get enough of him. Why did you even bother breaking up with him?

"‘M so close, can’t take more, Ya-Yamato~" You gasp, but he won’t let you falter now. You can take more—just a little more of his love. The pain you cause by pulling his hair only spurs him on, driving him further into his frenzy. Until you’re trembling against him, your legs shaking around his head under the relentless patterns of his tongue circling your clit. Your increased volume drives Endo to the brink of madness.

"God, bunny, you taste so fucking good," he mutters into your folds, the vibrations of his words adding to the overwhelming pleasure. Your moans are like music to him, a symphony he could listen to endlessly. His fingers slide back into you, curling to reach that perfect, gummy spot inside while he devours your slick like a man starved. He pushes you harder against the tree, his free hand roaming your thighs, tearing your bodysuit further apart for easy access to everything he craves.

This is his reward, his obsession—his twisted love made flesh. And you, trembling and whimpering under his touch, are exactly where you belong.

You’re rutting against his face, pulling him deeper into your pussy, thighs squeezing around him, muffling his groans as your moans echo through the dead forest. Just as the crest of your release approaches, he suddenly pulls away, and your feet land on the ground. His palm meets your puffy cunt with a sharp, stinging slap, pushing you over the edge with a burst of pain. You tumble into his strong chest, fully engulfed in Endo, surrounded and protected by him as you come undone in the palm of his hand.

"Good little thing, playing so well with me tonight," he murmurs, his voice a mix of praise and possessiveness. "You deserve to be fucked until your legs give out, leaving a trail for all the perverts to lick up on your way home." He inhales your scent deeply, arms holding you steady as you teeter on the edge of consciousness. You’re halfway gone, lost in the aftermath of your release, so it’s no surprise you don’t register the sound of his zip being undone.

Endo manoeuvres you like his personal plaything, turning you around with a practised ease. A flat hand between your shoulder blades pushes you forward, but he doesn’t let you fall. He’ll always hold his princess up. His biceps flex as he snakes an arm around your waist, positioning you perfectly to slide his needy cock inside you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, drowning himself in your scent as he thrusts deeply, each push driving you forward in his embrace. Your body jerks with the impact, on the verge of giving out.

"You wanted this," he reminds you, his breath staggered, drawing out each word as he battles his own exhaustion. "You know I’ll make any of your wishes come true, no matter how fucked up." Another harsh thrust nearly drives you into the tree, but Endo pulls you back, refusing to let you drift too far from him. He will always hold you as close as possible. "I’d do anything for you," he rambles, his voice thick with devotion. His brows furrow in concentration as he leans back, his eyes raking over your subdued form.

His hands grip your upper arms, his thighs spreading you open as his hips bounce against the soft flesh of your arse. He’s so close—so fucking close. Mumbled adorations spill from his lips, "My perfect girl," and hushed "I love you"s pouring into your fucked-out mind. He doesn’t mind your muted responses; not when your walls clamp around his cock with every word of praise. His beloved is tired, after all. "Gonna cum inside ya, fuck, I’m so close," he groans, his breath ragged, moans raspy. The heat of his breath and the drops of sweat the only sensations grounding you while he fucks you with growing desperation.

Endo's movements slow down for him to only grind into you once his neediness makes a return. "Let me hear it again, pretty thing, tell me." His voice is a desperate pant, needing your words to anchor him. Perfectly conditioned, you remember what makes him fall apart in the palm of your hand. No matter the bile biting your throat upon the messy memories you hold for him, you give him what he needs. "I-I love you, Yamato, I love you, can you cum for me, please?" you pant, your voice trembling.

His eyes roll back, a near-maniacal grin spreading across his face as his head falls back to gaze at the bright moonlight above. "Don’t have to ask me twice, doll," he promises, and with a final thrust, he finally lets go, freeing himself from the pent-up need that consumed him.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[irishmammonagenda]

Your head hits your pillow. Your heavy eyes close, leaving your world in darkness.

Darkness that for a split second turns into the most fiery terrifying pits of hell before being overwritten.

Darkness that brightens up into a luscious garden, one in which a tanned woman is standing, arms crossed.

Her long inky black hair blows softly in the wind at the same rhythm of her softly fluttering garments. She looks familiar in the way of deja vu.

You feel drawn to her, so you walk closer, close enough to be at arm's length.

She slaps you.

"Ow! What was that for?!" You blink, taking a step back.

"That was for being an idiot." The woman shrugs, her lips are the same shape as Lucifer's when he scowls. You shudder. "I mean honestly," She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. "I thought you were smarter than this."

"Smarter than what?" You get out rather shakily seeing as you're being shaken. She sighs and holds her head in her hands, now leaning against a tree.

"Have I taught you nothing? Has all my guidance been for nothing?"

You pause. "....You're Lilith."

She nods, "And you're quite intellectually challenged by the looks of it."

A crow caws in the distance, probably laughing at that one.

"Mean."

"MC."

You turn your attention back to your ancestor and smile innocently. "Yes?"

Lilith grabs you by the shoulders, and you brace yourself, preparing to be shaken again, but you're not. Instead the most beautiful grey eyes look into yours, eyes that held a storm in them. " I don't care if you have pacts with the Seven Avatars Of Sin. I don't care if you have the Demon Prince and Butler wrapped around your finger. Your never ever ever, fuck with an ouija board."

"I was in the Human Realm with my human friends! We got bored and I missed everyone!"

Lilith deadpans. "You have a DDD."

"....Good point?"

"I'm serious MC. As your great times a thousand billionth grandmother, I forbid you from playing with that board again. Even the Wise Sorcerer doesn't use ouija boards! Mostly because the demons in those boards have a restraining order against him....but still."

"So, you're banning me?"

Lilith smirks, "If I even catch wind or even suspect you're using one again. Especially as stupidly as you used the one with your human friends, I'm going to write a letter detailing your exploits and have the breeze blow it atop of both Lucifer and Barbatos' desks."

Your eyes widen in terror. "Are you...blackmailing me?"

"Yes." She smiles.

"God Dammit."

The world fades into black once more, you see glimpses of horrors beyond your comprehension for a split second once more as you feel yourself be shaken awake.

The Avatar of Sloth looks at you sternly, almost as if he was mimicking Lucifer. Jealousy in his gaze. "Care to tell me why your dreams are infested with demons that aren't me?"

He's already in demon form. Damn.

You blink. Those images that flashed for a second was what was supposed to be your dreams? So Lilith took you out of your dreams? So he couldn't see Lilith?

Belphie blinks, holding eye contact with you as he slinks sneakily into your bed beside you. "So who are those guys? Your new dream buddies?" He scoffs, acting more like his older, more envious brother for a moment.

"...I...." You look away from him. "Don't tell Lucifer....but...when I was in the Human Realm....I might've maybe....messed around with some stuff?"

Belphie stretches intertwining your legs with his, "What stuff." It was hardly a question.

"...Ouija boards?"

"You idiot." He says as his tail smacks you, before wrapping around your waist like a shackle.

"...Don't worry, MC." He says in a softer tone, though the sinister look on his face said otherwise, "...I'll flush those bastards out."

"....Thanks Belphie."

He looks at you through half lidded eyes as he rests his chin on your chest. "If you do something stupid like that again while in the Human Realm, I don't think I'll let you leave next time you come back down here."

Belphie smiles as the both of you fall asleep, the low life demons he originally thought were secret boyfriends (he doesn't think straight when he's jealous) but were actually just stupid enough to latch themselves onto you had actually done him a favour. This would be a great thing to bring up to a certain six brothers he had if you ever tried to leave the Devildom for so long again.

[lovelyo]

Season 3 part 2 will be Ass. Let me Tell You Why.

Cause in the end, Penelope, Lady Whistledown, the one who has left devastation in people’s lives will get all what she wants. The man that she wants, the attention that she wants, the family she always wanted to be(so envious of them she talked shit about them ), will get her best friend back, might have the heir for that dumbass Featherington plot line, might get the Queen’s pardon and above all else, will most likely not give up LW cause they made LW such an integral part of the show.(so in that case, she’ll be even more filthy rich)

And if we go by leaked spoilers, it is said that Colin will be mad at Penelope for like 1 episode until Kanthony talks some “sense” into him. So that just tells me Kanthony will be OOC because there’s no damn way Anthony would let that beast comment about his wife slide.

There are no stakes when it comes to this season cause we all know how it’s finna go down. If Penelope gets any type of consequences, then her very undeserved HEA is doomed so everything is going to have to go her way for the already idiotic plot to make some form of sense. It’s like the love triangle in part 1, what the hell was the point of Lord Debling when everyone and their ancestors knew Colin and Penelope were end game? So we can see Colin’s cringe angst? If we already know the answer to the love triangle, there’s no point. The “find you a husband” plot line was stupid as shit anyway, but it’s whatever now.

Ugh, then we have to sit through more awkward love scenes between asshat 1 and 2

Eloise threatening Penelope with her LW identity is going to amount to nothing cause we know Penelope isn’t gonna receive any comeuppance. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they made Eloise apologize to Penelope for…🤷🏾‍♂️🤷(let’s apologize to the toxic friend for not dealing with their toxicity)

For Penelope to have a happy ending, she has to get away scot free and that’s what boils my blood. I hate in media and literature when a character goes around, creates chaos and receives nothing for it or just a slap on a wrist. I’ve noticed an increase in it lately too. Also, I’m tired of writers not severing their bias from their writing. I’ve been encountering many series lately where the writer(s) have favoritism towards a specific character and gives them the easy route, bends the world for them and pull punches just because they like them so much. It’s really aggravating cause you see everyone else getting put through the wringer and then you see the favored character walking through Candyland. It hurts the story, the character, and frankly makes you hate the character.

Everyone around Penelope is gonna act brain dead in order for Penelope to get what she wants and I’m not here for it. Even the general audience ain’t for it. The only people cheering this madness are the asylum patients called Polin fans with delusions that Penelope deserves the world.

I’m not even looking forward to Francesca and John’s story cause of the Poolin fecal matter I’ll have to swim through to get there. At this point, I’m might just watch spoilers of part 2 cause it’s not worth it.

P.S. Watch Cressida get the short end of the stick cause she’s the “bully” of the show and Penelope is the “victim”. Watch them break Creloise because of the “I don’t want you hanging around Eloise” subplot which will ultimately fuel Eloise and Penelope becoming friends again. Also, Penelope and Cressida competed for Lord Debling just for Penelope to go “sike” and marry Colin so she wasted Debling’s time and made Cressida feel like shit because she wasn’t chosen. P.S.S- Polins are huge ass hypocrites cause they ragged on Eloise being privileged and having “everything” but are silent about Penelope being privileged. By the end of this season, Penelope will basically have everything, even more so than Eloise, but sure, Penelope is definitely not privileged 😑. Penelope is privileged inside the world and outside by production, why are we denying this?

[metalotaku-da]

So many cross overs so narrow of common hero choices. Let's expand a little.

"Rip what the hell is that?"

"It appears sir, to be a small human child. Around the developmental stage of 4-5"

"Even you know better than to cuss infront of kids.

"I was gone for five minutes."

"Actually I snapped you back to a minute after you left."

"Are You misser booser gol?"

"Yeah kid that's me. You a fan or something who got into something you shouldn't to find me?"

"No. Clockie said tis for you." Hands a sticky note to booster.

Note reads: this is Danny. You will care for him from now on. See this as payment for resetting your time line safely. If you even try pass him off to Bruce wayne/batman, I will ensure your entire familial line never touched time traversing. And you stayed forever trapped in the 31st century. -clockwork master ancient of all time. P.s. there is not conning your way out of this. I will hunt down every ancestor or decendant for all time.

"This looks very serious sir. Congratulations sir you are a father Now"

"Wow kid. Clockie must hate you. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not that bad of an option. Obviously I was judged better that batsy."

"Clockie ass hero I want to say wiff."

"OH kiddo and you asked for the greatest hero boostergold?"

"I wike space. He say geen lanern is space. He take care of me."

"I'm so sorry sir, you have already disappointed your new child. Should I take a commemorative photo of this milestone moment for you?"

"No" "yes skeets"

Camera flashes.

"I shall add this photo to a new album labeled baby book. It is labeled Danny's first disappointment, sir."

"Thank you skeets." X2 one sarcastic one pleased.

"I wan geen lanern."

"Think you're gonna need help anyway Micheal. Call one of them. Not guy."

"I would never co-parent with guy. What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

"Rip takes you as the utmost idiot sir. As does most of the justice league sir."

"Thanks skeets."

"You are most welcome sir."

"Can I pay wif the talking space ship?"

"Sure kid." Pushes skeets into the kids hands.

"I do not believe I am rated for physical interaction by children under 10 sir."

"To bad skeets." Picks up Danny who looks up at him instead of at skeets to smile all teeth. "Holy shit are those fangs? We are going to go see my friend Ted now. He will know what to do."

"He will atleast know not to cuss infront of kids. Don't know about the rest."

"Is ted geen lanern?"

Cue shenanigans. They were roommates, but adopted a child.

"Does Batman know you stole a child from him?" <- Jaime when he visits.

"Do not even joke like that. My existence is at stake."

"Batsy is the new beetle juice. In this house."

"Are You geen lanern?"

"Sorry kid I am blue beetle."

"Should I take a picture for Danny's third disappointment since becoming your child sir?"

"No skeets."

"3rd? How long you had him?"

"A week"

"Ouch. Hey kiddo why do you want to meet green lantern? Aren't these guys just as cool?"

"Considering the average human body temperature is 98.6 degrees I do not believe they qualify as cool sir." Jaime is picking up danny to hold on his hip.

"Clockie says geen lanern is space." Danny smiles.

"Are those fangs? Is this a meta kid? You like space? My scarab is from space. Isn't that just as... Oh My, no scarab!" Scarab starts to go into protect host mode while screaming danger desteoy threat in Jaime head just as Danny's eyes start to glow green at the statement and his mouth splits inhumanly wide with even more teeth. Ted and Michael scramble to grab Danny and move him away from Jaime till he gets control of the scarab again. But Danny has a death grip and won't let go of his new friend.

"I do believe sir that your new child qualifies as a meta. Should I take a picture to commemorate your child's first power demonstration sir?"

[siriusblack-the-third]

Lets talk about Walburga

Specifically, lets talk about her thoughts on blood purity, her sons, the Blood War, and Voldemort.

A few canon points to keep in mind before we go forward with this little thing:

Walburga is a year older than Tom Riddle

The only Black sister in school when Sirius attended Hogwarts was Narcissa, who is four years older than him.

Nymphadora Tonks is 13 or 14 years younger than Sirius. We're not given her exact date of birth but she was born in 1973 while Sirius was born on 3rd November, 1959.

(everything underneath is a mix of canon and headcanon)

Walburga was a member of the House of Black, a House that was akin to magical Royalty, almost. Their magical lineage could be traced back several centuries, and their money was older still. She was born into wealth, and she married into wealth.

Blood purity, for her, was absolute. You were either a pureblood, or you were not. It did not matter to her if all your grandparents or great grandparents had magic; if you had non-magical ancestors, you were not pureblood. The Blacks were as pure of blood as it could get. She would live with the fact that they had to rub elbows with people of blood that was not pure, of course, because that was how the world worked, and she knew nothing could be done about it. It something existed, then it was most probably meant to exist, she thought, and that was it for her. She thought those of "dirty" blood to be beneath her, but she did not begrudge them their existence. Let them live their pathetic lives, she thought, and I will live my life.

She was for the most part, a live and let live sort of person.

That is, until the appearance of the new upstart fancying himself as the new Dark Lord, who promised to make the magical world pure and unsullied by muggle influence once again. He promised supremacy to those of ancient heritage, promised them wealth and riches and importance.

Walburga was not an idiot. Far from it. She was a Black, in everything that she did. Blacks had wealth, and riches, and importance. Besides, she recognised an old school mate no matter how many changes their face had gone through, and when she saw his face for the first time, she only thought one thing: dirty blood.

Thomas Marvolo bloody Riddle.

She knew him, of course. He had been two years her junior in Hogwarts— scrawny eleven year old Tom who surprised everyone when he sorted Slytherin, because nobody knew his ancestry and he definitely did not look like a pureblood. Back then, Walburga had been sure to mention in earshot of a few gossipy housemates that even the Weasleys did not look pure of blood, and yet they had one of the cleanest pedigrees of Britain.

That had protected Thomas for a while— exactly long enough for Walburga to do a little digging, and she had scoffed at what had been found.

Slytherin. Thomas was a direct descendant of Slytherin.

That did not mean much, sadly.

His mother had been a squib, his uncle a murderer, and his father a filthy muggle. Thomas was from an old family, yes, but he was not pureblood.

And so, when Thomas Riddle came knocking in 1971, calling himself Voldemort, asking her to join his foolish cause of exterminating mudbloods, demanding that she bow down to him... she laughed in his face.

She bowed to no one. She was Walburga Black, wife of Orion Black, of the purest line in all of Europe. How dare this upstart demand anything of her, let alone demand that she bow to him? Ridiculous. She laughed in his face, and told him to take his illogical, irrational war somewhere else.

"You, Thomas? You will wage a war on Mudbloods?" She asked him, a small smile curving over her dark red lips and amusement dripping from every pronounced syllable, and Voldemort bristled with rage. "Will it end with you committing suicide, then, seeing as your blood is as dirty as it can possibly get?"

That night ended in a legendary duel— Voldemort escaped Grimmauld Place with several injuries and the threat of annihilation if he ever set foot in Walburga's house again.

And then Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor.

It was a shock to her heart— her boy, her firstborn, the scion of the House of Black. He was fraternizing with mudbloods and inferior beings, and Walburga did not like it one bit. At least that Potter boy was a fine choice for a friend; his parents were pure of blood and upheld traditions, coming from the Peverell line. A fine choice, if not the first that Walburga would have made.

And then he started toeing the line. Sirius lashed out, yelled at her, ignored her, scowled at her and Orion. And yet, she loved him. She also hated him. He was so much like her and Orion— headstrong, stubborn, brilliant, arrogant, intelligent. Powerful, as a Black should be. He was the perfect Black. The perfect heir.

What a shame, thta he did not listen to her, that he did not take her advice. No matter, she would ensure his obedience.

As for Regulus, well... He was enamoured with this Lord Voldemort.

Walburga did not approve. She did not approve at all. The man was insane, he did not have pure blood, and he certainly was idiotic if he though the world would be a utopia if the lesser people did not exist. Extermination was a foolish quest, even stupider when undertaken by someone of such inferior blood, and she loathed that Regulus would willingly bow to anyone.

Regulus was her son. A son of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. How dare he bow to someone? How dare he forsake his family name in favour of kneeling at someone's feet and kissing the hem of some mudblood monster's robes? How dare he disgrace the name of the House of Black so, submitting to inferior beings?

Walburga did not care that Bellatrix had done the same. Bellatrix was married. She was a member of the Lestrange family now, she could do whatever the bloody hell she wanted. She disapproved of Bella's choice, of course. She disapproved greatly. This.. this Death Eater business was as foul as that idiot Andromeda running off with that mudblood and bearing his child. Narcissa, despite her good sense to not bow to Voldemort, was still hopelessly in love with that peacock Lucius who was most definitely a Death Eater. Walburga disapproved. And yet, she was not either of their's mother, and she did not give a hippogriff's tit what any of those silly girls did.

Regulus, however, was a son of the main line. He should not be dreaming of bowing to anyone. Weak, foolish child, fantasising about kissing the hem of the robes of Thomas bloody Riddle. How dare he dishonour the dignity of the House of Black? How dare he insult their Noble name? Foolish, idiot, weak child.

She was sure the Mudblood upstart was laughing at her, wherever he was. He took her child.

And then Sirius ran away.

She did not like admitting that it was her fault, in part. She knew better than anyone how difficult it was to change a Black's mind once an opinion had been solidified. She was a Black, she knew how stubborn they could be. And yet, she pushed and pushed and pushed, and Sirius snapped. She should have taken a more delicate approach. But she had been foolish, and then she dealt with the consequences by blasting her darling son's name off the Tree, screams falling from her lips and tears from her eyes.

Regulus took the Dark Mark.

Walburga stopped speaking with him.

She did not speak to him until his death, which she was informed about by Kreacher. Kreacher, who was forbidden from giving her, or anyone else, the full details.

Two months later, Death came to collect Orion as well.

It was not long after that Walburga succumbed to madness. There was only so much loss one could take, and she had taken more than anyone. Her sons, her husband, everything... gone.

Was it any surprise, that she went mad in the last years of her life?

.

Tags (I hope you don't mind): @plecotusauritus @in-flvx @strwbi-laces @roalinda @mycupofrum

[danaewrites]

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.” 

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?” 

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about. 

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.” 

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?” 

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.” 

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.” 

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile. 

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly. 

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression. 

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.” 

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone. 

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you. 

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn���t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently. 

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation. 

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–  

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?” 

He thought your eyes were pretty? 

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out. 

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

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Merthur prompt

Or rather, a long concept that has been going around in my head since I saw a tiktok but that I don't have the energy or time to write:

BUT LISTEN TO ME, I HAVE NOT FOUND ANYTHING LIKE THAT:

The king who seeks his warlock, the warlock who seeks his king. Two halves trying to become a whole again through two parallel growth journeys and a convergence between duty and hope.

So...

Merlin pretends to be heading for Camelot but he definitely isn't going there. I mean, IT'S THE KINGDOM KNOWN FOR ROAST BUNNY ON FIRE SEASONED WITH SORCERERS (he loved his mother but is that woman out of her mind?!)... However, he understands why she came up with the idea and agrees that his magical outbursts are becoming harder to conceal, so he wants to seek help (other than that of an ex-sorcerer who remains under the command of the chief butcher of his kind). He wants to find druids but he knows it will be a difficult journey, druids never stay in one place long enough and they distrust outsiders. Either way, he's already made up his mind and he never backs down when he does that.

Meanwhile Arthur's taking Morris to Gaius because the idiot moved at the last minute while he was practicing throwing knives.And it's totally his fault and not Arthur's. How dare him doubt the ability of his prince? Ha! As if Arthur could fail.

He knows he's going to be late for the banquet and his father will look at him in that way he does and well, it better not be that late, right? So he takes other routes and somehow ends up near where that magnificent entertainment is staying, that Morgana kept talking about but that he didn't listen to at all...

He hears the commotion in one of the rooms and ends up stopping a crime and finds evidence of a possible assassination attempt on the royal family. More or less, Arthur stops the whole fiasco with Lady Helen before it happens.

While they take her to the dungeons to burn her the next morning, she growls, attacks and curses the Pendragon ancestors... Above all, that night Arthur does not stop listening to her again and again claiming for the life of her son, burned that same morning :

«It wasn't Him, it was my magic, it wasn't Him »

And for the first time in his life Arthur asked himself a question related to magic...

Weeks go by and for Merlin things may not be going the way he thought they would. He has been living on just one meal a day and sometimes manages to pick up work in passing villages in exchange for lodging for a couple of nights; but mostly he tries to stay in the woods. It's not that he know much about living off the wild, but He has been through tough times before, not big deal, and for some reason there's something very comforting about being constantly surrounded by nature too.

Almost any discomfort would be acceptable if it weren't for the freaking unicorn that never stops following him. And aren't they supposed to be a sign of good fortune or something? Then why has it been the cause of all his calamities so far? First the overestimated horse tore one of his shirts while dragging him across the grass, and it's not like he's in a position to lack of anything without having money and with the cold nights he usually faces. Then the animal he fought with him until push him into a river whose watercourse rolled him around like a lady's garment during the wash. The last encounter ended when I lead Merlin towards some bandits Merlin did what he could. He knocked most of them down, causing branches to fall on them and their feet to get caught in roots. But one managed to get close enough to knock him until leaving him confounded, then the others who were not so bruised joined in the beating and Merlin could do nothing.

Intense emotions, deep reflections on his identity and self-worth until he is finally saved by an blonde woman. The lady said at most three words and all the bandits fell asleep.

An exchange of words that I can't come up with but ends with the woman telling him that she didn't do it for free, that he should pay with her neckerchief. Merlin doesn't understand but he's hurt and tired so he no protest

(Pause to say that in defense of the unicorn, he was just looking to steer Merlin in the direction of his destiny coughcoughArthurcoughcough, and Merlin didn't make it easy for him)

Days later the thing with Valiant and nobody suspects anything, nobody is there to save the ass of our favorite brat. But a Old lady follows him around like a duck all morning treating him like a adorable and helpful young man (much as a grandma style) until he bends to accept a ☆favor☆, yes that one... You and I know where she got it, Arthur doesn't and he doesn't know how unique and special that little piece of cloth can be.

No one sees anything strange in this favor because the old woman gave it to him in a very public place and everyone assumes that the prince is just being chivalrous

But the scarf ends up being what protects Arthur from Valiant's shield just because I say so and the magic of fiction stories and Merlin and his neckerchiefs have a special connection so its essence or whatever is still there

The story would extend to the first encounters between Merlin and the druids, Merlin and his father (a meeting before time to give them their due quality time and badass moments). He having the opportunity to forge his own identity and an independent path. On the other hand, Arthur discovering aspects of magic on his own to create his own criteria and value system. HE COULD EVEN BE THE FIRST TO TALK TO THE GREAT DEAGON!!!!

Forget that, Arthur is definitely the first to talk to the great dragon and learn of the prophecy. And listening to how it sounds, without many details and as critical as only Kilgharrah can be, plus the fact that he is only told about a certain Emrys and not about if is a wizard or witch or sorcerer or him or her...he comes to the same conclusion as us: That Emrys is his other half, "SHE" IS HIS SOULMATE... Oh man when they meet...

[tiredmagicalwarrior]

I think one of the things I appreciated the most about Nocturne was the protagonism on the Haitian Revolution.

This was a revolution that didn't just change Haiti, it changed the world. This was the revolution that would make the first black state. The first slaveless state. That would make every slave nation tremble with fear, from Europe To America to Asia to Oceania to Africa. It was what was never meant to happen, but did.

It's the nation that would defeat Napoleon and the British marine. Nobody could take down Haiti. You know why Napoleon went to colonize Europe? Haiti. That's why. He couldn't take down Haiti. Couldn't make it french territory again. So, he turned towards Europe.

We are talking about an undefeated nation.

AND! AND! A largely Vodu nation!

I was SO happy to see Vodu be portrayed as the wonderful religion it is, sacred and divinely intertwined with the Haitian revolution. The revolution was noted to start with Vodu chants and ritual.

White people refused to understand the link between the two worlds that could bring ancestors to meet their descendants. They created zombies as a horror trope. They made vodu dolls as a horror gimmick. They took a sacred religion and reduced it and vilanized it.

And I'm so happy to see it being positively portrayed in such a famous media. Vodu practicioners have already made media of the like. But I was positively surprised with what Nocturne had to present to us.

Of course, the knowledge that the french revolution was incomplete, that it was NOT FOR EVERYONE, is then again, something I really appreciate as a history student and a person. The french revolution killed mostly peasent and established the bourgeoisie, but did it end the Noir Code? No. Did it establish women's and black people's suffrage? No. Did it make a agrarian reform? No. Was it for the people? It had it's importance. But it was, at the very least, not for all the people.

And let's not forget that the french revolution's main intellectual current would birth biological racism, an unscientific current that claimed evidence of "different sized skulls" for example to prove humans possessed different races based on phenotypes.

Last, but certainly not least: it is absurd to see people claim that "all indigenous people have been killed". Acknowledging multi-ethnic indigenous genocide HAS to go along with the respect that there STILL are indigenous people and they continue their fight for their lives and land.

You know who the show demonstrates as such? Olrox.

While I don't appreciate the show claiming "all of his people were slaughtered" as that is historically inaccurate, I was most happy to see an Aztec vampire present and very alive, connected to his culture, protagonizing the show. The Nahua are still very much alive and kicking and I appreciated that the show took that into account.

And Annette! Sweet Annette being one of the leads makes me most joyful. I can't stand idiots that claim her presence.on France was """historically innacurate""", check again, dumbasses, free black people were all over France (especially the children of black Caribbean elites, for example, from Haiti back then known as Saint-Domingue, which did not possess universities and would sent their children to study in Europe.)

Anyway. To see her star as one of the leads made me so incredibly happy. She's a wonderful character and I appreciate how they let Annette be unapologetic and direct, especially during a moment between revolutions were she was very aware the french revolution didn't mean shit to her people.

But she was so lovely and to see her afro-caribean religion present AND source of her power made me emotional more than a few times.

Castlevania Nocturne really did hit this nail on the head.

Anyways. To make sure I give people answers to "but where's the evidence to x thing you said?" Here are my sources:

THYLEFORS, Markel; “Our Government is in Bwa Kayiman:”A Vodou Ceremony in 1791 and its Contemporary Significations, 2009

DUBOIS, Laurent; Avengers of the New World : the story of the Haitian Revolution, 2004

BUCK-MORSS, Susan; Hegel, Haiti and universal history, 2009

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

I really like the way you write. Keep up the good work!

After reading some of your works, I also wanted to ask you to write something, if, of course, you like this idea and you want to write it. What about this: The gardener-reader and Donna (who was at the Lords meeting) decided to relax and drink some alcohol after a hard day's work. Maybe they'll be watching a movie? I don't know. Then they got drunk, Donna became more relaxed and the Reader blabbed that she was in love with her. Can you make it romantic, pleeeeease?

I want to thank you again for writing these works for us, you are the best!!!! (English is not my native language, so don't worry about mistakes. Everything comes with experience. I believe in you!)

And I wanted to ask a question. Do you prefer to write a long stories (>8000 words) or short ones (≈5000-6000 words)?

Yesss!! Thank you for your words, and for your request! To answer your question: it depends on the plot or on my inspiration ;) I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))

Blurred Confessions

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Gardener! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff,

Word count: 6,709

Summary: You want to tell her your feelings, but you can't

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!!

It was getting harder and harder for you to look around. Night in that lost village often came without warning, or rather, it was you who didn't pay attention to the drop in temperature and the fact that you no longer saw the colors of the plants in the same way.

Being a gardener in a snow-covered place was a complicated task, you knew that. Standing out among the rest of the villagers thanks to a talent for plants was a risky move. No one in that place cared about their garden, or that their houses lacked the cheerful color of flowers.

Praying to the Black Gods, praising Mother Miranda, those were the only concerns of people like you. But you weren't like the others. You always saw the color in the snow, the joy in the sadness, the light in the darkness.

Naturally, taking care of plants wasn't your destiny. Surely if you hadn't been so stubborn, you would have ended up like the rest of your friends: being maids of the castle, or wives of an idiot man. Two paths that seemed far away to you, that you never wanted to follow. But... Who could be interested in someone with your talents?

The answer was not long in coming.

As in any time or context in history, the luxury of the joy of flowers and plants was only attainable for a few people who could afford not to spend all day praying or working.

In the Middle Ages, it could be the king of the place, in that village, they were the Lords. Yes, they worked hard for the inhabitants of the village, they protected them from the aberrations they created. But they were still that, authorities, nobles whom you served.

No one warned you that your skills would catch the eye of one of them. Just when you thought that maybe you should accept your fate, admit the place where you were born, she appeared.

Donna Beneviento, the youngest of the Lords, the most feared, the most dangerous, asked about you at one of the masses about your talent with plants. You knew the danger you were in, you knew the ill fortune that befell anyone who dared to enter her territory. You knew it, but you didn't care.

And so, you were no longer a candidate for the castle maids, or a possible unhappy wife. You were the new gardener of House Beneviento.

You didn't want to think about how your ancestor ended up, that poor man who gave his life to that family, and who was rewarded with a horrible death, or so you had heard.

Thinking or remembering the things the villagers said would have been a prudent act, but you didn't. They said she was sick, disturbed, a psychopath, a murderer, a hermit. You could have been more careful, you could have paid attention to all those red flags that danced around you when you agreed to work for her.

You didn't, and you didn't regret it.

Sick? Maybe. Dangerous? Sure, but what they never warned you about, what you never knew, was that you could fall in love with her.

Yes, you were always fanciful, infatuated, romantic, but you never believed in love at first sight, at least not until you saw her face stripped of its black veil. According to the lady, it was a test, a test that you would be faithful to her, that you wouldn't run away, that she wouldn't be forced to kill you.

At first silence accompanied you as you took care of that garden, it seemed as if you were taking care of an abandoned place. Then she appeared from time to time, studying your work, exchanging brief phrases of approval, or simply gratitude.

Little by little those small visits increased, the words were no longer few, the conversations became frequent.

Donna was a strange woman, certainly disturbed, but… Maybe all those horrible things were simply an exaggeration. She was kind to you, always speaking to you in that soft melodic tone, curious about the way you treated plants.

Over time you stopped trembling in her presence, you began to long for her, to count the hours that passed before the lady left her house. Fantasies, yes; nonsense, too, but… Who could live without love in a place like that?

Like flowers, those kinds of feelings were a luxury. Letting your heart beat fast in her presence was a liberation, a reminder that your life was much better, that you could allow yourself to love even if she never felt the same, or so you thought.

“Where could she have gone?” you asked as you ran a hand over your forehead, looking at the path that led to the elevator.

One of your favorite pleasures was saying goodbye, it was standing in front of her, bowing your head. You didn't want to be just another employee, deep down you knew you weren't and you never would be.

Someday you would have to admit it, recognize that your feelings would never be reciprocated. Donna was a woman who enjoyed solitude. She would never want a stupid, talkative gardener by her side. But, at least, you wanted her to have something resembling a friend.

A shadowy figure approached slowly, a dark shadow, a lady in black, veiled, holding that sinister puppet. At last, Lady Beneviento had returned and with her, another opportunity for her to speak to you with that sweet voice, to make her aware of your presence.

“Oh, Donna, how was the meeting?” you asked as you stood up, with a bright smile.

The lady in black turned her head to look at you, but walked past, emitting something like a grunt.

It was always a whim of luck, a whim of her mind. One day she might stop to talk to you for a while, even laugh in that shy way you adored, another day she might remain silent, ignoring you. Other times, you couldn't even sense her presence.

It seemed that luck was not on your side that afternoon. The lady slowly climbed the steps but, upon reaching the door, she sighed, turning around again.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked in a hoarse voice, almost pitiful, but with that softness that always accompanied her, that seemed impossible for her. “Your shift is over.”

“Oh, yes, well,” you said, shaking your head, pointing to a bush with your tool. “The flowers were unruly today and…”

“The flowers were unruly,” the lady repeated, in a dark tone. You hated that veil, the veil that hid her expressions, her smiles.

“Yes,” you nodded, with your hands on your hips. “Besides, the weather is very nice today. It's nice to be outdoors and…”

The sound of the wind camouflaged your voice, making you blush. Donna sighed again, looking at the sky, that was getting darker.

“How curious, I'd say a blizzard is coming,” she commented in an almost imperceptible voice, leaving her doll on the ground. “I'm afraid your day of work has been for nothing, (Y/N).”

You shrugged, your usual playful attitude, sighing.

“How was the meeting?” you asked again, moving a little closer to her, just a little. You were never exactly a shy girl, but you tried not to forget who you were talking to. Caution was not a sin.

Donna sighed again, looking away and reaching out her hand to the door.

“Horrible,” she muttered, close enough for you to hear. “Go home, you’ll get caught in the storm.”

“Yeah, well, I have to finish this and…” you said, scratching the back of your neck, giving up. The lady in black didn’t seem in a good mood, unfortunately. A cold prick landed on your nose, a snowflake confirming her prediction.

After that came another one, and then many more, turning into a horrible blizzard that cut your face like blades.

 “Well, I think, I think…” you murmured, taking shelter on the porch. “Wow, it’s a blizzard”

“Mm,” she murmured, opening the door of the mansion, ignoring you again. You sighed, relaxing your shoulders at that terse answer. You should stop dreaming.

Nodding in defeat, you covered yourself with your hood, lowering your head and slowly going down the stairs.

“What are you doing?” the lady asked suddenly, making you turn around in curiosity.

“I'm going home,” you said, fighting against that terrible wind.

“Stop fooling around and come in,” she told you, pointing to the interior of the mansion. “To find a gardener like you is not easy.”

“Oh, I…” you hesitated, looking at the blurred path, and then at the the door. An interesting situation, indeed, would you dare to lose that opportunity?

“If you want to freeze to death, it's not my problem,” Donna whispered, crossing her arms impatiently.

“Okay, okay,” you said amused, climbing the stairs again and entering the dark mansion, closing the door behind you with an amused look. “Thank you.”

“Mm,” the lady murmured again, moving away from you and shaking the snow off her dress while she got rid of her black veil, something that had not been usual for a long time, since she hired you.

“Don't steal anything, stupid, stupid,” Angie told you off, always interrupting those quiet moments. You were already used to it.

“I'm not going to steal anything,” you said amused, shaking your head and rubbing your body with your arms.

“You're cold,” the lady commented, seeming to ignore you, looking at you with that bright eye that haunted you in your dreams.

“A little,” you said, shivering, paralyzing when she approached slowly placing a hand on your cheek.

“Mm, would you like some tea?” she murmured, removing her hand from your slightly hotter, flushed cheek. You shook your head, amused.

“I never liked tea,” you whispered, with a feigned grimace of disgust. The lady in black arched her eyebrow, looking at you with curiosity and something resembling a smile. “My father said that there was nothing like vodka to take the cold from your bones.”

Donna looked at you again, laughing softly with a shy sigh.

“Vodka then,” she said, tilting her head in an amused manner, indicating for you to follow her.

You walked with her into the living room, sitting in a small cozy corner, on the same sofa where she had questioned you when you arrived, in the midst of an almost unbearable tension.

“Wait here,” she ordered you, walking away from you with an elegant step, like a dark breeze whose existence you could not be sure of.

Some villagers said that Donna was just a ghost, a legend, that there was nothing under that black dress. You knew they were wrong. You brought your hand to your cheek, the one where her hand had rested moments before, where the softness of her hands had confirmed to you that she was real, that this beautiful woman existed.

“Here you go,” her soft voice brought you out of your thoughts again, leaving a glass on the table, next to a bottle of alcohol.

“Thank you, Donna,” you said kindly, smiling and pouring the hot liquid, drinking it immediately, making an unpleasant face.

“I thought you liked it,” Donna commented, amused, sitting in front of you, looking at the window, whipped by the storm.

“Yes, well... I said it made you warm, you should try it.”

You offered your glass to the lady, who took it with a dark, distrustful look. Sighing, she brought the liquid to her lips, rejecting it immediately, returning the glass to you among unpleasant coughs.

“Ugh, I'd rather freeze to death,” she commented amused, calmer, apparently.

The silence began to become heavy in the mansion. Your throat burned from the vodka, but shyness was what prevented you from speaking. You weren't, you weren't shy, but with her... With Donna everything was different.

“Well...” you sighed, dancing with your gaze around you, trying not to notice her serious face, one that seemed to want you to leave, and at the same time that enjoyed your presence. “What happened at the meeting? Why has it been so horrible?”

Donna looked away slightly, frowning and shaking her head. A risky question. You should never get involved in the affairs of the Lords.

“I, I don't want to get involved in your affairs... For, forget I asked you,” you said nervously, seeing how the brunette's attitude tensed again. You didn't want to endure another crisis. It hurt you to see her out of control.

“I just...” she sighed, shaking her head, leaning her back on the chair.

You nodded, pouring yourself some alcohol.

“I, I just don't understand their attitude,” she explained, crossing her arms, slowly letting the air out of her lungs. “My sister and brother fight constantly... It's... exhausting.”

“Mm, I thought they got along,” you commented, moving your glass absentmindedly.

“They get along,” Donna corrected. “They enjoy fighting, you know? They seem to be looking forward to meeting up to shout horrible things at each other and gouge each other's eyes out.”

“Well, opposites attract,” you whispered, amused.

The lady in black laughed softly, shyly, in that way that you adored.

“I highly doubt it, (Y/N),” she said with a dark, mocking look. “Alcina is too busy with her maids and Karl is too busy with his… Well, experiments. See? That's what I mean. They seem to be constantly thinking of a thousand ways to unleash chaos.”

“You don't want chaos,” you murmured in a softer, more studious tone. She shook her head, looking away.

“I just want… Well, to work on my dolls without being disturbed. I don't need to know the villagers fear me… I already know that,” she explained. “Sorry, I'm just rambling…”

You, pouring some more vodka into the glass, offered it to her again. She looked over it at you, but accepted it, coughing again at the sting of that liquor.

“The second one is easier, huh?” you said amused, picking up the glass again.

“(Y/N), I…” Donna said, snapping you out of your amused tone, hardening her gaze. “Deep down, I envy them.”

“Why?”

“You, you know… They, they seem to be happy with their life, with the gifts of the Gods, but I…” she said, sighing again, tired.

“You aren’t’,” you murmured in a cautious voice, trying not to look directly at her. Donna shook her head.

“I would have preferred to be like you, a normal woman,” she commented, snatching the glass from you and drinking it in one gulp.

“I thought you didn't like vodka,” you joked at her disgusted gesture.

“I don't like it, I only have it for cooking,” she said, clearing her throat. “It's been a very intense day…”

“Oh, of course, I…  I better go home, I don't want to disturb you,” you said, getting up from the sofa.

“I'm sure your day has been hard too,” she said, getting up at the same time, playing nervously with her hands.

“Yes… Those flowers are going to kill me,” you said amused, walking slowly towards the exit.

The lady in black laughed again, with a blush on her cheeks, a blush you didn't notice.

“Che divertente sei…” she whispered in a soft voice. You looked at her confused.

“Um…”

“You're funny, stupid,” Angie said when you made eye contact with her. You opened your mouth and nodded, confused again.

“Funny or stupid?” you asked the puppet, who shrugged, passing by you in a disinterested manner.

“The, the storm looks dangerous,” Donna commented, approaching the door next to you.

“Bah, don't worry,” you said, grabbing the knob with your hand. “It's nothing that... Oh!” you exclaimed, when you opened the door and a cold draft entered the mansion, forcing you to close it again. “Okay.”

“You can stay a little longer if you want, (Y/N),” Donna said, laughing at your snow-stained clothes. “I'll prepare some dinner.”

“Oh, no, no, you don't have to, Donna,” you said nervously when the lady turned around.

“I want to,” she said, with a serious tone, with a frown. You knew that you shouldn't contradict her, or so they had told you. Dinner with her… It didn’t sound that bad.

“Mm…” you murmured, already with a plate of steaming food on the table, studying a bottle of wine. “Bru… Brunello… De, Di… Montal… Moltanci…” you read the label confusedly, looking for her approval. She responded with another of her amused smiles.

“Brunello di Montalcino,” she repeated correctly, taking a sip from the glass, fixing her gaze on you.

“Oh, right,” you said amused, pouring some and putting the bottle back on the table. “It sounds sophisticated.”

“It doesn’t,” she commented, sighing sadly, something that caught your attention. “It's my sister's wine, Regina Rose.”

“Mm?” you asked curiously, studying the bottle again. “Really?”

“The Duke has a habit of changing the labels to sell it to me as Italian wine. He must think I'm stupid,” the lady said, shaking her head.

“The Duke scamming people? No, it can't be true,” you joked, taking a sip, confirming the truth of her words. “He's more stupid than I thought, how dare he to deceive a Lord?”

“He only does it because I let myself be deceived, (Y/N,)” she whispered, with that same sad tone. “I know it, and he knows that I know it. He's trying to make me feel better, and I appreciate that.”

“Oh...” you murmured, looking away at your almost finished dinner.

 “I'm sick of it, you know?” she said, pounding the table with her fist angrily, causing you to hold that fake bottle so it wouldn't fall. “I’m sick of everyone feeling sorry for me.”

“Um... Um...” you stammered nervously, watching as her glass slid down her throat with a furious gasp, gesturing for you to refill it. Her erratic attitude was always a mystery to you, one you were willing to solve.

“Poor silly Donna, poor mentally underdeveloped Donna, let's make her feel better so she can forget about her fucking shitty life, huh?” she said again, looking at you with a fiery eye, gulping down another glass of wine and filling yours again.

“Donna, the silly, the silly...” Angie said, tugging at her dress to get her attention. “You're going to scare the silly.”

You opened your eyes in surprise, not wanting to make contact with hers, drinking that glass of wine again, confused and somewhat afraid.

“Cazzo…” she cursed with a growl, crossing her arms and looking at you intensely, sighing. “I'm sorry, (Y/N), I didn't mean to scare you.”

“Calm, calm down,” you said with a fake smile, shaking your head. “I feel you.”

“What? What do you know about how I feel?” Donna protested with a direct question, with an accusatory tone. You had to fix it.

“Well, I don't know but… Hey, I know what it's like to feel out of place,” you said nervously, controlling the shaking of your legs. “I was the only one of my friends who didn't think about boys and… Well, who saw the beauty of plants. I know it's not the same but… Well, it's something similar.”

“You're trying to be empathetic,” she whispered, looking away, swirling her half-empty glass.

“No, I'm just telling the truth,” you replied, finishing your glass. “I never had any real friends, you know, I wasn't alone, but…”

“Mm,” she murmured, disinterested, looking at you out of the corner of her eye, relaxing her expression. “At least with you here I'm not… I'm not alone anymore.”

It was a murmur, a whisper somewhat distorted by the wine. Your cheeks burned with the heat of the alcohol and with her presence. It would be better to go home.

“Thank you for the dinner, everything was delicious, Donna,” you said kindly, with a melancholic smile, getting up from the table.

“I’ve scared you,” the lady said, shaking her head, with an ironic smile.

“No, it's just that… It's late and…” you murmured confused and nervous, looking out the window, a window still battered by the blizzard.

“Show me that you're telling the truth,” she whispered in a dark tone, with one eye shining from the copious intake of fake wine. “Stay with me a little longer.”

“Oh, well…” you said with a shy smile, also affected by the alcohol. “Okay,” you said without difficulty, shrugging your shoulders.

Donna smiled genuinely, with that slight blush more present on her cheeks.

“Do you like movies, (Y/N)?” she asked in a different tone, as if your answer had relieved her. You nodded profusely, feeling a slight disinhibition in your body. “Do you want to watch a movie with me?”

“A movie? Sure,” you answered enthusiastically, while the lady approached, playing nervously with her hands. Her smile widened, as did her blush.

“Come, oh, and get that bottle,” she told you, pointing to another unopened bottle, one that you immediately opened, following her through the dark hallways.

The basement was unknown to you, sinister. The cracked walls and the wet wood entered your body, destabilizing it. Maybe it had been the wine, or the vodka, but that place gave you shivers.

“Sit, sit down,” Donna asked you, pointing to a sofa while she searched for something on that messy table. You obeyed with curiosity, leaving two glasses on the table, observing that place, that strange device that the lady in black manipulated.

“It looks old...” you whispered curiously, pointing to the projector. She looked at you amused and nodded, turning it on and sitting next to you.

“It was my father's,” she commented, pouring you a glass of wine, raising it in the air. “Thanks for keeping me company, (Y/N), salute...” she said clinking her glass with yours.

You laughed amused, blinking nervously and shrugged, taking a sip.

“Salute,” you murmured, savoring that ordinary wine.

The movie seemed fun, interesting, but much more so was being next to her, so close, making that little dream you had come true. Your work clothes brushed against her dress, her labored breathing reached your ears, you could smell her lavender perfume, you could feel the heat of her body very close to yours.

You moved closer, taking advantage of her relaxation, the disappearance of those demons drowned in wine, the tranquility of her presence. Maybe the alcohol was taking its toll on you too, but you didn't care.

“You said you weren't interested in boys,” Donna murmured, putting her glass down on the table, turning to look at you, with one hand holding her head casually. “Can you explain that to me?”

“Oh…” you said, nodding, putting down your glass as well, not wanting to look at that bottle, already half empty. “Well, I guess… You won't burn me for being a pagan or something like that, right?”

Donna laughed amused, shaking her head.

“Don't talk nonsense, I'm just curious,” she commented, sighing, not stopping looking at you.

“I never liked them,” you said passively, looking at the ceiling instead of the screen. “You know, my parents said: marry a man, have lots of children, be very unhappy, all that nonsense…”

“So it was just to go against your parents’ will,” she commented, confused, with a different expression.

“What do you mean?” you asked curiously, amused, letting your body relax even more.

“Mm, nothing, I'm just asking,” she said, amused, revealing the effect of alcohol on her attitude.

“You're asking if I like women,” you whispered amused, nudging her slightly, dragging out your words. “Come on, ask me.”

“Saying that, you're already giving me the answer,” she murmured, with a mocking smile. You arched your eyebrows, raising and lowering them in a mischievous way. “I'm sure you drive them crazy.”

“Do you think so?” you asked amused, ignoring part of that question, overlooking that insinuation because of that damn wine.

“Yes, I'm convinced you have a beautiful village girl waiting for you to return and you, look at you, you’re drinking and spending time with your boss…” the doll maker sighed, taking another sip of wine, with a slightly more serious look.

“I thought we were… friends,” you said confused, hiccupping embarrassedly.

“Do you consider me your friend?” Donna asked, breathing heavily again, shaking her head.

“Of course,” you said amused, putting a hand on her knee. “And before you ask, no, I don't have any Juliet waiting for me to come back. What about you? I can't believe someone like you doesn't have a long line of admirers.”

“You're wrong, (Y/N),” she whispered tiredly, looking away. “You're the only person I talk to.”

“Oh…” you said, nodding erratically.

“It must be wonderful, isn't it?” she asked after a moment of silence, getting more comfortable on the couch. You looked at her strangely pouring yourself what you said it would be your last drink.

“Mm?”

“You, you know, being in love…” the lady in black sighed, playing with the fabric of the old sofa. “Feeling that someone loves you and…”

“Well,” you interrupted, with your thoughts focused on her, on what you felt for her. “It's not always a good thing, you know?”

“Isn’t it?” she asked curiously, getting a little closer. You shook your head.

“Nothing I've ever experienced is even like those romantic books, never… Well, sometimes you think you love a person but… In reality you don't. You fool yourself,” you commented, remembering past, failed romances.

“How can you know that you're really in love?” she asked curiously, interested in the conversation, completely forgetting the movie. “You say that sometimes it's confusing.”

“You know, because… Because you feel that…” you began to explain, feeling enormous sadness, the frustration telling you that you had your beloved by your side, and that you couldn't do anything, you couldn't, right? “You feel like the world stops, that your mind can't draw anything other than… Her… That your heart races when she's near, that… That you know you couldn't live without her…”

“You seem to know a lot of thing about love,” the lady said, moving away, with an amused smile, dragging out her words, succumbing to the effect of the wine.

“I know because… Because…” you said, sitting up better, committing a madness, one that you didn't think possible. Taking advantage of her apparent distraction, you took her soft hand, caressing it, feeling good with her soft skin brushing yours. She didn't move away, she just looked at you confused, letting your fingers intertwine. “… It's, it's what I feel when I'm with you.”

“You…” she sighed, caressing you back, nervous but uninhibited, looking into your eyes, as if time had stopped. “You feel that way… about me?”

“Have you seen yourself, Donna?” you asked amused, but calmly. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and… You are, you are kind and… Perfect and… I dream, I dream of you every night, I dream that we are like this, holding hands, I dream that I am not a simple gardener, that I am something, something else for you.”

She looked at you, open-mouthed, with a smile betraying her own feelings.

“You feel something for me?” she asked again, getting closer, taking your free hand, caressing it in a comforting way.

“Donna, I'm… In… In… in love with you,” you confessed without difficulty, without fear, with the voices in your mind camouflaged by the fruity flavor of that red drink, that mechanism that caused your deepest feelings to come to light.

“And, and I’m in love with you… (Y/N),” she sighed with an almost inaudible voice, with her smile not wanting to fade. Your heart was beating hard, your body burning with happiness. You couldn't ask for anything else at that moment, or well, maybe you could.

“Look, we already have something in common,” you joked nervously, blushing, without taking her hands off yours. Donna laughed too, shaking her head, looking away again.

“I, I would really like to kiss you,” she said suddenly, lightly pulling your body, bringing it closer to hers. You, who already believed that everything was nothing but a dream, nodded, caressing her cheek, letting her eye close at your touch.

“What are you waiting for?” you mocked, biting your lip.

Donna laughed nervously, capturing your lips in a shy, chaste, almost innocent kiss. She pulled away and you smiled, pulling her to kiss her again, to caress her lips with yours, so as not to let them escape.

What at first seemed like some kind of experiment by the brunette, soon became a tangle of kisses, caresses, and gasps. You had just what you wanted. You had the woman you loved with you, kissing you in an increasingly less clumsy way, leaning over you.

Your hands traveled to her hair, to her back, hers were caressing every exposed part of your skin. The taste of the wine traveled through your lips, mixing with your breathing. It was an intoxicated, sincere kiss, a sweet and bitter kiss, like the wine itself.

The sound of the projector acting strangely pulled Donna away from you, diverting her gaze from your lips. You smiled, kissing her quickly before she got up from the couch.

“I have, I have to stop… This,” she said awkwardly, her voice taken over by alcohol and excitement, stumbling several times before reaching her destination. “Wait a minute.”

“Don't be long, darling...” you said, settling down on the couch, a bad idea.

The sleepiness that the drink caused fell upon you, forcing you to close your eyes and groan comfortably as you curled up on the couch. You could hear the sound of her heels coming closer, her nervous breathing that soon relaxed as she saw your dozing figure.

“You're exhausted, aren't you?” she said, her voice still sounding forced, intoxicated, caressing your hair, a gesture that you protested with a tender grunt.

The lady moved away, searching the old office for a blanket to cover you, kissing your forehead timidly.

“We'll talk about this tomorrow, okay, tesoro?”

“Mm...” It was the only thing you could say, or vocalize, the sleep was too intense.

Then, darkness came.

You opened one eye, then the other. Your head was pounding, your temples were throbbing, but that wasn't the worst part, the worst part was the image you had in front of you, the sinister gaze of a well-known puppet... Angie.

“Yiahhh!” you screamed in fear, moving around on the couch, falling off it with a crash. “Shit... Angie...” you whispered, with one hand on your head.

“Wake up, stupid!” the puppet yelled, causing a horrible pain in your head.

“Shhh, don't yell...” you lamented, rubbing your temples, studying your surroundings. You were in the office, that was the last thing you remembered. The almost empty bottle of wine reminded you that you had been drinking, but... That was all you could remember.

“How did the Sleeping Alcoholic sleep?” the doll asked mockingly as you stood up clumsily.

“Shut up, will you?” you protested, folding the blanket, trying with all your might to figure out why you were there, why you hadn’t come home, what you were doing in the office, what had happened. “Where’s Donna?”

“Upstairs,” Angie said, pointing to the ceiling comically. “Relax, she’s not as hungover as you.”

“Hangover?” you asked curiously, sighing as you looked at the bottle. “Oh…”

“Stupid villagers like you can’t handle alcohol, huh?” she mocked again, while you searched for an appropriate insult. You couldn’t find one and left the office.

“Bu, buongiorno, (Y/N),” the lady in black said. She was waiting patiently in the dining room, with a bright smile. You smiled awkwardly, moving your hand to wave back.

 “Hi, Donna…” you sighed, walking slowly, stopped by the lady in black, who offered you a glass of water.

“Here, drink this. I'm sure your head hurts a lot,” she said, nervous but with a radiant, different smile. You drank that medicine with a sigh, scratching the back of your neck.

“Thank you,” you whispered. She nodded, playing with her hands again, walking towards the table, where a hearty breakfast was waiting for you.

“I, I've prepared some breakfast for you... Do you, do you have coffee, juice... To, toast, whatever you want,” she said nervously, pushing you slightly so you sat on the chair.

“Wow... How thoughtful,” you said kindly, with a frown, trying to remember. “Thank you, Donna.”

She nodded biting her lip and sat in front of you, not taking her eye off yours.

“What a night, huh?” she murmured, breaking the silence of that breakfast, one that you were grateful for. No, you didn't want to talk about that night, you didn't remember anything.

“Yes… Well… I think… I drunk too much,” you said with a hoarse voice, clearing your throat, avoiding her gaze.

“Me too,” she said, amused, with a shy smile that didn't seem to want to leave her face.

“Well, you seem to be better than me,” you commented with a fake smile, enduring the headache that was slowly receding.

“I have, I have my own reasons,” she said in a whisper, laughing shyly. You, confused, nodded with disinterest.

“Oh…” you murmured, slowly sipping your coffee.

The silence returned, that time more tense. Donna looked at you, as if she wanted to say something, but didn't dare, or didn't want to. Neither did you.

“(Y/N), I…” she commented, leaving the coffee on the table, with a slightly more serious tone. “I wanted, I wanted us to talk about last night.”

“Last night…” you whispered, closing your eyes, sighing. Everything was a blur, you couldn't remember anything.

“Yes, well, the, the things that… Happened,” she stammered, changing happiness into concern.

“What happened?” you asked curiously, eating a toast. “Did I make a fool of myself?”

“No, no, you…” she said, with a nervous laugh, studying your gaze. “You… don't remember?”

“I'm sorry, but I don’t,” you confessed with a tired sigh, rubbing your forehead. “Did something happen?”

“You don't remember,” she murmured sadly, with her hands beginning to shake. “You don't remember anything you told me?”

“Mmm, no…” you said amused, without giving it any importance.

Her breathing became even more agitated, she didn't know what to say, what to do. You too started to get nervous, to feel uncomfortable.

“Get out,” she hissed, with a dark look. You raised your eyes to her, shaking your head.

“What?”

“Get out, get out of my house,” she hissed again, clenching her fists tightly, slowly getting up from the chair.

“Donna, what is it…?” you asked, obeying confused, backing away.

“Get out, get out! Fuori di qui!” the lady shrieked, completely unhinged, out of her mind. She approached with a firm step, pushing you by your chest, hitting you hard.

“Hey, hey! Donna, wait, wait, what…?” you said nervously, walking forcefully towards the door.

“I don't want to see you, get out!” she shouted desperately, tears wetting her cheek, with a furious sob, closing the door in your face, leaving you stupefied at the entrance of the mansion, helpless and confused.

You felt like a horrible dagger pierced your heart. Without wanting to, you had pushed her away from you, you had made a mistake you didn't know about, you had done something that had upset her, you were sure.

You shook your head, trying with all your might to remember, to know the reason for that changeable attitude. You couldn't, you had to go home.

After that day, the relationship with the lady in black cooled, looking more and more like snow, like an ephemeral blizzard that disappeared cutting through your body. She no longer looked at you, you had lost her, and you still didn't know why. Damn alcohol.

“Donna,” you said after a week, when the lady in black came back from one of those tedious meetings. She didn't look at you, she didn't say anything, she went into her house and left you outside. She ignored you terribly, as she had been doing for several days. “Oh, come on, at least tell me what I've done…”

Nothing, there was never an answer. Your pleas, your pathetic attempts to get her to listen to you didn't matter. Your life soon became a hell, a hell without her voice, without her smile, eternally condemned to see her face covered by that horrible veil.

The love you felt for her continued to dominate your rationality, it kept pushing you to keep trying, but a part of you began to give up.

It didn't matter how close you could be, that would never happen, she would never love you and you had to start to accept it. With the horrible passage of time, you made a decision, the saddest of your life.

“Donna, I have to talk to you,” you said, knocking softly on the door.

“We don't want to talk to you, stupid!” Angie shouted behind the door.

“Fine, whatever you want,” you said furiously, kicking the ground and throwing the pruning shears angrily. “Don't expect me to come back tomorrow, do you hear me? I resign!”

You didn't want to do it, you didn't want to, but you had to. The love you felt for Donna was going to end you, you would lose yourself forever, you wouldn't be able to forget her if you didn't get away in time.

Crying, you walked away from the mansion, interrupted by the creaking of the door, which slowly opened. A black figure peeked through it.

“What?” you asked unpleasantly, turning around and crossing your arms. “Now you want to talk? Well, I don't want to.”

“How can you be like that?!” the lady shrieked, enraged, shielding her sobs behind the black cloth. “Do you think you can play with me?!”

“What?” you asked, shaking your head, with a mocking tone, approaching the estate again. “Sorry, but if I'm not mistaken, you're the one who keeps ignoring me.”

“You do nothing but hurt me, (Y/N)…” she sighed, nervous, approaching you dangerously.

“Hurt you?” you asked confused, with a furious gasp. “What's wrong with you?”

“Do you find it funny, (Y/N)? Is it that you have a hobby of breaking people's hearts, do you enjoy playing with their feelings?” she accused you, putting a finger on your chest, one that you pushed away with a sharp slap.

 “I have no idea what you're talking about, Donna…” you whispered, ignoring the danger signs.

“Right, you never have any idea about anything, do you?” she mocked, with a cocky pose. “You always forget everything, don't you?”

“What?”

“Forget it, will you? It's what you do best,” she sighed, turning around.

You, fed up with this maddening situation, grabbed her wrist, pulling it.

“Lasciami!” she protested, breaking free from your grip.

“What have I done to you, Donna?” you wanted to know, with a different tone. “I, I don't know what…”

“Deceive me!” she screamed furiously. “First you tell me that you love me, that you're in love with me, you kiss me and…. And then… You, you abandon me, you tell me that you don't remember anything… You broke my heart!”

Then, you suspected what had happened. Your face turned red with embarrassment. It had to be that night, the alcohol made you confess, made you tell her how much you loved her and… Apparently… She felt the same way, something you couldn't help but smile at.

“Do you find it funny?” she mocked, with a dangerous hiss. “Cazzo… I'll kill you!”

“Donna, did I really tell you that?” you asked calmer, ignoring her lack of control. “Did I really tell you that I loved you?”

“Huh? Y-Yes…” she said, confused by your reaction. “Lie, after lie.”

You acted instinctively, removing that horrible veil from her face, capturing her lips gently, reaffirming that your mistake was not such, that you felt what you said, that you wanted to feel it.

“Now I remember,” you said smiling, grabbing her trembling body. “I wasn't lying, Donna…”

“(Y/N), why?” she asked, grabbing your waist, crying because of your behavior, confused. “I love you, I love you…” you whispered in her ear. “I've loved you for a long time and… Well, I guess I have to thank the wine for having found enough courage to tell you

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 53: Fitz's Terrible Idea

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tw: conditioning, mind control, Stockholm syndrome, arrow wound, blood, blood drinking

August 1905

Alexander was seated peacefully by the fire, a soft blanket draped across his lap, lost in the enormous musty book in his hands. It was a scene of perfect tranquility. A perfect scene for Fitz to disrupt.

"So, what are you reading, sir?" he said, flopping down sideways on the couch and draping himself halfway across Alexander's lap, jostling his book and looking up at him with a shameless grin.

His master sighed, but smiled at Fitz. "I was reading about the customs and ways of the local faefolk."

"Faefolk, sir? You mean like fairies?" Fitz asked. "I knew a guy who was running a racket making fake pictures of fairies to sell to rubes. You're saying they're real, sir?"

"They're very real, and you're unlikely to get a picture of them unless they want you to," said Alexander. "They used to be found in the human world much more often, before humans industrialized. Now, most of the once-proud clans are scattered tribes in slow decline in the few wild places left. Centuries ago, it was common enough for faefolk to mingle with humans that many humans today have traces of fae blood."

"Is that so, sir?" said Fitz. Normally he would find this kind of lecture to be boring, but his master's voice was so captivating that he could happily listen to anything.

"You do, too, I'm sure of it. Your blood smells of it."

"Oh, really, sir?" he said, sitting up a bit. "It's hard to imagine any of my dusty old ancestors making love to a fairy."

"I imagine your ancestors weren't as dusty and boring as you imagine. I expect some of them were more like you."

"Are you saying that I would cavort with a fairy, given the chance?" Fitz laughed. "Because you're absolutely right, sir, I would."

"You see what I mean?"

Fitz leaned in closer, shamelessly running his hand through Alexander's hair. "Well, if I'm a fairy, you'd better be careful, sir, or one day I'll drag you away to fairy-land."

"I dearly wish you would," said Alexander, serious and sad.

Fitz's breath caught. They stared at each other for a long moment. And then the spell between them was broken.

"Unfortunately, I need to go out tonight. Business."

"What business is more important than this, sir?" said Fitz, irritated at being spurned and annoyed that he was irritated.

"It's important. I'll tell you what it is eventually. But for now, I have to go."

And so Fitz found himself alone once more in front of the slowly dying fire, eating an apple, with nothing to occupy his mind but his own thoughts -- the worst way to spend his evening.

He was growing too comfortable here, he knew that. The manor was filled with dust and the scent of deteriorating book bindings, but once he'd gotten used to that, it was strangely like a home. It was less ostentatiously luxurious than the mansion of his childhood, but somehow, despite being a vampire's manor, more comfortable and less oppressive. He slept on the finest sheets, ate expensive foods, and bathed with a wide selection of high-end imported toiletries. Alexander, despite his ability to sink Fitz into a stupor with a word, never criticized, never spoke in anger, never demanded anything of Fitz but his blood.

And thanks to the many layers of mesmeric spell he was under, that blood was all too easy to give.

Alexander, his vampiric master, was the real problem. Between his mesmerism, good looks, and quiet charms, he had Fitz firmly wrapped around his finger, like it or not. Even during the day, when he tossed and turned in a fruitless attempt to sleep, he thought of Alexander, his unkept hair, his gentle hands, and especially his captivating voice. He knew he shouldn't feel that way about a vampire who had purchased him from an auction and was keeping him captive and in dire peril, but his idiotic emotions and the spell laid thick on his mind said otherwise.

It wasn't as though it was likely that Alexander had genuine feelings towards him, no matter how much it seemed that way at times. Fitz knew he was a convenient source of blood. Effectively a grocery item. He knew better than to think his master's need was anything more than that.

Fitz sighed as he tossed the half-eaten apple into the air, missing the catch and watching as it rolled under a couch. Alexander had been leaving for the night more frequently lately, and Fitz was painfully bored without an audience for his chatter and whims.

An audience! Apart from his freedom, that was the main thing he was missing out of life. He needed the stage, the rush of applause, the thrill of holding a crowd captive. Alexander had promised him he could have it, but since then he'd dismissed Fitz when he asked about it.

That thought gave Fitz some direction for what he wanted to do with the evening. He marched upstairs to his bedroom and donned an eye-catching purple frock with an actual collar. He wanted something to keep Alexander's attention without enticing him to feed, so that Fitz could flirt his way into what he wanted.

And then he waited for his master to return. And waited. And waited.

He really shouldn't be so worried about the vampire who was keeping him captive. After all, if something happened to his master, maybe the spell would lift from him, he'd come to his senses, and he could escape this place. That's what he tried to tell himself, but the idea that something could happen to Alexander filled him with a sick dread instead.

Just as he was on the verge of tearing his hair out in frustration, the front door opened and Alexander staggered inside. His steps were ragged and he was panting hard, the problem plain to see -- an honest-to-god arrow sticking out of his upper arm.

"God damn," he said. "What happened to you, sir?"

"Fitz," said Alexander with pleading eyes. "Please…"

That was more than enough to make him abandon all his plans, as clearly his master was in no state for his skillful manipulations. Fitz rushed to prop Alexander up.

"Help me upstairs, to my bathroom. I need to treat this wound."

"How the hell did you get shot with an arrow here in the city, sir?"

"Can the explanation wait until I've removed the arrow?"

"That's fair, sir." Fitz guided his master up the stairs as Alexander winced and whimpered.

Fitz had been in his master's bedroom a few times before, primarily to help him with his hair and outfit, and was comforted by the fact that Alexander's sleeping quarters was as much of a disaster as his had always been. He had ample experience picking his way through discarded laundry on the floor, and soon he was helping his master sit at the edge of his bathtub. Fitz wasted no time unbuttoning Alexander's shirt and tossing it aside, an action that was purely in his master's best interest for treating his injury and nothing more.

"Get a towel ready, a green one from the bottom shelf, and some bandages. I'm going to pull out the arrow."

"Doesn't that do more harm than good, sir?" said Fitz, preparing the requested items anyway..

"That may be true for a human at risk of bleeding out, but this wound can't kill me. The faster I remove the arrow, the faster I can start to heal."

"If you say so, sir."

Alexander wrapped the old towel around the arrow, and Fitz watched in horrified fascination as he took a deep breath and yanked. The blood gushing from the wound soaked straight through the towel as Alexander pressed it to his arm, making some truly godawful noises. Fitz fidgeted nervously, wanting to do something to help but feeling entirely out of his depth. He grabbed a washcloth off the bottom shelf and ran it under warm water.

"Here, sir, let me wash the wound."

"It's fine. I just need bandages."

"It could fester, sir, and I don't think either of us would enjoy that."

"It won't fester. The same magic that keeps this dead body upright also protects it from rot and infection. Otherwise I'd be little better than a bloated corpse."

Fitz shifted nervously, uneasy at the reminder that the handsome face in front of him was, in fact, long dead. "Let me wash it anyway, sir."

"…All right." Alexander took the towel off the wound and presented it to Fitz, who was struggling hard to not get woozy and keel over at the sight of it. He took it in his hands as though he were an experienced field medic, dabbing at it with the warm washcloth, and he felt vindicated as the pain on Alexander's face began to recede slightly.

"So… you've removed the arrow, sir."

"So I have."

"You told me you were going to explain how you were shot, sir."

Alexander scowled and looked away, remaining silent for so long that Fitz thought he would have to badger him to get anything out. "Hunter," he finally said.

"Hunter, sir?"

"A vampire hunter. Every city with a vampire population attracts them, a small but dedicated group."

"Vampire hunters…" It wasn't a possibility Fitz had thought of, but he supposed that it made sense.

"I don't usually have any trouble with hunters," Alexander said. "They mostly hunt vampires who prey on people in the streets. I keep my own thrall, and generally stay confined to the manor. Besides that, my vampiric aura is enough to keep most hunters at bay."

"And yet, this arrow didn't embed itself in your flesh all by itself, sir."

"No, it didn't."

"So why'd a hunter attack you this time, sir?"

"I had hoped not to tell you yet, but I suppose you should know," said Alexander. "I'm recruiting hunters to try and kill my sire."

Fitz looked to the bloody gash in front of him, then down at the discarded arrow. "Far be it from me to criticize my master, sir, but it seems your recruitment tactic may leave something to be desired."

Alexander chuckled. "Hunters won't help a vampire willingly, even to kill another vampire. They have to be persuaded."

"So you're mesmerizing them into doing your dirty work, sir?"

"A dozen so far, and I hope to get at least a dozen more."

"A dozen, sir…" Fitz put down the washcloth and began to wrap Alexander's arm in clean bandages as he thought about this. Alexander was risking his life against a dozen vampire hunters or more to try and kill his sire. Primarily to protect him.

He should be concerned, but instead, his treacherous heart fluttered. His hand brushed against Alexander's chest. His master gave it a long and lonely look, as though he'd never been touched there before.

His master was so solitary. How long had it been since he'd last been touched?

How long had it been since Fitz had last been touched?

Before he could think better of it, he ran his hand through Alexander's soft hair, palm lingering on his cheek as he traced down his face. To Fitz's surprise, his master leaned into the touch, drinking it in like a parched man. Fitz repeated the action with more confidence this time, enjoying the wistful look in his eyes.

"…Be careful," Alexander said finally.

"Careful of what, sir?"

"What you're doing. You must know by now that my feelings towards you are… You should be careful."

Fitz's eyes went wide. Was this a manipulation? Alexander, still looking tired and pained, seemed in no state to be engaging in manipulation.

"Well, sir, I appreciate your advice, but I've found that I never get anywhere in life when I'm being careful."

He was pushing his hand through Alexander's hair to the back of his head, pressing his master's lips to his, hardly caring that they were cold and chapped. He'd wanted this since the first time they'd met in the auction house, and the fact that it was a terrible idea only made Fitz want it more.

Alexander's hands closed around his arms as if to push him away, but he didn't. Instead he pushed forward, returning the kiss, and Fitz felt a giddy thrill in his heart at having finally charmed the stubborn, lonely vampire into reciprocating his affection. They tumbled onto the bathroom floor, Alexander halfway on top of Fitz, and Alexander was desperate as though he hadn't been kissed in a hundred years. Well, he probably hadn't.

Alexander suddenly stopped and drew back, guilt on his face. "I -- I shouldn't -- "

Fitz closed the distance between them once more before either of them could ruin the moment by thinking too much. He needed this. He needed the touch, and even if it was unnaturally cold, he was still drinking it in. He especially needed this infuriatingly stubborn vampire to prove his affections.

It wasn't love, Fitz knew that much. It was bloodlust and regular lust and need, and that suited Fitz better. He would never understand love, but need -- he could understand that.

Alexander's breath hitched, and Lex thought it was desire, until he grasped at the wound on his shoulder. In the excitement, Fitz had almost forgotten about the crossbow bolt. He opened his mouth to ask, but the words died in his throat, as he found himself suddenly enthralled, thoughts scattering.

"The wound pains me, and a bit of blood would help me heal," he said. "I can't be this close to you without the urge overtaking me."

"Good," said Fitz, succumbing easily to the desire. He pushed his master's head gently to the space between neck and shoulder. "Take me, then. Drink from me. I'm all yours."

Alexander hummed, his lips pressed to Fitz's neck and his voice reverberating in his head, sending Fitz further into a dream of bliss. He barely felt the puncture, lying sprawled on the bathroom floor with his master on top of him, swimming in pleasure as his blood drained from his body. The feeding turned to soft nibbles at his jaw and his ear, and Fitz didn't care that his master's lips were stained with blood as he was pulled into a kiss.

"You should warm my bed tonight, Fitz," Alexander murmured into his ear.

Fitz raised his eyebrows. "Is that invitation what I think it is, sir…?"

"…if you're thinking of something lewd, I'm afraid not," said Alexander. "My… desires of that nature cooled along with my blood. I'm truly asking for you to warm my bed."

"So I can serve as a glorified hot water bottle as well as a bloodbag, is that right, sir?"

"No," said Alexander with painful sincerity. "You're much more than a bloodbag."

"And what else am I, sir?" said Fitz, looking up at his master, flashing his least trustworthy smile. "A brilliant entertainer? A scintillating conversationalist?"

"Fitz," said Alexander, placing a hand on his cheek and catching Fitz's eyes with his. "My Fitz."

"Your Fitz," he repeated, feeling mesmerized once more although he wasn't sure his master was actually doing anything. "I suppose I am, sir."

His master looked away. "You don't actually have to call me 'sir' or 'master', you know. It's fine if you don't."

Fitz grinned. "Oh, is that so, Alexander, sir?" The grin left his face as he realized what he'd just done. "Oh, damn that Miss Lily. I'm not going to be able to stop."

Alexander chuckled. "I don't really go by Alexander, anyway. Only my sire and strangers call me that. I go by Lex."

"Lex," repeated Fitz, leaning into his ear, "sir," he added, as seductively as possible, enjoying how his master -- no, Lex -- shivered.

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Thanks for reading! Next week, Oliver gets some help from Lily.

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[yarpharp]

The one thing I have a lot of personal, PERSONAL beef with about the entire Solas/Elvhen vs. City Elves/Dalish thing is simple: a lot of people in this fandom keep ignoring that this is one huge allegory for generational trauma and colonialism. Including Solas.

Maybe it hits home harder with me, especially because the real world inspirations the writers admit to using are Natives. And boy, I see the bones that make up the Dalish are absolutely Native-coded.

Constantly hunted? Constantly looked down upon for trying to keep to their traditions, even if the memories aren't as complete as they once were? Their very positive views on magic and the spiritual that run counter to common belief? Their religion is outlawed by the DA equivalent of the Christian church? The illegal verses of the Chant speaking about Chartan? The facial tattoos, the traveling camps, their attention to raising wild breeds of painted horses (the famed Dalish All-Bred in DA:I), the harts, following the migrations of the halla?

And then factor in the City Elf vs. Dalish experience. It reflects a lot of the same issues we have now. "City Indians" vs. "Rez Indians." The arguments about blood-quantum parallel a lot with the "elf-blooded" shit in DA. They don't have the ears, but they were raised like an elf! It reminds me of a very small dialogue in The Masked Empire between Fiona and Michel de Chevin, where Fiona immediately clocked him as half-elf because he never treated her poorly or called her slurs and subconsciously ducked his head slightly in doorways like he expected to bump his head in an alienage shack. Michel clings to his Chevalier code desperately, because if anyone found out he was half-elf, he'd be tossed back into the Alienages. It's peak "You're mixed but you can pass as white" coding in my eyes.

So then Solas rolls up, shitting on all the existing elves, calling them "children" and decrying them as idiots clinging to barely-remembered bits of history.... Good God, you ass. Like, I get it. I'm sure if one of my ancestors appeared before me and saw what has become of our people, they'd be horrified. But idk, there is also pride to be had in resisting and enduring and outlasting every government's attempt to erase what they see as a subpar culture.

When he asks "Did I judge the Dalish too harshly?" I always wanna just reach through the screen and go "YEAH ACTUALLY"