#not entirely satisfied with Cordelia’s but that’s close enough~

[transgaledekarios]

Was tagged by @brother-genitivi thank you for the tag! :))

Made three of my OCs each from different games

First is Ever (they/them), my Mass Effect blorbo. My first and most beloved of my OCs.

Then is Devon (she/her) rom Cyberpunk (though I never could get very far in the game lol)

And third is sweet Cordelia (she/her)from bg3

[yellowbellbird]

Under the Moonlight- Part 6

Your rooms vibrancy contrasts to the sparseness of hers. Plants are displayed on every surface and it contains a lot more stuff. The room came without a wardrobe so you made do with an open rack. You had a lot of books, stacked up in various places as well. For having been here almost two weeks, you sure had made this place a home. Cordelia could probably empty her room in a matter of minutes whereas it would take you hours.

Cordelia seems captivated by everything and you watch her eyes dance over your things.

"Wow. I really need to get some plants for my room."

Cordelia mumbles and you chuckle at her.

"You can take some of mine, I've got more than enough."

You pick up your spray bottle and hop over to a philodendron and spray it a few times.

Hoping Cordelia will leave and you can go back to the greenhouse and practise, you take your time on the task. When you turn back Cordelia is watching you expectantly. You raise your eyebrows.

"I'm not leaving until I'm sure you're going to rest."

You laugh nervously.

"Cordelia, I told you I was going to have a bath."

You put the spray bottle down and watch her, wondering the cause of the light blush on her cheeks.

"Okay perfect. You do that."

Cordelia moves around your room before picking up a book and sitting down elegantly on the edge of your bed.

"I don't need a babysitter."

You say stubbornly and Cordelia almost smirks.

"Mkay, go on and have your bath darling."

She gestures to your bathroom and opens the book in her hands. Damn this woman. How does she know me so well already? Somewhat relenting you grab some pjamas from your rack.

"Don't you have some supremely task that needs attending to or something."

"Nope."

Cordelia says without looking up from her book. With a final sigh you walk into your bathroom and shut the door. You run the bath and put some rosemary and lavender oils in it.

Crouching outside the bath you swirl your fingers in the water and watch thick bubbles appear. The smells make you relax a bit. Cautiously you raise your hand to the door and close your eyes. You see the bright outline of Cordelia on your bed and sigh. On the one hand, you really wanted to practice the spells for the test tomorrow. On the other, the most gorgeous woman on the planet is on your bed. You mentally chastise yourself for thinking that, after all she's the supreme, however much you wish things were different. She would never love you and you could never be together.

That thought ached, burnt, and you grabbed your chest in surprise at the extent to which that simple thought crushed you.

After a while you relaxed more and climbed out of your clothes and into the bath. Bubbles surrounded your entire body, covering you in a white blanket. You giggle to yourself as you blow a few of the bubbles away. Careful to leave your injured foot resting on the rim of the bath you lean back into the comfort of the water.

After about twenty minutes you start to get bored and quickly wash your hair before getting out. While you're putting your pyjamas on a plot forms itself in your head and you smile to yourself. You need to get into that greenhouse. If you have to tell a couple of white lies to do so, what's the harm? Besides, you only need to practice a few spells and then you would go straight to bed. It's a harmless idea really.

Hiding the smile that threatens itself, you rub your eyes a bit before entering your bedroom.

There she is, exactly as you left her. Cordelia has her eyes glued to the book she's reading, looking like a regal goddess. After a moment her eyes leave the book and she gives you a soft smile, clearly satisfied with your pyjamas and wet hair. Cordelia closes her book and watches you as you climb into your bed. To solidify the act you yawn loudly.

"Wow I'm exhausted."

"I bet sweetheart."

Cordelia shuffles up the bed and tucks some hair behind your ear before lightly tracing her fingers down your cheekbone.

Your heart stops at the contact and your eyes feel glued to hers. After a moment she drops her hand and picks up her book again.

You watch her in confusion as she opens the book and sits at the end of your bed.

"Well goodnight."

You say, watching her in confusion. Cordelia mumbles goodnight, eyes on the pages in front of her.

"What are you doing?"

You watch her in bewilderment.

"Oh I'm stopping you from going to the greenhouse, obviously."

Her eyes never leave the book in front of her, however your eyes feel like they are wide enough to burst out of their sockets.

"W-what are you talking about? I'm going to sleep of course."

You wave your hands at your bedsheets and see the corner of her mouth twitch upwards.

"Yes you are."

She states firmly. You sigh and wiggle so you're sitting up against the headboard.

"Cordelia, I really am going to bed."

This captures her attention as her eyes flicker fiercely to capture yours in an intense stare.

"Now you're lying to me?"

The slight anger in her voice brings on waves of guilt, your plan fades away as quickly as it was formed.

"I'm sorry. I just don't want to fail the test tomorrow. I'm the newest witch, I don't know half the stuff the other witches do."

Cordelia closes the book firmly.

"I don't care y/n you will not hurt yourself again." Her firmness surprises you. However, her caring makes a warmth spread to your cheeks.

"Besides, that's silly, you're just as good as the other girls."

You soften your eyes at her and she sighs. For the first time tonight, you completely give up the idea of going to the greenhouse.

"Okay, you win."

Cordelia raises her eyebrows and watches you, presumably to determine the sincerity of your words. You look into her eyes and after a while you shuffle up the bed and lightly touch the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry for lying to you. I really will go to bed now. You can use the sleep mud on me if you want?"

Cordelia chuckles lightly and shakes her head. She flips her hand over and intertwines her fingers with yours. The gesture takes you by surprise and warmth once again spreads over your body.

Why does Cordelia care whether or not I get hurt? I'm her student and she cares about the well-being of her students of course. A little voice nags in you that it could be something more than this. We only met a few days ago and yet she's already my whole world.

You look at Cordelia and watch her, her eyes are looking steadily at your hands. You don't know what makes you say it but the words come tumbling out of your mouth.

"Do you want to stay with me tonight?"

As soon as you say it a heavy blush seeps into your cheeks and Cordelia's wide brown eyes meet yours.

"I'd like that. I'd like to check you don't sneak off."

At that you laugh loudly and nod.

"Mhm, go get changed. I'll be here."

Cordelia smiles and stands up, just before she gets to the door she turns around and you meet her eyes questioningly.

"Promise?"

She whispers and you smile softly back.

"Promise."

It comes out as a whisper but you know she hears it when she nods and leaves.

When the door shuts you exhale air you didn't know you were holding. Your heart begins to race at the prospect of spending a night with the supreme. Rationally, you know it's silly to worry. You've spent the last two nights in her bed. Something about tonight is different though, no sleep mud was involved. We both chose this.

To try and ease your nerves you get up out of bed and begin watering your plants. After about ten minutes a soft knock at the door signals the arrival of the supreme and your heart begins to race. You put down the spray bottle and move to open the door. The moment you see her and meet her soft brown eyes the fear washes away like a wave. You smile widely and take her hand and pull her inside your room. She gasps slightly before laughing and complying.

"Hello again."

Cordelia stands before you, her smile infectious.

"Hi."

You pull her her hand and lead her to your bed. You let go of her hand to climb into bed and you feel the loss of it instantly.

Cordelia lies on the left side of your bed and you peak at her and smile when you see her looking nervous, fists clenched above the sheets, mirroring your own clenched hands.

You shuffle onto your side and watch her. Her pink silk nightdress shimmers in the darkness and her blonde hair appears to be almost glowing.

Without thinking you reach out a take a lock of it in your hand. You twirl it gently, admiring how the blonde bounces off your skin. When you look at Cordelia again you see that she's watching you. I can't believe I lived all my life content without her, now I can't imagine anything ever filling the void she created in my soul other than her.

"Thank you for looking after me today. I'm sorry if I scared you earlier, coming into your room bloody and limping."

Cordelia shakes her head and looks down.

"You did scare me a little. I- I don't like to see you hurt."

You watch her in wonder as her eyes flutter up and meet yours. You want to ask her why but you're a little scared of the answer. Instead, you move your hand from her hair to run your fingers along her cheek. Her skin is warm and soft beneath your fingers. She shudders slightly and you pull your hand away, scared you crossed a line.

"Sorry."

You whisper and watch her lightly chuckle.

"Don't be."

Cordelia turns on her side and mirrors your actions, tracing her hand across your cheek. You close your eyes and lean into her hand. With your eyes closed you can see the immense amount of light she exudes.  Even with your eyes closed you know you're looking at the sun.

A rush of bravery overcomes you as you turn your head into Cordelia's hand. Ever so lightly you kiss her palm. You look up at her through your eyelashes and blush when you see her watching you.

You shuffle a bit closer to her and Cordelia's hand moves from your face and begins stroking your hair. You hum into her warmth. Cordelia shuffles a little bit closer and you suddenly long to be even nearer to her. Slowly, you move your hand under the sheets until you find hers. Carefully you intertwine your fingers and bring her hand to your chest. You move a little bit closer so your bodies are almost touching. Hesitantly, giving her the chance to pull away, you close the gap and lay your head against her chest and put your other hand over her waist. You pause for a minute, aware of the rapid rise and fall of Cordelia's chest against your head, before you trace small patterns on her back with your finger.

"Goodnight sweetheart."

Cordelia whispers. You feel her breath dancing on your forehead.

"Goodnight Cordelia."

Taglist (angels I’m so bad with technology I’m sorry if I missed anyone from my taglist! Pester me if I did.)

@paulson-hargitay @goodeday2u @its-soph-xx @sarahcpaulsonxx @night-owlsworld @sarah-paulsonxreader @natasha-danvers @jellyfishking917

[chasingfictions]

Sorry for the rant but you’re so right about Spike!!! Like maybe I can believe that Spike wouldn’t call Buffy while he’s incorporeal and can’t leave LA (even though it’s established that Fred knows Willow, and Fred could easily call Willow and be like “lol guess what” and Willow could tell Buffy) and that he’d want to stay in LA after Fred dies to honor her and then fight the biggest apocalypse ever, but there are six episodes inbetween Fred’s death and Spike being all touchy again. And I’m supposed to believe Spike cares about some obscure destiny that may be him? Shut up, Buffy is his destiny. Also why the hell wouldnt he call her on his last day on earth??? What??? Like I know the Angel writers are pretty down on Spuffy but at the very least it’s been established that Spike and Buffy are freiends and allies, and she at the very least non-romantically loves him. The idea that Buffy wouldn’t fight god for even the slightest chance to save someone she loves? Laughable

AND!!! There’s no satisfying emotional conclusion. Spike and Angel (most Angel) say some genuinely awful things to each other and have horrible fights and there is no conclusion to that!!! There is not enough pay off for the weight that is there! Also I don’t but that Angel hates Spikes because of guilt. Angel loves his guilt, and it feels heavier, and also more like jealousy than that, but what do I know. You can’t have them have three moment of genuine heart to heart after all their history. No bad.

And he’s supposed to be Cordelia? But he acts like a worse version of Angel season 1 Cordelia?? Do the writers realize that Spike and Cordy aren’t like that anymore??? Have they watched their own show at all?? It feels almost like they wanted Spike to take over Angel’s role, with the guilt and the weird vampire anxiety, without actually risking taking away Spike’s beloved “bad boy” persona. And then it’s still nothing like current Spike. But again, what do I know.

Okay Im so sorry for ranting but I just have so many thoughts! And Im mostly upset becuase they kept getting so close to the edge of something great and then swerving away in the worst possible direction. If the writers had some actually emotion depth, a meaningful resolution, and came up with a believable reason that Spike wouldn’t call Buffy, it could have been a really interesting direction. Maybe

aaah sorry i didnt answer this for like 3 days ive been decently offline but you're SO right :))) buffy IS his destiny !!!! <3

also yeah sometimes i think about how smg was supposed to be in like 2 episodes of ats s5 but couldn't bc of scheduling conflicts and am just so grateful bc like,,,,, can u imagine if the ats writers got their hands on spuffy??? the "let's play spike's death scene from chosen but cut out the part where buffy says she loves him" writers room???

anon u are sooooo on the money i cant even bear it ... like, i can get on board with spike and angel being very significant figures in each others' lives ... but to make both of their last season in the buffyverse (at least until the comics happen), entirely bound up in their relationship with each other?????? when like??????? angel's last season should have been about him and cordelia?????? you know, his best friend and life partner?????? meanwhile spike can be fucking off in europe being buffy's boytoy??????

honestly the only reason im glad spike was on ats s5 is that it gave us his canon resurrection bc comics spike means so much to me <3 <3 <3

[ohnotoomanyfandoms]

If you wrote a quick lil Jordelia snippet in the style of one of Cassie's Chain of Iron excerpts (like write a tiny bit of a prediction of a scene that could happen between them) I would love you forever 🙏🙏🙏❤❤❤

My dear Jordelia Nation, I bring you a little Christmas present! 

I am nowhere near satisfied of this ficlet (which is why I’m not even putting it on my AO3 page), but I wrote it and I can’t take it back now. Based on THREE snippets (you’ll find those in bold), I present you THAT confession scene under the cut. 

I just want to point out one thing: I don’t think this is how the scene is going to go in the books. At all. I just had fun imagining James and Cordelia’s conversation on that Most Important Topic and tried to keep it as in character as possible, but I also know my Edwardian English is not the best. 

Without further ado, here are 2k words of Jordelia angst for you all <3 

Cordelia rang Risa for some tea. The boys would certainly require scones. As they settled around her drawing room’s table, Cordelia couldn’t help but notice they were starting this meeting without a key member.

“Where’s Lucie?” She asked no one in particular. She turned to James and he shrugged.

“Probably with Anna,” Matthew suggested. Hopefully with Anna, Cordelia thought. She knew Lucie had a secret. Now that James was out of the Institute, there was no way of knowing where her future parabatai was. If anything, Cordelia reprimanded herself silently, she was supposed to know.

“We should start without her,” James said. “Let’s get to it.”

“Grace will never talk to us. Not after last week,” Matthew declared. “We have to find another way.”

“I still don’t see why you think she won’t,” interrupted Christopher. “I am sure she will speak to Jamie, if he asks nicely. She was entirely amicable with me last month.”

“That was before what happened last week, Kit,” Thomas pointed out.

“Jamie can’t go. There is no point in even trying. It will be a waste of our time, time we don’t have. We need a different plan,” Matthew said.

“Why can’t Jamie go?” asked Kit innocently.

“We’ll never find a better—“ Tom was saying, but Cordelia cut him off.

“It’s of no consequence. James is free to go see Grace if he wishes to.”

She didn’t miss the furtive glance Matthew sent her way.

“I can accompany him,” Kit offered.

But James was shaking his head. “Daisy…”

She swallowed hard. “It would be beneath me to try and stop you.”

She would not be remembered as the villain in this story. Her husband, by the Angel, Cordelia still couldn’t believe it after a whole month of marriage… if staying away from Grace was so painful for James, as it was clear from his ghost-like pallor and his hollow eyes, Cordelia couldn’t very well ignore it. She would swallow whatever was left of her pride and her shattered honor and let him go. The mission was more important.

“I made you a promise. I told you I would keep it, and I am.”

If Cordelia hadn’t already been in love with him then, the intensity of his gaze as he delivered those words would’ve done it, surely.

“And I meant what I just said, James. I free you from that promise.”

Mathew, the only other person in the room who knew her secret and pitied her for it, was quick to intervene, to spare her the embarrassment of further discussion on the topic in front of their friends. “Then it’s settled. Jamie and Kit will both go. Tomorrow night, then we will need to regroup here.”

Lucie had never shown up, Cordelia thought after the Merry Thieves had gone. She would need to send her a message. Pondering where her friend had gotten herself, she didn’t notice James cornering her on the way to the master bedchamber, the room they both occupied as far as the Enclave was concerned. James had been courteous enough to let her take it since they wouldn’t need to share one.

“Daisy, we must speak.”

His golden eyes were fixed on her, fierce as a hawk’s gaze. She said, "It doesn’t matter what I said. I wanted them to leave you alone —"

"I don’t believe you," he said. She could feel the slight tremors running through his body — tremors of stress, that meant he was holding himself very still. Holding himself back. "You don’t say things you don’t mean, Daisy —“

“Oh, James. The Angel knows I do.” She took a deep breath and pointed to the Herondale ring on her finger. “Every day of my life I say things I don’t mean.”

“Yes, but not to me,” James said. “You are entirely honest with me, and that’s what I treasure the most about us. About this time. When we are here together, we don’t have to pretend.”

Cordelia’s heart broke. She averted her eyes for a second to focus on her feet, then met his again.

“James, you do not know how much it means to me that you try and pretend like you’re not sacrificing yourself for my sake in all this.”

There was nothing but honesty in his face. “What are you talking about, Daisy, if anything, it was you who did this for me, to save me from the Clave—“

“I am not referring to our marriage,” she said loudly. “I am referring to our promise. I am referring to the fact that you are doing your best to shield me from how much it pains you to keep it. Yet you are determined to keep it, because you are a man of honor, the best of men, no matter the consequences to your own heart.”

His voice softened. “Daisy, cariad—“

A part of her registered he’d never called her that before. It was a term she was used to hearing his parents use. But she had no time to ponder on its meaning at present.

“I can see that you have trouble sleeping at night. How miserable you’ve been. You’re a shadow of yourself, and it has nothing to do with your grandfather. If you miss her this much, you should go see her.”

“Cordelia,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, angry even. The change in name was not lost on her either. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“If you need to see—“ she forced herself to pronounce that name, “Grace, you should go see her.”

“Are you truly encouraging me to commit adultery?”

Internally, she laughed. “Do you believe me such a masochist? I am merely suggesting that you see her, instead of convincing yourself that you don’t want to.”

James dropped on the settee by the window. Cordelia remained standing, despite his silent request that she join him. He was so much taller than her that his head was at level with her chest. She tried not to think about it. James kept his hand on her arm. She was glad for its anchoring presence.

“I am your husband, Daisy,” he started.

“In name only,” she promptly reminded him.

James shook his head. “I placed marriage runes on you and my ring on your finger.” His own fingers touched the shape of the rune on her left arm.

“Rune,” she corrected again. “Just one.” Because you didn’t want the other.

“Cordelia.”

The intensity of his voice made her turn. His eyes were molten gold.

“We are married,” James continued. “You giving me permission to see Grace doesn’t mean I will go see her. I won’t betray your trust.”

“But the mission—“

“I’ll find another way. I would ask that you cease assuming what I am feeling or not feeling, I beg of you. It’s not being married to you that’s making me miserable. On the contrary.”

“Then what is?” She asked boldly. “James, you are wasting away. No one who loved you would want you to sacrifice your own happiness. I certainly don’t.”

“No, Daisy.” He shook his head again, more fervently this time.

“One of us should be happy, James.”

His fingers traced her arm. “By the Angel, Daisy, I am not unhappy with you. Please do not suggest the contrary. And besides, what do you think would happen? You may bless an adulterous union, but Grace is also engaged, and I doubt that dear Charles would be as magnanimous as you.”

Oh, but he would, Cordelia thought bitterly. No one was keeping James and Grace separated if not their own oaths. But she couldn’t tell James that, because she would need to expose Charles’ secret, and she wasn’t ready to do that as much as she was to expose her brother’s.

“Charles doesn’t need to know,” she lied quickly, although he appeared suddenly lost in thought. “You two could meet in secret tomorrow as per the plan.”

“What did you say?”

“That Charles doesn’t—“

“No, forget Charles. What did you say before? One of us should… gods, Daisy, are you miserable? Is that it? If so, tell me what I am doing wrong and I will do everything in my power and beyond to amend, bach.”

Another Welsh term she’d heard his family use. She shook her head. “There is nothing you can do. Seeing you happy will make me happy.” Only saying it felt like placing a dagger in her own chest.

“I know you dreamt of finding true love and this has shattered those dreams. But you can still have those things. You just need to find the right man and in a year you’ll be with him. I promise I will help.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she took a leap. “What if I’ve already found him?”

That took him by surprise. His eyes widened, he took his hand off her arm. “You… have? This must be even harder for you then. Who is it? If you wish to confide in me, of course.”

“You don’t wish to know, trust me.”

“No, I do. Am I not your friend, Daisy, before I am your husband? And did I not swear to fight your battles and to keep your secrets?”

“This one is better kept unsaid, for both our peace of mind.”

He seemed to consider their words carefully. After a minute of silence, he spoke, his voice calm. “I don’t want to push you. So you are determined not to share this with anyone else? Does Lucie know, at least?”

“No, she doesn’t. Matthew does, but that’s beside the point.”

“Matthew— why would you confide in Math and not me? Daisy, am I such a terrible friend to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. But don’t hold your breath, he doesn’t love me back, his affections lay elsewhere.”

“Nonsense. How can a man be indifferent to you?”

She was tired of this conversation, tired of lying to him… “James, can you close the door on your way out?”

“Of course.” He understood at once and instantly stood up from the settee. He towered over her for a moment. “If you wish to speak later, or play some chess before dinner, I’ll be in the other room.”

He made to leave, then turned back to her and before she knew what was happening, he cupped her cheek and kissed her there. His eyes were melancholy. “You mean the world to me, Daisy. I wish I could show you how much.”

He closed the door behind him as she had requested, but she was still frozen in place where he had left her. Her arm and her cheek where he had touched her felt like they were on fire. She was suddenly reminded of the passionate kiss they’d shared in the Whispering Room, and for the first time in a long time, Cordelia questioned her assumption. She freed her hair from their complicated ‘do. Her mind was racing.

She jumped toward her desk, where Lucie’s latest chapter of The Beautiful Cordelia lay half-unread. She gripped the pages and scanned them for a single word. She could swear she’d read it just two days ago… there it was. Characters who were so clearly based on Will and Tessa filled the pages of this chapter. “Cariad” the hero kept calling his long-lost love. “Bach,” she had exclaimed once they were reunited. Cordelia had never paid as much attention as she should have when the Herondales communicated in Welsh, but she wished she had.

Before she could think this through, she sprinted for the door. James was in their drawing room, a worn-out copy of Ovid’s Heroides in his hands.

“Had a change of heart?” he asked without looking up from his book.

“Hardly,” Cordelia said breathlessly.

“Mittor ad Alciden a coniuge conscia mentis / littera si coniunx Deianira tua est,” he read aloud, which slightly annoyed Cordelia. She wasn’t here for a lesson in mythology. And it was beneath James to flaunt his Latin unnecessarily. She remembered he’d made her promise to teach him Farsi, once they were married, but they hadn’t delved down that road so far.

“You know I don’t speak Latin, bach,” she said slowly, doing her best not to mispronounce the last word.

That undoubtedly got his attention and made him meet her eyes. “How fortunate that this text also offers a translation, then. It’s Deianira writing to Hercules after he abandoned her to be with another woman: A letter, that shares her feelings, sent to Alcides / By your wife, if Deianira is still your wife.”

“James, can we not discuss mythology at present?”

“What mythology?” he grinned as he pushed the book aside.

“I have a confession to make.” She walked toward him this time.

His eyes were gentle. “Only if you truly want to, Daisy.”

“I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you all these months. That’s what’s making me miserable. I don’t want to lie to you, James, and I’m tired of doing so.”

“I’m listening.”

“I said I’d met the right man, and that at least wasn’t a lie. Do you know what it’s like, to have everything you’ve ever wanted but it’s just pretend?”

“Yes,” he said calmly. “I do.”

Grace, she thought, because they’d been together in secret for years, had almost run away together.

“No,” she replied, “You don’t. Not this way.”

James suddenly stood. “Will you quit saying what you think I feel or don’t feel? It’s the third time today, Daisy. If you wish to know something, just ask, do not assume.”

“But I already know. You’ve told me.”

James, you don’t love me, she had said. No, I don’t, he had replied after his haste proposal.

“You feel what you feel and I cannot fault you for it. I can hardly fault my own heart.”

“Daisy,” he said then. “What are you saying?”

She took another deep breath and jumped into the abyss. “It’s you, James. It’s always been you.” The earth beneath her threatened to swallow her whole. “I’ve loved you all my life.”

“You can’t mean—”

"I know it’s not what you want, but it won’t change anything between us. I’ve tried to stop, but I have been unsuccessful. This is my predicament and there is nothing either of us can do about it. We can stay friends and companions, the way we have these months. What if I just love you? What if I love you but I never touch you or talk about it, what would happen then?"

Cordelia wasn’t sure he was breathing. After an interminable time, his lips finally parted to say something.

She never knew what, because one moment he was there, his hand on her arm, and the next he was gone.

It appeared they hadn’t destroyed the shadow realm after all.

/// There you have it. Sorry for the cliffhanger. Sorry if you hated the entire story. Again, I kind of hate it too. If you enjoyed it, that makes me happy <3 I’ll go back to writing meta and speculation now. 

[pentanguine]

Favorite books of 2020

So....about five months ago now, I drafted a list of my favorite books of 2020, and then I, uh, didn’t finish it. It languished in a draft gathering dust and I forgot that it existed.

But now it’s done! It’s hideously late and also out of date, because I’d change many of the rankings now (see below), but I decided to keep them in the original order to reflect how I felt when I actually meant to post this.

Gideon the Ninth- What can I say about this book that hasn’t already been said? It’s like nothing else I’ve read before, in the most unabashed, off-the-walls, grandiose way possible. It’s incredibly complex, well-written, goth, and full of memes. There are, indeed, lesbian necromancers in space.

Harrow the Ninth- I read this 500+ page book in one day and didn’t notice an earthquake while doing so, if you consider that an endorsement. There’s so much going on here it almost feels like it shouldn’t work, and yet it does, brilliantly—it’s so intricately plotted you’ll want to reread it immediately because there’s no way to pick up on everything your first time through.

The Starless Sea- This is just a magical delight of a story, with prose that flows like honey: slow, sweet, and delicious. The story unfolds like a series of wonders nested one inside the other, with each section adding another layer of whimsy and metafiction. It’s half a dream, and half a maze.

Young Miles (The Warrior’s Apprentice/The Vor Game)- The Miles books (the early ones, especially) are wild and unrepentant romps through outer space, and reading them was one of the highlights of 2020 for me. When I finished the Young Miles omnibus, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken such pure delight in a book. Even the heavier, more thoughtful moments were part of a well-told, enjoyable story.

The Stone Sky- Speaking of heavy and thoughtful books…The Broken Earth Trilogy is definitely not a light undertaking, but it’s just a masterpiece of world- and character-building. The Stone Sky is the final installment, and it does not pull a single punch in delivering what the previous books have been building towards.

This Is How You Lose the Time War- I keep instinctively wanting to call this a novel in verse, although I think it’s technically an epistolary novel with prose-poem tendencies. In any case, the writing is lovely—lush, vivid, sensual, romantic. I recommend reading this one with your poetry glasses on.

Cordelia’s Honor (Shards of Honor/Barrayar)- I tried to limit myself to one book per author on this list, but I didn’t succeed here. I loved the Vorkosigan saga too much, and I had to include the omnibus about Miles’s mother, Cordelia, whose life and personality could easily be the focus of another half-dozen volumes. (And if you’re looking for a well-developed m/f romance, you’ve found it here)

An Unkindness of Ghosts- I think this is the book that kicked off my sudden interest in sci-fi last year. It’s dark and beautiful, definitely character-driven, and everyone is truly strange in ways that protagonists rarely get to be. It’s also got one of the loveliest, most satisfying endings I can imagine.  

Code Name Verity- An incredibly intense YA book that delves deep into one of my favorite fictional themes, Morality. It’s a rollicking spy adventure novel that focuses on a close friendship rather than romance (although you can read it as sapphic if you want), with descriptions of flying over England at sunset that made my heart ache.

The Raven Tower- I enjoyed this story for reasons probably particular to me—I like long digressions into abstract questions like “How do we exert power over the world?” and “Where does the meaning of words exist?”, and entire sections of The Raven Tower are devoted to the inner meditations of a very contemplative rock. It’s also a retelling of Hamlet, if that’s more your speed.

Network Effect (and Murderbot novellas)- I’m going to quote my immediately-after-finishing review: “Murderbot always gives me feels. I would love to give a more literary summary, but I’m still overwhelmed by the tentative vulnerability of two bots being best friends and watching TV together after [redacted].” The first Murderbot novel definitely did not disappoint.

The Monster of Elendhaven- Decadent, blood-soaked, and morally depraved, it’s kind of like The Picture of Dorian Gray by way of Hannibal (NBC), with probable influences from a dozen other macabre works and no restraint whatsoever. Reading it felt very self-indulgently delightful.

Before Mars- A deliciously unsettling sci-fi thriller with a refreshingly blunt, unsentimental female protagonist. Also definitely an …interesting book to read at the end of March 2020, but explaining why would definitely be a spoiler. Suffice it to say that the book goes dark places not advertised on the tin, and it made me cry.

Orange World- Karen Russell is one of those writers who make you wonder “how did they come up with this?” Every one of her stories is a totally original marriage between two wildly different concepts (like a Bog Maiden and high school romance, or new motherhood and the devil), and they’re a nice blend of literary and fantasy that I love.

Something That May Shock and Discredit You- It’s so hard to rank this one, because its two primary concerns are Christianity and transness, one of which means very little to me and one of which is breathtakingly important. I couldn’t justify putting it any lower, because it made me feel an ungodly number of feelings, but I couldn’t really justify putting it higher when a solid third of the book went right over my head.

The Ten Thousand Doors of January- A truly wondrous novel, one that fully immerses you in the delight of storytelling and imagination, and the power of escaping to other worlds. It’s very much in the tradition of “books that pay tribute to the love of books,” and an homage to a hundred portal fantasies before it.

Braiding Sweetgrass- I’ve got such a fondness for nature writing that doesn’t even try to be scientifically detached, and instead leaves you with the feeling that the trees and fields around you are bustling with (nonhuman) people.* Kimmerer’s writing is steeped in indigenous ways of knowing, and emphasizes the respect and reciprocity we can hold for the natural world. It’s lovely writing, and I can’t recommend the book highly enough.

Call Down the Hawk- Full of all the ingredients you expect from a Maggie Stiefvater book: fast cars, ancient magic, questions of art and truth, and borderline overuse of the word “cunning.” Every time I read one of her books I want to start taking notes, because she’s got such a signature style that’s both poetic and readable.  

The Unspoken Name- For some reason I wasn’t much into epic fantasy last year, but I’m glad I gave this one a try. I love morally grey characters, of which there are plenty, and the plot took a number of refreshing twists and turns.  

A Memory Called Empire- Not a fast-moving read, but perfect if you like your sci-fi novels poetic, complex, and intellectual. The worldbuilding is incredibly immersive, in a way that reminded me a bit of Ursula K. Le Guin, and I remember this stuck with me for weeks after I finished it.

*Let me be a nerdy weirdo for a second: Most of the time Kimmerer is writing about New England, an area I’m not really familiar with, but “The Sound of Silverbells” is set on a mountain somewhere in the South, and I adored it. Suddenly she was writing about dogwoods and redbuds and poplars, and I was sitting there going “!!! Those are my friends! My friends are in a book!”

Changes I’d make now:

Bump The Starless Sea down a couple pegs, maybe to #6

Swap out Cordelia’s Honor and Young Miles

Bump The Raven Tower way down to #16 and bump A Memory Called Empire a few spots higher, maybe to #17

Braiding Sweetgrass can go up where The Raven Tower was

[matildaofoz]

Memento Mori Pt 3. (Michael Langdon x Fem!Death!Reader)

You reached the courtyard of Kineros Robotics in record time, Michael hot at your heels.

“Can you walk a little slower?“ Michael complained, walking quickly beside you to keep up despite his long legs. You weren't lying when you had told him that you were on the clock.

„No can do, kiddo. Now come on, use those wonderful legs of yours,“ you threw at him over your shoulder, your hands searching for the car keys you had stashed in one of the conveniently hidden pockets of your dress without slowing down. Why weren't those a thing yet when humanity had invented every other type of useless thingamabob and yet pockets on a dress were blasphemous, you wondered. The intricacies of humankind often evaded you. The fingers of your right hand grazed the keys in your pocket and with a satisfied smirk you pulled them out.

“I'm not a kid, you know. I'm the Anti-,“ Michael began, irritated.

„The Antichrist, yes and you were born exactly when, 2012? You may not look it Michael, but in the grand scheme of things you're barely an amoeba,“ you interrupted him, not in the mood for any more temper tantrums. Without having to look back at his face, you felt the anger rolling off him in waves. He really was not used to being treated as anything less than the son of Satan. If he wanted you to lick his shoes, he was sorely mistaken. If anything, he should be on his knees before you, praising the universe for having sent you in his hour of need.

Continuing to ignore a seething Michael, your eyes zoned in on your newest toy. A 1965 Black Ford Mustang Convertible with bright red leather seats. Seeing as you were all things considered an ancient being and material things meant positively nothing to you, you did have two weaknesses. Fast food and fast cars. You liked to think that it was due to the human form you took, your immense power being pressed into the confines of a limited body and your patient nature being expressed in a rather paradoxical instant gratification. Thankfully, you couldn't gain any weight nor die in a car crash, remaining ever the same, and so you chose to indulge yourself at every given opportunity. Soon enough, those fleeting pleasures would come to an end. Might as well enjoy it while you could.

You skipped over the curb to the driver's side, admiring the way the inky paint coat glistened in the late afternoon sun, not a speck of dust in sight.

Michael came to stand by the passenger door, now more confused than angry. He was ever-changing, you mused.

“Did, did you sell your soul to my father too?” he asked, mustering the convertible before his eyes searched your face.

“No, Michael,” you chuckled amused. H really didn't know the first thing about the Apocalypse or his place in all of this. Maybe there would be time to give the boy a lesson, but not until you had had a good meal.  

“I think I'm out of your dad's league if we're being honest. I am more a collector of souls myself. Your father or God don't actually hold the monopoly even though that's what they like to tell everyone. Tell you what, over dinner you and I will take a little trip down memory lane,” you explained, watching him with intent.

“Liar,” Michael said lowly, processing your words. His icy blue eyes narrowed at you. You could feel his power trying to claw at you, yet it felt distinctly like a kitten lick.

“Oh please, Michael, I don't lie,” you retorted unaffected, your hand grabbing the door handle and sliding into the seat, grabbing the pair of sunglasses on the dashboard and putting them on before looking at Michael, your fingers drumming on the steering wheel. This was not going nearly as well as you had planned and if you wanted to keep the plan you had set in motion rolling, you would undoubtedly need to change course, despite the fact that you loathed having to do so. Death be damned, you thought.

“I don't like repeating myself, Michael. I don't owe you any answers but perhaps I'm growing soft and the fact that you are left to your own devices, trying to figure out the single most monumental task on this rock hurtling through space has me feeling a little...sympathetic,” you stated, leaning over to push open the passenger door as a sign of goodwill.

“Tell you what, you can ask me all the questions you like, deal?”

Michael contemplated for a few seconds. He didn't like to admit it but so far he hadn't been the one to come up with any good plans that didn't involve The Omen 3 plot and his father had been absent throughout his accent so far. He didn't trust you or anybody bar Ms. Mead and yet you presented an enigma to him, one he needed to crack open. He was brilliant at problem-solving and he would solve you too, he thought to himself, a little grin creeping into the corner of his mouth. His invisible claws retracted.

“Deal. But I get to ask as many as I want,” he replied, pulling the door open all the way and plopping himself into the passenger seat beside you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Fine, a deal's a deal,” you groaned only halfheartedly, shooting him a grin of your own as you fired up the engine and pulled out onto the road. You really did have your work cut out for you. Lucky for Michael, he was so easy on the eyes that you didn't mind as much as you should have. You pressed the 'on' button of the radio and stifled a laugh at the song that had just started playing:

I see the bad moon a-rising I see trouble on the way I see earthquakes and lightnin' I see bad times today

Don't go around tonight Well it's bound to take your life There's a bad moon on the rise

°°° 20 Minutes later, you pulled into a parking lot, turned off the engine, hopping out of the car, and came around to Michael's side to take an unneeded but deep breath, filling your lungs with crisp evening air and the distinct smell of desert. The sun had just begun to set, a slight chill setting in and the last remaining rays illuminated Michael's blond hair in a way that reminded you an awful lot of his father before the fall. You let your gaze wander over his sitting form for a second, before lightly slapping the arm he had draped over the side of the car, lost in his own thoughts.

“Come on, Angel, we're here,“ you chided playfully, knowing it would rile the blonde man up unnecessarily. On cue, Michael's gaze shot up to meet your own, nostrils flaring at the more than holy pet name.

“Don't call me that! I'm anything but that!“ he bit out but couldn't keep the blush from creeping up his neck. He didn't like the way you made him feel. Weak and unsure of himself. No power he had encountered could match his, not even Cordelia's and then you came along. As if he wasn't already feeling insecure enough, even after having massacred the witches and warlocks, you only added to the sense that he hadn't yet achieved what he was meant to do, or be where his father expected him to be. Sensing his unease, you tussled his locks with your left hand, pulling him out of his self-induced reverie.

“There is nothing a good cake can't fix, Michael. Trust me,” you smiled at him, hoping he would pull himself together and get out the car. At the word cake, he did perk up, finally glancing behind you to look at where you had taken him.

“The Cheesecake Factory, really?” he looked up at you quizzically, disbelieving. If you were in fact Death, and he wasn't yet sure you weren't lying to him despite your overpowering aura, shouldn't you be dining in some high-class restaurant on the other end of town where they didn't even have prices on the menu?

“Are you food shaming me?” you retorted, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Err, no. It just doesn't...suit you,” Michael replied, his right hand coming to massage the back of his neck, embarrassment evident at his remark.

“Wouldn't you like to know what does and doesn't suit me. If you must know, it's kind of my thing. Don't ask me why but I just can't keep my hands off sweet things,” you explained, winking at him and only adding to his embarrassment. Before the Antichrist could slide any further down your passenger seat and be swallowed whole by the ground, you opened his door and gestured for him to get out.

“Relax. You clearly don't know how to take a joke. Come on, I can smell the cakes from here.” You turned on your heels, cape dress swishing behind you as you made your way across the parking lot to the entry. You weren't quite sure your words were meant as a joke but that was a heart-to-heart you'd have with yourself later. The only sweet thing on your mind right now was cake and soda. The slam of the car door indicated that Michael had managed to detach himself from the red leather interior and he jogged up beside you, matching your stride.

“I hope you're hungry. I'm paying,” you said, smiling with glee and making Michael chuckle. Another thing to add to your slowly growing list of likes about the spawn of Satan, you noted to your dismay.

°°° You placed the fork neatly back onto the now empty plate, devoid of even the smallest crumb, that had held an entire ultimate red velvet cake, groaning blissfully. Eyes closed, you swallowed down the last bite. Opposite you, Michael had stopped eating his pasta dish some time ago. When you had said that there is nothing a cake couldn't fix, you had meant an entire cake after all.  The hunger you felt whenever you were in a human body was not easily satiated. Something that Michael or the waiter were clearly not prepared for. Both had been watching you for the last 5 minutes, jaws slack, as piece after piece traveled on the fork and into your mouth.

“That was positively delicious,” you hummed, casting a glance at Michael, fork suspended in mid-air.

“W-would you like anything else, Miss?” the waiter stuttered, taking your plate and admiring it as if it were a rare antiquity.

“Oh no, I think I've been quite naughty enough, don't you think?” you giggled, reaching for the Fanta and taking a large sip.

“Michael, you've hardly touched your food,” you noted, your voice rousing the young man out the trance your display of gluttony had placed him under. He cleared his throat, putting the fork down, adjusting his seat on the table.

“I'm not hungry anymore.”

“Oh, ok, well in that case we'd like the bill please,” you addressed the waiter with a satisfied grin, gulping down the last remnant of orange soda in your glass.

“Hey, you said you'd answer my questions! I knew you were a liar!” Michael intercepted, trying his best to keep his voice down.

“ I don't lie, Michael. You chose to watch me enjoy some cake instead of asking questions, didn't you?” you countered, your elbows coming to rest on the table, fingers intertwining. His anger and frustration bubbled to the surface once again. If he weren't the Antichrist, you were sure he would have a heart attack by the time he hit 30. His body tensed at your statement of truth, eyes squinting menacingly at you. Yet you were right, he had been so busy watching you, he had forgotten all about the myriad of questions buzzing in his mind like moths around a flame. His eyes fluttered shut briefly, gulping down the rage that threatened to burst out his chest. You watched as the blonde man tried to gain back his composure, your finger coming to run along the rim of the empty glass in front of you.

“Michael,” you demanded. His eyes opened to meet your own and you could see his restraint hanging by a thread in them. He did have a temper and you didn't want him setting fire to your favourite restaurant just yet.

“I'm in a good mood tonight. Instead of just answering your questions, I would like to show you something that will answer almost all of them. A deal is a deal,” you tried to reason. Michael mulled your words over in his head, sizing you up while doing so.

“Oh for goodness sake, Michael! I'm not trying to manipulate you. I'm trying to help you!” you exclaimed, exasperated at his hesitance and mistrust. While you knew his beginnings on this earth weren't exactly peppered in love, warmth and trust, you couldn't afford him seeing you as the enemy. Neither could he.

“If you don't believe me, take a peek. Make it last, this will be a one-off,” you encouraged him, an invisible finger beckoning him closer and allowing him limited access to your mind momentarily. Michael's mind pushed through your doors, grazing, flitting over millennia of memories before you let him look at your core.

No lies, Michael, you see?

You eased him out and sealed the doors shut tightly once again, leaning back in your chair, the restaurant coming back into focus.

“Here's your bill, Miss. Thank you for stopping by at the Cheesecake Factory tonight,” the waiter had brought you the bill. Wordlessly, you handed him a 100$ bill, nodding your head briefly at him to suggest that he could keep the change and waited for Michael's response.

“Ok,” Michael finally replied, rolling his head on his shoulders, resulting in a gratuitous cracking sound. You weren't sure if he was entirely satisfied with your show of goodwill. Not that it mattered.

“Let's take a walk,” you suggested, getting up without even the slightest hint of a stomach after decimating an entire cake. Michael's eyes never left you and the enigma you were to him just became a lot more enticing. A boyish smirk crossed his face as he stood up to walk in front of you. At the exit, he held open the door.

“My, my Michael. Didn't take you for a gentleman,” you chuckled, gracefully pushing past him and into the cool night air.

“My Ms. Mead would expect nothing less of me,” he offered, not bothering to hide his Cheshire cat smile. You had allowed him access to your mind and the things he saw, he desperately wanted to see again. You were like a box of confectioneries to him. For once in his life, his pride and ever-growing sense of entitlement took the backseat.  He felt like he had finally met someone of his own caliber and the feeling was exhilarating to him. You weren't his father but you were the next best thing and best of all, right in front of him.

Tag List:

@sexwon131​ @leatherduncan​ @rocketgirl2410​

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part II

Jordelia Fanfiction (kind of, I guess) 

(Author’s Notes:  If you haven’t read Part I, this will make sense, you’ll just have missed the heart break of Part I. If you want the heart break you’ll have to find it in my feed because I have no idea how to tag it here. Please enjoy... like, comment, reblog, and give me a follow for more Fanfiction Fridays.)

The fire crackled and stirred eating slowly away at the fresh log James had just applied to it. With half a bottle of brandy warming his belly, he sat in the plush velvet arm chair and stared at the bright crimson flame, until a familiar darkness slipped over him. 

As hard as he fought it wasn’t enough, when his eyes closed he was standing in a hallway, as black as a moonless night in a lampless London alleyway. A damp chill sent goose bumps riddled across his skin. When he breathed out, his breath was a white cloud of air. His heart beat heavily in his chest, pounding against his rib cage, threatening to burst. 

He was painfully aware of the fact that he was weaponless. 

But this was just a dream? Wasn’t it.

James. A distinctly female voice called to him from ahead. 

He reached out his hand into the darkness when he felt the sticky silk of a spider’s web coat his fingers. He ripped his hand back and wiped it on his trousers. The web was so thick that it bound his fingers together. 

“James?” A voice came from behind him this time. He could see the faintest glimmer of light echoing off of the walls of the tunnel. It flickered and blazed like the tip of a candle.

He recognized that voice. It was soft, sweet, warm, and full of memories.

“Daisy?” 

He started towards the light. His muscles felt like they were full of lead, as they often did in dreams. As if the mind was reminding the body that nothing around it was real. 

“James…” the voice hissed from behind him. “Come back to me, James.” 

“Grace?” He glared into the darkness, but he could see nothing.

“Help me,” the voice whimpered. “Won’t you help me, James. Don’t leave me.”

He looked behind him at the light, it was getting smaller and smaller. An intense and innate desire to run towards it nearly strangled him. 

But Grace, she needed him.

“How can I help you?” He moved forward into the darkness, away from the light, and stepped right into another web. It stuck to his face, his hair, his eyelashes making it difficult to open his eyes. His hands were coated in the silky mess. It climbed up his arms, covering the bare skin of his forearms, reaching up to his elbows.

He cried out, clawing away at it, but that only seemed to make the web multiply quicker.

“James, I’m scared.” 

“Tell me how to reach you,” he begged.

“Look up.”

He raised his eyes and from the darkness emerged Grace. She looked almost normal, her long silver blond hair hung loose down her shoulders. She had on a white cotton dress that covered nearly every inch of her. Descending upon him like an archangel, she was beautiful, porcelain and stone. As she got closer, the shadow of eight long spiked legs of a spider came from out from her back. He could see that the once silver of her eyes were now black and the points of her teeth as she grinned made him audibly gasp.

In shock or fear, he fell to the ground away from her and pushed himself back.

Grace reached for him, her fingers too long and her skin translucent.

He reached for his weapons belt but remembered that he didn’t have it. 

Not that he could hurt her. It was Grace. His Grace. Wasn’t it?

“What—“ He got to his feet and rose to face her. “What has happened to you?”

“I am as I always have been,” she hissed. “You just lack the eyes to see it.”

Grace loomed over him. Her feet were bare and the bottoms black.

A sharp, burning pain seared into the wrist that wore the silver bracelet she had given to him. When he looked down at it, it seemed to be glowing and infusing into his skin.

James grabbed at the bracelet to remove it.

“No!” Grace shouted, a thick stream of webs shot out from her hands that nearly struck James when a blade arched up and cut through it before it could.

Wrapped in a blaze of golden light as brilliant as the North Star, James caught a flash of crimson standing over him, blocking Grace. 

Cordelia.

***

“Cordelia!” 

James jolted awake in the exact same position that he’d fallen asleep in. A pair of familiar blue eyes hovered over him, followed by a cheeky grin that mirrored his own.

“While I have been known to fill out a bodice nicely,” said his father, Will, as he kneeled down in front of James, “I’m afraid it’s only me.”

“Father?” James looked frantically around the room and up at the ceiling expecting to see Grace hovering in the dark corners where the firelight couldn’t reach. The library was empty except for the two of them. 

James dragged a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, and slumped into the chair, exhausted and suddenly ill.

“Bad dream?” Will picked up the empty bottle of brandy from the floor and appraised it judgmentally. “Was it ducks? A giant worm? Gabriel?” 

“Spiders,” said James, unable to explain further.

Will nodded and wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders. It hadn’t occurred to James how naturally it fit there until now. His father’s arm used to be so much larger, longer, stronger compared to James’s narrow shoulders. It’s not that his father had changed, it’s that he had. Not a boy anymore, but not yet a man either. When he was a child, his father would wrap his arm around his neck and pull him in for an unwelcome kiss on the top of the head. Now, he welcomed it when his father did just that. 

“Is everything all right?” Will asked, releasing James again. “I saw Cordelia leave tonight. Your mother advised that we give you ‘the space’, but I find pestering to be a much more satisfying tactic when it comes to our children. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you remember when you told me that love is painful, but worth it?” Will nodded. “Is it always supposed to be painful?” James stared into the flames and remembered the curl that fell in Cordelia’s face right before she said goodbye. How he had wanted to reach out and brush it away and let his fingers linger on the soft warm skin of her cheek, riddled in freckles that he could only image she got from running in the sun of her home country. His body responded to the lack of her touch more than it ever responded to Grace. “Are there ever moments when it isn’t?”

“Yes,” said Will. “Of course. Love can feel like many things. It can feel like coming home after a long trip away. It can feel like all of your favorite things wrapped up into one thing. It can also be quiet and simple. An unconscious act, like holding hands or a quick glance in the person’s direction.”

“Are you talking about your love for mam?”

“I’m talking about my love for all of you,” said Will, with a gleam in his eye that hadn’t been there before. “What’s this about, Jamie? Do you fear you don’t love Miss Carstairs or that she doesn’t love you?”

Jamie let his head fall back against the chair and stared at the golden etchings in the crown molding of the ceiling. The way the paint caught the light made it look like the ceiling was full of stars. He didn’t know how he felt or what was real anymore. 

When he’d arrived at the Lightwood House, where Grace was in his aunt Cecily’s charge, he’d made up his mind to tell her that it was over between them. At least until his marriage to Cordelia was over, but then hadn’t he plotted on ways to extend it? The timing wouldn’t be right for a divorce. A year practically screamed a sham wedding. What of the children? Poor Matthew, Lucie, Anna, Christopher, Thomas… they’d have to pick sides. They’d choose Cordelia, of course. 

A year, as your wife, is not possibly long enough.

Hadn’t he thought as much only hours before seeing Grace.

Grace. He thought about the dream, when he was running towards the light, but his muscles felt weighted. When he saw Grace that night, his muscles had felt similar, as if he had no control over them. A dull, ache settled over his excited bones. She pulled at him as easily as the moon pulled the tide. 

Yet, when she tilted her head up for him to kiss her, it didn’t feel as if it were all together his own decision. When her hands stripped him of his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest underneath, it felt like strings were operating his hands and feet.

And wasn’t he almost grateful when Lucie and Cordelia had come through the door?

Cordelia, the way her eyes had expanded and the sharp inhale of breath. She’d even reached for the door to allow him and Grace their privacy. 

I’ll not be unfaithful to you, he’d promised. 

The chair slid when he pushed himself to his feet and walked the five paces to the fireplace and slammed his hands onto the mantle relishing in the pain he felt through his palms. 

“Jamie,” said Will from behind him, “Whatever it is son, you can talk to me.”

“She left me,” he said for the first time since it happened. “And I don’t think she’s coming back. What do I do? I don’t know what to do.”

“In my experience there is only one thing that you can do,” Will shrugged. “You go after her.”

“And then what?”

Will thought on it a moment, his eyes held James, and behind the icy blue of them and all of his sarcastic comments, Jamie knew that there was years of knowledge. “You tell her the truth.”

“What if I don’t know what the truth is?”

“If you don’t know then you should let her go.”

“I don’t want to lose her.” When he picked up his head, his father looked at him with a look that could be misunderstood as pity, but was actually understanding. “I don’t know that what I feel for her is love, but I know that I want her in my life.”

“As much as you desire Miss Blackthorn in your life?” 

More. He thought but cringed. 

“You said that Herondale men only love once!” Jamie raised his voice at his father in a way that he never had before. “I’ve been holding onto that my entire life. If I’m in love with Grace then I cannot possibly be in love with someone else.”

“Are you in love with Grace?”

“I—“ The answer seemed to want to come out of his throat on its own- like it was being pulled by an invisible thread. An instinct or a compulsion.

Yes! Of course he was. He always had been, but… 

Before he could answer, the door to the library burst open and entered a string of people lead by Tessa and followed by Lucie, Matthew, Magnus Bane, and a disgruntled Church who seemed to be judging James as harshly as everyone else.

“That thing right there!” Lucie pointed her index finger at James the way she used to do when they were children and she was casting the blame onto James for breaking a vase or lighting the couch on fire. 

It didn’t occur to him until Magnus reached for his wrist that Lucie was pointing at his bracelet. Magnus’s careful fingers sent a tingle up James’s skin as he examined the bracelet externally. His eyes, the irises horizontal slits instead of round, appraised the piece of jewelry as if it were a weapon that might spontaneously combust.

When he touched it, his eyes snapped closed. His eyes danced back and forth under his eyelids as if he were reading a scroll. The room was silent, except for Church cleaning himself on the chair he’d stollen back from James. Everyone was watching Magnus except for Will who was watching his son with intent. 

After what felt like several minutes, Magnus dropped James’s wrist and stepped away. His hand noticeably shaking.

“What is it Magnus?” Tessa asked, breaking the silence. “What did you see?”

“How long have you been wearing this tragic piece of jewelry?”

“Since I was thirteen?”

“How old are you now?” 

“Seventeen.”

Magnus looked surprised and looked down to count on his fingers as if to make sure James was telling him the truth. When he was satisfied, he dropped his hand again and looked back at James. 

“Is it enchanted?” Lucie asked. Her hair was coming loose from the delicate braid she’d kept it in. A leaf stuck out from behind her ear. James wondered how much of London she uncovered looking for Cordelia and felt a pain in his chest. 

“It is,” said Magnus before promptly slapping Will’s hand when he reached for his son’s wrist. “Don’t touch it. Unless you desire to fall madly, however blindly, in love with Grace Blackthorn.”

Will looked at Tessa. “I don’t prefer blondes.” 

Tessa tilted her head in annoyance, as if to say now was not the time, but James could see the blush rising out of her cheeks and felt like leaving the room. 

“It won’t matter what you prefer,” said Magnus, “you won’t have a choice. This bracelet contains a powerful dark magic that compels whoever wears it to obey the previous owner.”

Lucie said something that earned her a stern look from her parents. Matthew looked pleased. 

“Have you ever taken it off?” Magnus asked.

“Once,” said James.

“Why?”

“Because Grace asked for it back after she— she became engaged to someone else.” 

He wanted to step out of the room for a moment as everything started to piece together in his head. The bracelet was enchanted. Enchanted with magic. Enchanted with a spell that compelled the person wearing it to fall madly, blindly in love with its owner. Grace. 

None of it had been real?

But it felt real. 

Magnus cursed. “As I suspected.”

Tessa grabbed James’s arm. “What is it, Magnus? Can’t he just take it off now and you can disenchant it?”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were that simple?” Magnus took a long inhale. “No, I’m afraid he needs to be compelled to take it off by the owner, otherwise the spell will still be on James.”

“Why even wear the bracelet then?” Matthew, who had shared his thoughts countless times on the tackiness of the thing, believing himself that Jamie’s color was clearly gold. “If the spell is going to linger like a bad decision.”

“The bracelet makes the spell stronger,” Magnus explained. “I’m not sure what the repercussions of removing it from James would be? It could be normal. It could be devastating. Anyone care to find out?”

“Don’t you dare,” said Tessa, at the same time James answered, “Take it off.”

“James,” Tessa gasped. “Did you not hear what he just said? We don’t know what will happen.”

“I need to know.” He looked from his mother’s worried eyes to his father’s apprehensive gaze. “I need to know if any of it is real. I need to know that what Magnus is saying is true because if it is…”

I’ve just made a terrible mistake. 

“Look on the bright side,” said Matthew, now standing beside the fireplace, “at least you weren’t enchanted to be in love with Tatiana Blackthorn.”

[everything-laito]

(almost) My Complete Take on Laito’s Para-Selene CD

My 3 am drabble last night was well received, and honestly that pumps me up to do more stuff like this for the future! Currently, it is almost that hour again, almost 24 hours after that previous post. I kinda re read and re listened to some of the parts, and I just gotta say: god. damn. Laito’s character development over the past 8ish years has been such an absolute rollercoaster. 

I could go on and on about this drama cd, because so much is packed in it, so I apologize about the sheer length of it. Spoilers ahead for Laito’s Do-S cd, Para-Selene cd, and a little bit of his More Blood route. 

Flashback to Laito’s first drama cd (dear lord 8 years of this man), the “Do-S” one. It gave a very surface level, very “façade heavy” Laito. He’s unpredictable. Sadistic (duh). Totally dismissive of any feeling the listener (you) had for his own pleasure. He bases his judgement on reactions. He’s incredibly perceptive and can practically read your mind; and on top of that, fear isn’t really hard to hide if you’re in a situation like this. Obviously, he gets off on you detesting his actions for his sadistic fun.

Now with Para-Selene. This drama cd is an amalgamation of many pivotal moments in Laito’s drama cd history, including the Do-S cd and the More Blood CD (however I don’t know what the room in track 4 was supposed to reference?). Basically, the cd starts out with Laito and you as a pretty close couple, who has already experienced and developed with one another. Then, you lose all your memories due to the “Para-Selene” illness, and Laito takes it upon himself to take advantage of this. He initially was enjoying “reliving” your fearful expressions. (thank you @tabooneko​ for the translations!)

“I haven’t seen it for so long. Bitch-chan who hates it is the cutest.” 

I guess this is Laito thinking that he hasn’t changed. He believes he misses you fearing him, and holding such power over you. Throughout the next track, he’s still enjoying himself, but begins to realize that he’s changed. 

“Bitch-chan, enough with your innocent act. Enjoy it with me already. I guess it’s obvious that your old self hated it. But you know what? That’s enough. I’m already satisfied. I had a feeling that we lacked stimulation lately, so I was excited about you hating it, but I’m done now. After all, if you’re not my normal Bitch-chan, I can’t sincerely enjoy it.”

This basically shows how Laito’s typical perverse façade is crumbling due to him experiencing actual love for the first time. He then goes on to say, “Why do you say I look sad?” and admits that he’s lonely because you “easily forgot about him.” Laito admitting his true feelings is quite something. This man has so many double meanings up his ass that it’s so hard to figure out what he actually means. But the easy sincerity in his voice caught me by surprise. I personally say that it would be easier for him to talk to someone (you, the “fake ‘bitch-chan’”) honestly like that, since it’s kind of a “I got nothing to lose” situation. I do believe Laito is embarrassed by his feelings. 

“If my old self saw me now, he would be disappointed.”

MAN, this one kicked me in the gut. This just further supports how he’s embarrassed of feeling like this, and I’d go as far to say that he feels guilty about it. He kind of wanted to be like his “old self” in the second track emulating his Do-S cd situations right? He kind of forced himself to I’d say, because he got satisfied really quickly. And we know that Laito’s not an easy person to satisfy this quickly. It shows that he’s changed and developed. 

What really caught my interest in track 4 is that Laito still calls you “stubborn” or “conceited,” similarly to what he does even when he’s got the façade pulled over. I’d say that those terms are true to his self, and I believe he pulls those phrases out when you say something that either surprises him and catches him off guard. Laito is a very calculating person; incredibly perceptive and cunning. Interestingly enough, he’s not that very noticeable to change in my opinion. I guess it might come with living so long, but in this track, you say things that give him the feeling of acceptance.  

“Why are you trying to accept me? You lost all your memories, so why do you act like you can see through everything? …Why do you eat your heart out? There is no reason for you to suffer. I’m the one… who is suffering. That’s right. I’m suffering. It hurts so much. I want you to love me… from the bottom of your heart.”

Good god, what this boy really wants is to be accepted for who he is. He’s been molded into “Laito the pervert” as we all know him from good for nothing Cordelia, and how he’s been treated throughout his life. Again, the fact that he’s being this upfront with his feelings is huge improvement. He’d usually dismiss his own emotions. God, remember how confused he was when he cried at the ending of the More Blood game? (Ecstasy 09 I believe it was) Him crying in itself was huge development, but he’s been getting more emotional intelligent over time. But, he just wants to be accepted for who he is: the Laito without a façade. 

We know Laito’s a flawed character. All the diaboys are, obviously. But Laito’s deep and complex character has always intrigued me, and the way he gets so excited when you get your memories back in track 5 is (really adorable) and sure he kinda switches to a semi-façade Laito, but I do believe he is sincere about his feelings (like wanting to make out on the couch,,,, ohhhh Laito):

“I never want to be forgotten again. You can dominate me in other ways, okay? *kiss*”

I’m not even going to TOUCH on that second sentence in that quote just yet. That’s for an entirely other Laito analysis rant post. 

Hey if you made it this far, thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your take on this cd, or just any comments in general. Ciao! 

-Corn

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: May You Always Be Satisfied

Ahhh, so.. This is the third part to these two asks [ here ] and [ here ] and after this, there’s at least one more part. We’re still moderately angsty here, folks. Maybe the last part will be better? Let’s all just like.. hope or some shit.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE. AND THE HELP IN REALIZING WHAT THIS IDEA COULD ACTUALLY ADD UP TO. HUGE HUGS FRIEND.

Tag Squad:

@kyleoreillysknee @rampagewriting @writertoo18 @thatnerdwriter @wrestlingismyguiltypleasure @chasingeverybreakingwave @unabashedwrestlefics @wardl0w @missjenniferb @adampage @cabotcoves @cowboyshit @dietwrestling

[ tag list doc ] [ masterlist ] [ keep ‘em coming - they’re super fun ]

“ I mean, he looks happy. That’s all I want for him. What was I supposed to do? Throw myself on the floor, grab his ankles and tearfully beg him to stay?” I half questioned, offering a shrug to my neighbor Cordelia as she poured us both more wine. The television set was stopped on AEW in the background and even though I know I should’ve changed the channel when I heard his theme hit, somehow I just.. Couldn’t.

It was the first time I’d seen him in a little over 3 months now. And seeing him slink down the ramp was like ripping a bandage off a healing wound only to have that bandage catch halfway and bring up scar tissue with it.

I may be fooling everyone else at this point. I may seem as if I’m doing fine but deep down? Completely the opposite. In reality, I’m a breath away from breaking down at any second. There’s just so much shit I haven’t really… Dealt with.

I’ve just been ignoring it. He made his choice. I didn’t try to fight harder. I just let him go because I didn’t want to settle for being someone’s silver. 

“You realize you’re not hiding just how bad you’re taking this, right?” Cordelia’s statement had me glancing at her as I shrugged and sipped the red wine in my glass. At first, I tried to argue back and insist I was, but instead, my shoulders dropped and I sighed. 

“It’s the only option I have. He’s the one who left. He’s the one who said things weren’t working between us.”

Cordelia eyed me and sipped her own wine, going quiet for a few minutes. Then she spoke up again. “Which totally does not track with the man I met at that barbecue he came to with you. He looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky and told the stars to shine. It just doesn’t make any sense, that’s all I’m saying.”

My fingers curled over the edge of the kitchen island between us and I finished off my glass, reaching across the island for the bottle. She held it out of my reach and eyed me. I pouted at her. 

“All I’m saying here, Veronica.. It’s entirely possible that that pushy asshole he’s friends with had something to do with this.”

“That makes no sense. Adam can think for himself.”

“But maybe he’s gotten so used to going along with what everyone else pushes him to think and do that he’s forgotten how. Maybe the guy said something and Adam took it to an extreme. C’mon, you’ve said yourself that you didn’t like the way the guy constantly tried to undermine and ignore Adam.”

“Yeah, well if that’s the case, then I can’t be with him either. So either way, this is still an unsolvable dilemma. I’m not going to settle for being someone’s second choice. And I’m not going to sit back quietly and watch someone I love let himself be held back by so called friends who think they know best, either. We’re at an impasse.” I frowned to myself and picked up the remote, turning off the television, which only earned me a pout from Cordelia.

“What?” I shrugged off her pout and took a few more  sips of my wine as I scrolled Instagram.

“I was watching that, ma’am. For my own scientific research.”

I snorted in laughter at what she said and looked up. “Does his name happen to be Wardlow?”

“ Hey, I can’t help it I have amazing taste.”

“Yeah, no. The verdict is still out there, Cordy.” I teased gently, sighing to myself as soon as I saw a post from Adam’s instagram story. I let myself linger on it a little bit. I tried to just.. Remain neutral.

But I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I closed out of the app hurriedly, plasting the best fake smile on that I could as I looked up at her. “Either way, I’m going to be fine. I’m handling it.”

“Woman, you are ignoring the hell out of this. You loved him. Now stop being stubborn and at least allow yourself to own up to that.”

“You’re not gonna charge me for the therapy session, right doc?” I joked and she grumbled, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. 

“What I will do is insist that if you’re just hell bent on denying, you wipe your life of all traces that he was involved in it. Otherwise, you’re never going to not be miserable.”

“Already done. Do you see any pictures of us around here anymore?” I swept my arms wide, gesturing to my small apartment. Cordelia looked around and then shook her head, giving me one of her wise old lady looks. “You can get rid of the pictures, change the bedsheets, change your hair color and toss out all his old shirts he left behind… But you can’t make yourself forget him. Take it from me… You need to actually deal with this. And stop serial dating on Tinder. That’s where the serial killers all hide.”

“Bye, Cordie.” I chirped, laughing to myself as I shut the door behind her and leaned against it, taking a deep breath as my eyes wandered my apartment.

Okay, so maybe she’s right. Maybe I can’t totally forget him, but… I’m going to have to find some way to stop letting little moments of doubt where I want to reach out creep in. Because he ended things with me. He’s the one who couldn’t get over an ex girlfriend. I wasn’t ever going to be enough for him.

And yet, even as I stood there, thinking about it all, I still found myself wondering… What if I was completely wrong?

“I have got to just get over this.” I grumbled to myself as I made my way to bed, falling face first into it.

--

“You do realize that Matt’s just the kind of jackass who stirs shit up, right man?” Mox spoke up from beside me, sitting down the glass of bourbon he’d been nursing most of the night. I shrugged and sighed, barely managing to keep my jaw unclenched.

He wasn’t exactly telling me something I wasn’t aware of… Didn’t mean I fucking wanted to hear it. I knew Matt was stirring the pot when he told me he’d run into Veronica again. The sumbitch was full on shit eating grin as he told me that he heard it going around that she’s been on a different date every night for the past few weeks now. 

And damn it, despite trying my best not to let it get in my head, it got in my head and it got in deep.

“He really told ya girl about the ex?” Mox shook his head, letting out a low whistle as he followed up, “What’d he say?”

“Probably what I let slip about wondering if I was still in love with her.”

“Goddamn. Page, you’re too fuckin nice for your own good. If it were me?” Mox pointed to himself and took a sip from the glass, “I’d have beaten his ass all over the place.”

“ Why bother? He had a point and he wasn’t lyin. I honestly thought I might be in love with my ex at the time. She’d come back, she was callin and texting me all the time again. Got me thinkin about how much we did go through together… Missin her a little.”

“And now, dumb fucker?”

I glared at him before answering. “Now I just feel empty. And it hurts like hell because she didn’t even put up a fight when I broke things off between us. Hell, I’m disgusted with myself now, actually. I let everybody else dictate what I did with my own life… Again.”

“Yeah, that’s a habit of yours, man. Not a good one either. What you gotta do is say fuck ‘em. Fuck ‘em all. If you wanna fix this? It’s on you to fix. She shouldn’t have had to beg ya not to end things. If ya even thought for a second ya were about to fuck up, maybe ya shouldn’t have ended shit.” Mox grumbled, glancing up at the MMA fight we’d been watching on the tv. “But no. No, ya really had to go and let Omega and Jackson’s bitch asses dictate your move. Play into their hands.”

“This isn’t helpin, Mox.”

“You said you wanted to be around honest people, man. I’m bein honest. You’re a fuckin idiot, okay? And if you think it’s over, you’re an even bigger one. Because man,” he chuckled and took a longer sip. “If you really want her back? You gotta make it happen. Stop sittin around and whinin, holy shit. Step the fuck up and prove her wrong.” 

I eyed him, waiting on him to explain.

“She probably thinks ya never gonna love her like ya did that ex. And the longer ya sit here, drownin it in alcohol, the more she’s gonna believe she’s right on that. Nobody likes feelin second best, man. Does it fuckin feel good when Jackson and Omega do that shit to you?”

“Fuck no.” I answered, beginning to see where Mox was going with this rollercoaster of a pep talk.

The wheels were turning in my mind.

“Then don’t fuckin let it happen with her. If you think you’re feelin bad right now, try imaginin how she feels, man.” Mox finished off his drink and rose from the stool, nodding. “Gonna go out for a smoke. You.. Think about what I fucking said. Got it, man?”

And think about it, I did.

I know by now, no thanks to Matt, that whoever she was with that day I did go to her and try to make this right… They’re not a thing anymore. So, maybe…

Maybe it’s not too late.

[thomastair]

How about lucelia with 24?

lucelia—“you’re trembling.”

Waking up to greet the sun.

But I don’t know where you’re hiding.

I saw you once.

Your face a tint of gold.

I’m kicking up a dust storm.

Digging up a love lost.

Do you know if I’m still chasing ghosts.

Cordelia.

Cordelia.

Cordelia. Cordelia. Cordelia. Cordelia. CordeliaCordeliaCordeliaCordel—

Lucie threw her pen down in frustration, drawing her hand over her face in exhaustion, paying no attention to the ink smearing like a faded bruise over the bridge of her nose.

Her head hurt. Her hand was cramped. And she was thirsty.

Lucie stood from the window seat she’d been curled on, stretching her back with a satisfying crack, and went to grab her glass of water from her bedside table. It was very unfair, she thought, that not even a week after her parabatai ceremony scalding fever had decided to make its sudden reappearance in the London shadowhunter community. James of course had already been sick with it before so he didn’t have to stay inside alone. He was free to roam the city and make conversation with whomever he pleased. In fact he and Cordelia had just gone on patrol together the night before.

Lucie tried to ignore the pang of jealousy that went through her, as sharp and sudden as a stab wound.

It was, after all, not James’ fault that Lucie had been in love with Cordelia since they were children. Not James’ fault that Lucie was now sworn to be strictly platonic with Cordelia for the rest of time despite nearly fainting every time she was training with Cordelia and found herself pinned to the ground by Cordelia’s strong brown arms as Cordelia grinned down at her with sweat gleaming at her temples, her chest heaving from exertion.

For some reason Lucie had thought unrequited love would be less painful. She had sworn to be Cordelia’s parabatai in the hopes that whatever bond forged between them in the ceremony would override Lucie’s irrational daydreams. She had not anticipated that being parabatai would make it worse.

She rather thought she was starting to understand the agony that was written into her favorite books.

Lucie sighed and threw herself dramatically on the bed, muffling her scream of anger in her pillow.

Maybe quarantine would be good for her. Maybe quarantine would give her a much needed break from writing Cordelia’s beauty into her novel every time she watched Cordelia do anything. The last time Lucie had taken tea with Anna and Cordelia the urge to scribble down every detail of Cordelia’s pursed lips as she sipped from her cup had been almost overwhelming. Lucie was half convinced that Anna had puzzled out the situation concerning Lucie’s fancy and as a result she was now too embarrassed to meet Anna’s eyes at family events.

Anna probably would have been willing to help. She probably could have given Lucie all sorts of advice if Lucie was in love with any other girl. Lucie had opened her mouth to ask Anna exactly how it was that two women had relations —purely because of her literary interest in the topic of course—and had always decided against it. Anna wasn’t exactly a woman either after all and Lucie had no idea how it might be different for herself. In the end her questions had always led to awkward silences while Cordelia, oblivious to Lucie’s pining, inquired after Ariadne, who Anna always liked to talk about more than anything.

Lucie wished she could talk to Anna now but her quarantine made it impossible. It was so very lonely, this agreement between herself and the rest of the world to stay separate. Lucie didn’t know how she was going to bear the next two weeks.

Two weeks without seeing Cordelia’s eyes or Cortana strapped to Cordelia’s back. Things Lucie hadn’t realized had become commonplace to her everyday life until she no longer saw anything but the walls of her bedroom and the skyline from her window.

Just as she was thinking about going back to her seat by the window and taking up her pen again in order to record her inner turmoil, there was a clatter against the glass as a small pebble rattled the pane.

Lucie jumped up, throwing her window open just as another pebble flew up, narrowly missing her face.

She let out a squawk and looked down to see Cordelia on cobblestones below. She was wearing a dress that was the deep green color of moss that clung to her in all the right places. Lucie silently cursed Anna for ordering dresses that actually suited Cordelia's skin tone. While Lucie could appreciate the gesture of camaraderie it did make it somewhat difficult to focus and now she spent entire conversations with Cordelia constantly flustered, which was very out of character for her.

Cordelia put a finger to her lips and lifted the grappling hook she’d brought with her. Lucie backed away from the window, hastily glancing at herself in the mirror that hung opposite her. She was wearing nothing but a thin nightgown she hadn’t thought to change. Her mousey brown hair was mussed and she had an ink stain on her cheekbone and another on the side of her nose that contrasted nicely with the bags under her eyes.

She made a frantic attempt to flatten her hair as the grappling hook latched onto the windowsill behind her with a thunk. A moment later Cordelia was climbing into Lucie’s room like the prince in Rapunzel. Lucie hoped desperately that her composure was passably calm.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as Cordelia straightened up and turned to face her. Lucie had always been short but she was always particularly aware of it when her eyes were level with Cordelia’s lips.

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. Lucie forced herself to draw her gaze away from her cupid’s bow and make eye contact. “You didn’t possibly think I would leave you quarantined alone, did you?”

Lucie distracted herself by crossing over to close the window, fingers scrambling in the latch. “It’s not nearly exciting enough to warrant your wanting to stay with me.”

Cordelia bent to unbutton her boots, her fingers moving swiftly. Lucie looked away as the hem of her dress rode up, cheeks growing warm. “If you must know I’d much rather be bored with you than go on another patrol.”

Lucie’s heart lurched. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

Cordelia frowned as she unstrapped Cortana from her back, brow furrowing adorably. “Why wouldn’t I mean that?”

Too late Lucie realized her words had sounded like an accusation. She shrugged and sat down on the bed. Her legs felt weak.

She barely heard Cordelia cross the room to stand in front of her. Lucie could see her stockinged feet pressing indentations into the thick carpet.

Cordelia’s hands came up to grip Lucie’s shoulders, her touch sending pinpricks of fire to the pit of Lucie’s stomach from where her fingers pressed against the thin material of her nightgown. “You’re trembling.”

Cordelia’s voice was low. Lucie took a deep breath to steady herself and met Cordelia’s eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat. Cordelia’s were wide and dark, her lips slightly parted. All at once Lucie felt the loneliness affected on her by the quarantine come crashing down at once. She’d always been a social person and the past few days of minimal contact had been eating away at her energy. Being around Cordelia was like holding a bright candle cupped between her palms, something that warmed her and also made the tips of her fingers tingle.

She leaned into the pressure of Cordelia’s hands on her shoulders. Her mouth was suddenly very dry and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, not missing how Cordelia’s gaze wandered. Lucie froze, almost daring to hope but already feeling herself veering off course into an unknown, but altogether not unpleasant territory.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to come see me.” Lucie murmured, not wanting Cordelia to move her hands from where they rested. “You could infect me you know.”

Cordelia’s eyebrows went up. “You want me to leave?” she didn’t move back though, her breath gently moving a strand of her red hair that had come out of its chignon.

“No! I never want you to leave!” Lucie reached up a trembling hand to push the hair behind Cordelia’s ear. She told herself that it wouldn’t matter if Cordelia flinched away, but she couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that escaped her when Cordelia stayed still, eyes dark and shining with an emotion Lucie couldn’t exactly puzzle out.

The silence stretched between them a silence Lucie was too afraid to break, lest she shatter the moment that seemed so achingly fragile to her. She thought frantically to her writing. How would she have written this scene if she were a character in her own story? Tragically her mind went blank as Cordelia finally moved her hand to fiddle with the lace collar of Lucie’s nightgown.

Cordelia took a deep breath. Lucie tried not to stare at the rise and fall of her chest above the elegant cut of her dress’s neckline. “Can I kiss you?”

Lucie saw stars. Without answering she threw herself upward, wrapping her arms around Cordelia’s neck, standing on tiptoe so that their noses were almost touching. Cordelia gasped in surprise but her arms wound around Lucie’s waist, fingers pressing the small of Lucie’s back. “I thought you’d never ask.” Lucie breathed.

Cordelia gave a surprised laugh and pulled her close, pressing their lips together. She was soft and warm and as Lucie’s eyes closed she inhaled the smell of Cordelia’s soap that still clung faintly to her hair and skin. She swayed, and their kiss deepened, the space between their mouths creating a heat that Lucie had never experienced before.

It was a little awkward at first, neither of them being experienced in the matters of kissing. Their noses bumped together and they giggled, the scrape of Cordelia’s teeth against her lower lip making Lucie pull her even closer. They were clinging to each other with a desperation now, Lucie’s hands winding into Cordelia’s red hair, pulling it down from its chignon so that it twined around her wrists as she caressed Cordelia’s face, running her fingers over the arch of Cordelia’s cheekbones, her fingers cold and pale looking in contrast to Cordelia’s warm brown skin.

Getting tired of standing on her tiptoes Lucie dropped down to press a line of kisses down Cordelia’s throat, rewarded by the sharp inhale of breath from the taller girl. In a sudden flurry of movement Cordelia hooked her arms under Lucie’s legs, lifting her up. Lucie gasped as the skin of Cordelia’s wrists pressed against her bare thighs. She wrapped her legs around Cordelia’s waist, suddenly looking down into the other girl’s dark eyes. Her heart was beating very fast.

“Is this okay?” Cordelia whispered, her breath warm when it brushed Lucie’s skin. “I know this isn’t exactly the height of propriety.” She bit her lip, her perfect teeth making small crescents in the sensitive flesh.

Lucie laughed, warm and light and happy. “I would gladly let you ruin my reputation any day.”

She bent to kiss her again.

[fanfics-andstuff]

The Cordelia Pamphlet

In the early morning of the year of 2005 whereas people all over Camp Jupiter and New Rome were reading a four-page pamphlet. A few people were gossiping about the four-page pamphlet until it became a spread news all over the camp and city. Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano (who was the protégé of Praetor Lyria) and Flint Donovan Vance (Current male Praetor) were reading this four-page pamphlet in anger but also in pain for their closest friend in Camp Jupiter. Lyria Eclair Graham de Vanily and Echo Olympia Butterfly were also reading this terrifying pamphlet that was spreading like wildfire throughout the camp and city in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Both girls were afraid of Octavian Marcus Tabullo's reaction once they were reading it. They quickly packed their clothes and light traveled (Lyria) and love traveled (Echo) straight to San Francisco, California. Meanwhile, Octavian locked himself inside his office in silence where Reyna and Flint heard him scribbling from paper to paper with his pen. So far nothing unlike outside in the city. Bernice Gonzalez, Emilie Jade, and Nala Bank were grinning devilishly as they spread the news of the pamphlet.

The Cordelia Pamphlet!

Bernice/Emilie/Lyria:

Have you read this?!

Nala/Bernice/Emilie:

May Sophia had a torrid affair

And she wrote it down right there!

Emilie:

Highlight!

Bernice/May:

“The charge against me is a connection with one,

Daisy Cordelia!

For purposes of Improper Speculations!

My real crime is amorous connection

With her husband

For a considerable time

With her knowing

Consents!”

Nala/Emilie/Bernice:

DAMN!

 People all over the camp and city were reading the four-page pamphlet in shock as May reveals that she had an affair with Phoenix Cordelia. This young Cordelia man was known for being a notorious liar and a player all over Camp Jupiter and New Rome. He was also known for sleeping with many men wives in order to obtain high payment. Madeline Sophia was glad to cooperate with Daisy Cordelia in order to pay almost two thousand in cash to keep the affair a secret. Though the secret didn’t last long when Emilie and her two sidekicks (Nala and Bernice) accuse Octavian's girlfriend of embezzling money from the Nutella Company, which was the main source of money for the Romans. Though that wasn’t the case so instead May decided to reveal her affair on a four-page pamphlet before letting it be published for the entire city and camp to read with their own eyes. Emilie couldn’t think that her dream had finally come true. The girlfriend of Lyria and Echo's right-hand man, has suddenly fallen down by her own doom. Lyria was the daughter of Apollo, Princess of Olympus, the Sea, and the Underworld, Ghost Queen, Princess of the Shadows, Heir to Jupiter, Juno, Neptune, Ceres, Mars, Minerva, Apollo, Diana, Vulcan, Venus, Mercury, Bacchus, Vesta, and Pluto, ex-Centurion of the First Cohort, Praetor of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, Friends to Major and Minor Gods, The Three Fates, and Thanatos. Echo was the daughter of Venus, Centurion of the First Cohort and the right-hand woman of Lyria. Both girls were Friends to Chaos, Top Commanders of the Chaos Army, Lyria the First and Echo the Second.

May/Emilie:

“I have frequently meetings with him

Most of them at my own cohort”

Bernice:

At her own cohort?!

Nala:

At her own cohort

Bernice/Nala

DAMN!!

May/Emilie:

“Mr. Tabullo with his closest friends

Being absent on a visit to the Carribean”

Nala/Reyna:

No!

Emilie/Nala/Bernice: 

Have you read this?!

The Venus and Apollo descendants were reading the four-page pamphlet themselves. Tears were streaming down their faces as Reyna and Flint comforted all of them with loving open arms. They glared at May for this cruel betrayal that she brought upon her own family. The children nearly broke down in Reyna and Flint's arms as they escorted them away from the crowd that formed between May and Emilie along with Nala and Bernice. The three women continue to spread the pamphlet along with the crowd as they booed at her. Rose Sophia couldn’t even look at her own full, older in the eyes ever again.

Rose and the other Venus descendants were escorted as well by Reyna, who glared at May with pure hatred. She couldn’t believe that May could just stab Octavian in the back, in the end, she did. Reyna feared for Octavian's mental state, wondering if he was doing something that Reyna feared the most. Echo arrived first because Lyria was intercepted by Mercury to be at Olympus for an emergency meeting about the affair. Echo and Reyna escorted the Venus and Apollo descendants to their cohorts, before rushing towards Octavian’s office in the First Cohort. Echo wanted to beat the schist out of her sister because of her fatal flaw; Excessive Wrath, but thought better of it. Octavian needed his closest friends.

Meanwhile, May looked down in shame as everybody continued booing at her nonstop. Not to mention that Emilie, Nala, and Bernice kept on taunting her as May finally came crashing down by her own hands.

Emilie:

Well, she’s never gonna be Praetor now

Nala/Bernice:

Never gonna be Praetor now

Emilie:

Well, she’s never gonna be Praetor now

Nala/Bernice:

Never gonna be Praetor now

Emilie:

Well, she’s never gonna be Praetor now

Nala/Bernice:

Never gonna be Praetor now

Emilie:

That’s one less thing to worry about

Emilie/Nala/Bernice:

That’s one less thing to worry about

Emilie, Nala, and Bernice cruelly laughed at May in the face as people kept on speaking ill at her. Everyone in Camp Jupiter and New Rome that knew Octavian personally as good friends nearly wanted to smack the young Spanish-Australian girlfriend in the face but they held back. Soon the crowd began moving away from May, who assumed that they had enough poking their fingers at her for the humiliation that she caused for herself and Octavian. Though the crowd didn’t move away but instead made room, the people of Camp Jupiter and New Rome had made room for their Praetor, friend, and sister. Lyria, who made her way through the crowd before staring at May directly in the eyes.

Lyria:

I came as I soon heard

Emilie:

What!?

May:

Lyria

Emilie/Nala/Bernice:

All the way from Scotland?!

Damn!!!

May:

Lyria, thank the Gods

Someone understands what I’m

Struggling here to do

Lyria grabbed May harshly by the collar of her purple SPQR shirt as she tightly held her with just one hand. May feared for her life at the moment as the Princess of Olympus and many other titles aggressively grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. Glaring deeply into her frightened eyes before Lyria harshly whispers into her ear.

Lyria:

I’m not here for you

“Ooooh” the people whisper in shock as they hear Lyria whisper in such an aggressive way where they didn’t interfere with her and May. Bernice looked away from the unfortunate conversation while Emilie and Nala watched this incident with pure satisfaction. They chuckled devilishly underneath their breath just waiting for the perfect that May Sophia deserves for not only confessing she had an affair behind Octavian’s back but also revealing it for the entire city and camp. This is just a perfect day for Emilie Jade as she slowly watches her enemy slowly falling down.

Everyone knows that if you mess with Lyria, you will suffer immensely. Lyria held more than 1% of what a regular Roman descendant can ever have. She could kill anyone in a second or less with her bare hands, or she could use her powers and kill you in the slowest, painful death. Lyria has the Gods; Major and Minor, Three Fates, Chaos, and Thanatos behind her back. Let’s not forget the entire Chaos Army, which are personally trained by Chaos, Lyria, and Echo. 

Lyria:

I know my own brother like I know my own mind

You will never anyone as loyal nor as kind

I love my brother more than my own life

I will choose his happiness over mine every time

Lyria roughly pushed May away from her before raising her fist in the air. Bernice closed her eyes as she heard a crack echo in her ears. Knowingly that her ex-cohort mate's long time friend has punched her greatest enemy.

Everybody else watches with pleasure as Lyria punches May hard twice in the nose and stomach. May fell down to the ground wondering if maybe somebody will have sympathy in their hearts and willing to scold Lyria for punching her. Though none of them as they insisted that May Sophia had it coming.

Lyria:

Put what we had aside

I’m standing at his side

You could never be satisfied

Gods, I hope you’re satisfied

Lyria cold-heartedly left the poor woman in their regular SPQR purple shirt and leggings helpless who was crying on the ground. Tears were streaming down May’s face as she held her bleeding nose and hurting stomach that stung greatly in pain. Everybody began walking away from her but Emilie kept glaring at her with pure satisfaction now she saw May Sophia fallen down into the pitch black darkness of her failure. Causing her reputation to be ruined in New Rome and Camp Jupiter.

Emilie/Nala/Bernice:

Well, she’s never gon’ be Praetor now

Well, she’s never gon’ be Praetor now

Well, she’s never gon’ be Praetor now

That’s one less thing to worry about.

May:

At least I was honest with our money!

(Well, she’s never gon’ be Praetor now)

At least I was honest with our money!

(Well, she’s never gon’ be Praetor now)

At least I was honest with our money!

(Well, she’s never gon’ be Praetor now)

Emilie/Nala/Bernice:

That’s one less thing to worry about!

The Cordelia Pamphlet

Have you read this?

Have you ever seen somebody ruin their own life?

Octavian Tabullo had locked himself in his office as he read the four-page pamphlet. Tears were streaming down his face whereas Reyna, Flint, Echo, and Lyria were banging the door harshly. They attempted to open the door but as expected Octavian has a habit of locking his doors while working. Though this time they knew that Octavia isn’t working at all but instead they know that Octavian is crying in pain, anger, and humiliation by the thought that his beloved May has cheated on him. In which he and everybody else in New Rome and Camp Jupiter never expected May to do such a notorious act but in the end she did. Cruelly stabbing Octavian in the back nonstop. If it were Camp Half-Blood Lyria and Echo would have broken through the door or teleported in the room using their strength or powers, but it was different at Camp Jupiter and New Rome because the doors were enchanted to only be forced open only by an immortal and that there were double doors.

Tears continue streaming down Octavian’s face before Lyria and Echo somehow manage to get the double doors to open. Everyone looked at Octavian in relief as they saw him still alive and well. Although, Lyria would know if Octavian was really dead or not. 

The Puerto Rican girl hugged the freckled-acne scarred-tan American, who broke down inside her arms. Reyna and the rest did their best to console Octavian's broken heart.

 Emilie/Nala/Bernice:

Her poor ‘Tavian

Author's Note:

Emilie, Nala, Bernice, Reyna, Flint, Phoenix, Daisy, Lyria, Echo, and Octavian are part of the First Cohort.

Echo is the Echo from the myths. She was adopted by Aphrodite. Therefore, Echo has ADHD and Dyslexia.

Lyria and Echo has been at Camp Jupiter and New Rome since they were 5 years old. Both girls swore on the River Styx not to tell either side, until both Romans and Greeks knew of each other’s existence. 

Lyria has been Praetor since she was 9 years old (she’s 11 in this story), Flint has been Praetor when he was 10 (in this story he’s 13), Echo has been Centurion since she was also 9 years old (she’s 11 in this story), Reyna had been at camp for 3 months (she’s 13 years old), Octavian has been Centurion when he was 10 (in this story he’s 15), May, Emilie, Nala, and Bernice are also 15 years old. Daisy is 25 years old and Phoenix is 26 years old.

Lyria and Echo are both in Gryffindor. Both were almost sorted into the other houses; Lyria in Hufflepuff more and Echo in Ravenclaw, and Slytherin because Greek demigods are cunning and sly. But considering their pasts and present, the Sorting Hat sorted them both in Gryffindor.

Emilie Jade daughter of Cupid, Bernice Gonzalez daughter of Mercury, Nala Bank daughter of Trivia, Lyria Graham de Vanily daughter of Apollo (Greek side, witch), Flint Vance son of Victoria, May Sophia daughter of Venus, Daisy Cordelia legacy of Eris, Pheonix Cordelia son of Fortuna, Echo Butterfly (ex-nymph, adopted by Aphrodite, blessed by Hecate for Wizarding Magic)

[diveronaevents]

DATE: March 26th

TIME: 10:45 PM

LOCATION: The Cathedral

TRIGGERS: murder, violence, gore, torture, fire 

With the reveal of Cosimo’s gruesome display, the hall fell silent. For a moment, all anyone could hear was the rattling of their shared breaths. VIOLA hung at death’s door, and in the suspended animation of the room, her pulse beat ever faster -- too weak to lift her own head. 

MERCUTIO and OTHELLO forgot each other entirely, though for very different reasons. 

The jolt of confusion felt by OTHELLO was too overwhelming for him. He had been betrayed once before, after all, but never had he been forced to watch his wife bleed out before him and call it a celebration. Feeling sick for too many reasons to count, he began to back away, wanting nothing to do with the fight or the revelry any longer. Emotions would have to be sorted out later; for now, the dramatics offered him a cover for escape, so long as he did so quietly and inconspicuously. He was making his way toward the door when he spotted IAGO, limp and lifeless beneath HAMLET’s distracted form, and changed trajectory, ensuring his friend’s safety as he dragged him away from the scene before them. HAMLET let him go, already moving to the front of the crowd.

MERCUTIO stepped forward on instinct, half-crazed ideas about freeing their friend at the forefront of their mind. They were joined by HAMLET, with GONERIL reluctantly coming to stand at her captain’s side. CORDELIA remained frozen in place, horrified at what she was seeing, yet incapable of acting either for or against it. Only when she saw the distinctive tattoo on VIOLA’s ruined arm did she move, just one step forward, to at last take in the face of the woman who’d tortured her. A sense of satisfaction briefly stole over her features, but it was gone before anyone took notice.

The Capulet soldiers in the wings flocked out, all part of Cosimo’s design, and began to drag the unconscious members of their faction away. LADY MACBETH, EDMUND, MACBETH, and LAVINIA were all hauled out of the cathedral to receive additional medical attention, with HIPPOLYTA among those using the Montague horror as a distraction to tend to their wounded. The remainder were to stay and witness the show, for they knew all too well what consequences would follow if Cosimo’s plans did not receive proper attention.

TAMORA cared little for the girl on stage, so she had no issue continuing a fight that everyone else seemed to have put on hold. Smiling at a distracted and terrified DESDEMONA, she stepped forward and sunk a knife into her gut. The weakened ROSALINE bared her teeth, a hint of her former self coming out to play, but before either of them could truly begin a new battle, TAMORA was dragged away by PORTIA, who rightly understood that the situation had changed. Reluctantly, TAMORA followed PORTIA toward the other Montagues, and ROSALINE was able to direct several Capulet soldiers to get DESDEMONA out. With no one left to concern her in the immediate vicinity, ROSALINE simply watched their work unfold, a small smile on her face.

PERDITA was the first to scream, the sound almost deafening in the empty silence of the cathedral. It roused BIANCA as well, who was lying slumped at her feet, her head swimming as she watched PERDITA push forward toward Cosimo’s stage of horrors. Anyone paying attention realized quickly that it was not a scream of horror, but a scream of rage. PERDITA’s only lead toward her lover’s whereabouts was being drained of blood before her very eyes, and she refused to believe she would be denied, not when she was so close to the truth. As she pushed through the crowd, she nearly made it before she was stopped by MERCUTIO, their hand around her wrist and grim determination in their eyes. They wanted to act as much as she did, but this was the trap Cosimo had placed for them, and they wouldn’t let themselves or PERDITA move until they were certain it wouldn’t end in death.

Around the room, expressions ranged from shock, to horror, to satisfaction and glee. Some revelled in the unveiling of the spy who had caused them so much strife, while others shied away from Cosimo’s brutality. EDGAR’s gun slipped from his hand, but BENVOLIO was uninterested in picking it up, struggling to stand and make his way toward VIOLA, who he’d worked so closely with these past months. EDGAR did nothing to stop him, for it was all he could do not to be sick upon the floor. Not only was it gruesome, VIOLA’s display was in many ways a perversion of the religion he clung to so very tightly. She was bleeding out on sacred ground, hanging from the wall as though she were on the crucifix, and though his hand tightened on the rosary in his pocket, it did him no good. Not this time.

SEBASTIAN, horror having rooted him to the spot until now, began to move from the edges of the crowd, speed growing with each step he took. It was BEATRICE who looked around for him, for she knew that her borgata partner would be at this very moment risking his life if it meant he could go to his twin. She begged in quiet whispers for a reluctant RICHARD III to help her head him off, and together, the two held SEBASTIAN back, though with difficulty. Each grasping one of his biceps, they kept him at the center of the crowd and avoided drawing attention to him, lest Cosimo think it would be fun to play with the food not on his plate.

At the edges of the room, TROILUS tended to his wife, begging her to leave with him now before more carnage spread. CRESSIDA shushed him, though it was clear she stayed with the utmost reluctance; what stayed her hand was the thought of being punished by Damiano again. Her fear motivated her to search the room for some way to be useful that would keep them from danger, and her eyes fell shortly on BENEDICK’s prone form. Whispering to her husband, the pair began to duck in and out of the room, quietly shuffling the Montague personnel who were injured out into the safety of the night, including ROSALIND, who was placed very carefully into TROILUS’ arms by a battered MALCOLM. 

IMOGEN took in the scene with a vicious sense of satisfaction. At last, they were bearing witness to the brutality she longed to put beneath her pen. There was no way out for Cosimo Capulet now, they thought fiercely, sliding out their phone to record what he was about to say next. OPHELIA got to her feet nearby, once there was no sign of ORSINO, and saw IMOGEN start to film. A moment of indecision struck her, but ultimately, OPHELIA did not want the rest of her Montague familia outed, not even for the sake of ruining the Capulets. She rushed forward, knocking IMOGEN’s phone from their hands and stomping on it, until it remained in tatters. When she looked up at IMOGEN once more, it was clear from their expression that OPHELIA had made an enemy.

MIRANDA could not see through the thick of the crowd, and attempted to get closer to see what all the fuss was about, only to be stopped by CORIOLANUS, who tried to tell her it might not be something she wanted to confront. She didn’t listen, and with a sigh, he led her toward a better vantage point, still in the middle of the crowd and without drawing too much attention. The two looked on as Cosimo began his final performance of the evening, with no clue what may be in store from here. 

GERTRUDE made her way through the crowd to join ROMEO, her only goal protecting the man who was, in so many ways, a son to her. CELIA followed, leaving PARIS to be taken care of by one of the many floating Capulet soldiers in the crowd. As the Montagues coalesced around the stage, so too did a Capulet guard, standing between them and Cosimo, preventing them from getting to VIOLA. Among them stood ORSINO and REGAN, each bruised but more than capable of handling another fight, as well as KATHERINE, who reluctantly joined only after a nod from VOLUMNIA. The Underboss took her place beside Cosimo with grim austerity in her features, and behind her followed JULIET, her eyes wide and her expression unreadable to the crowd.

ROMEO stepped forward, though he did not quite put himself in reach of the Capulet guard standing between him and his target. “You’ve made your point,” he said bitterly, “That’s enough.” 

Cosimo’s amusement only seemed to increase. “Enough, you say? No, no, not at all. We have much more work to do, young Montague.” His smile was sinister as he gestured proudly toward JULIET, prompting her to step forward and allow him to place a hand on her shoulder. “Now we must show you how a true organization operates,” he explained, pausing for dramatic effect, “and how the heir to a throne must behave.” 

Meanwhile, NICK BOTTOM was making his way back to the cathedral to finish what he’d started before BETRAM had so forcefully interrupted him. He snuck his way through the back offices until he found the perfect place -- the corner of a desk, tinkering with the explosive in his pack before setting a timer. This area was largely empty, unguarded now that all Capulets had been pulled in to assist the injured in the main hall. Satisfied with his work, he made his way out the back entrance once again, unburdened by an obnoxious companion. He had no way of knowing what was truly taking place in the cathedral, or of VIOLA’s punishment; all he knew was that whatever drinking was being done upstairs made his business almost too easy.

Unaware of the chaos still in store, Cosimo was as satisfied as anyone had ever seen him. With JULIET trembling beneath his hand and VOLUMNIA at his side, he certainly seemed the victor. “So often, these celebrations are filled with nostalgia for the past. I have seen what the future can hold, and I know that when we look forward, beyond our grief and pain, we will do so as a family, united in our strength.” He gazed warmly around the room before raising his glass to them all, though he was the only one with wine still in hand. “To the future!” he called, squeezing JULIET’s shoulder before his gaze cast toward one side. “Bring in the Initiates.”

TITANIA, who at last heard their cue, moved toward a side door and held it open. OCTAVIA, POMPEY, OBERON and several others were beckoned into the room, with expressions ranging from excitement to reluctance. They made their way over to Cosimo and the others, and he set down his wine, rummaging in the inside pocket of his suit for a moment before pulling out a gold-encrusted dagger. He turned to the first initiate in line, offering it to them handle-first. “Loyalty is everything -- not just to me, but to all of us. It is the lifeblood of our organization, the pillar of our strength, and it is from loyalty that we derive our power.” The initiate took the handle with trembling fingers. “Now, you must take the first step toward your future. Prove your loyalty, and make this place more than a cathedral. Make it your home.” 

The Montagues began to move forward, but were stopped by the wall of Capulets before them, tension filling the room. Behind the group of Montagues, the soldiers who were making the rounds earlier filed in, surrounding them on all sides. There was no escape, and there would be no fighting back. All they could do was watch as Cosimo’s grand finale began.

The initiate, for all their previous shaking, seemed to gain their strength as they moved toward VIOLA’s prone form. When they drew their hand back, the dagger was held firmly in their fist, and it sunk into her flesh with an awful, wet sound. It echoed across the hall as though the cathedral had magnified it, forcing each among them to witness the blasphemy unfold. The rest followed suit, each being handed the weapon in turn, and though they would not graduate from their roles as initiates, this act brought them one step closer toward becoming soldiers in truth. OCTAVIA, POMPEY, and OBERON each drove the blade again into VIOLA, who moaned in pain and tried to lift her head, though nothing close to words formed on her lips. 

SEBASTIAN cried out, but was held back not only by BEATRICE and RICHARD III this time. The Montagues had banded together, not wanting to lose him as well. His broken sobs filled the air as Cosimo retrieved the blade from OBERON’s grasp, turning and extending it again to his daughter. JULIET took the handle, though it was soaked with blood already, and stepped forward toward VIOLA. It was impossible to see her face, not even for her father, but he was too busy looking out into the crowd to wonder what was going through her mind. “The legacy of the Capulets will be cemented tonight. There are those who have said my daughter is too gentle of spirit to lead this family, that her heart aches for even those who would betray us. To those who spread those lies, I say you must stand corrected: my daughter is the future of the Capulets, and she will rule as well as I.” 

Back turned to the crowd, JULIET stepped toward VIOLA, whose chest was heaving -- she  surely could not outlive the next minute. If anyone was paying attention, they might have seen VOLUMNIA turn her head toward the crowd, brows furrowed. Her gaze met LAMPRIUS’, and then she watched as he slipped from the hall and out from the cathedral. Cosimo turned to watch his daughter. “To the Capulets!” he called, drinking heartily from his wine as JULIET dragged the dagger across VIOLA’s throat.

The knife slid from JULIET’s bloody fingers to the floor, but before she could turn and recite her victory speech, a resounding BOOM! sounded from behind them. The explosion rocked the foundations of the cathedral. Chaos erupted around the room, people rushing toward the exits in fear of the cathedral collapsing down on their heads. VOLUMNIA was quick to leap into action; she immediately pulled Cosimo and JULIET toward the exit, while the remaining Capulets watched their backs and filed out after. Only MIRANDA was reluctant to leave, struggling to catch SEBASTIAN’s eye, though she knew there was nothing she could’ve done.

Perhaps the Montagues should’ve taken the opportunity to escape as well, but SEBASTIAN ran immediately to VIOLA, ignoring those who tried to stop him and barrelling through to hop up onto the stage before her. He cut her down and cradled his sister in his arms as his fellow Montagues attempted to drag him from the building, still shaking rather ominously. Eventually, they were able to convince him they had to take her with them, and SEBASTIAN gathered VIOLA’s body in his arms, allowing the other Montagues to lead the way outside.

As people ran from the cathedral, HELENUS stared in horror as his place of work and worship rocked unsteadily before him. He’d stayed outside for the celebration, in protest of what Cosimo had implied the event would become, but he’d listened at the door long enough to hear of the carnage. Disgusted, he had planned to make an entrance and make his feelings heard, but the explosion from within had derailed all previous plans. Without a second thought, he rushed inside the building, not to air his grievances but to ensure anyone within got out safely. 

Waiting in two unmarked vans were FORTINBRAS and HORATIO, the Montagues’ newest initiates, who had realized earlier in the evening that something was going on and confronted ANTONY as he was leaving Damiano’s office. He tasked them with assisting in the safe return of the rest of their new familia, as a way of proving their worth, both to himself and to Damiano. The two men raced to the library’s parking structure and drove to the cathedral, where they began a waiting game that was rocked (quite literally) by the sound of a bomb. People began pouring into the street, but it was only the Montagues who recognized these vans as safety. They collected their injured from where TROILUS and CRESSIDA were keeping them safe, and they sped away, with VIOLA laid out across the back seat, her lifeless head in SEBASTIAN’s lap. 

As the Montagues made their escape, the Capulets scrambled to keep their beloved cathedral upright. While the structure remained standing, it was clearly damaged, and the blare of sirens was closing in. Those with a desire to avoid the police left the others behind to deal with the fallout, as was customary when it came to handling them. None of them noticed the man slipping from a sleek black car and out onto the street, watching flames pour from the upper levels. Another officer soon stepped out to stand alongside him, anxious energy pouring off of them. This was the new Brigadiere Capo’s first official introduction to the Montagues and Capulets, after all. They waited, expecting to hear something. An order, an exclamation, a resignation.

But PRINCE ESCALUS remained silent. He only sighed and strode towards the cathedral, wading knee-deep into the chaos.

-

OVERVIEW: And that officially rounds out our Scene V event! VIOLA has joined the list of the fallen, but the Capulets have taken a loss of a different kind, leaving both mafias more level than they’d anticipated. You may now place your threads anywhere within the timeline, up until April 26th. We look forward to seeing how each of you deals with the fallout! 

The Montagues have been rocked by the tragedy of their loss, but it’s also brought them closer together — if you don’t count the rift growing exponentially between ROMEO and his father, or ANTONY lurking in the dark, flitting from one side to the other, with both assured of his loyalties. 

As for our new faces — we know, and we’re excited as you are! Our new initiates are OBERON on the Capulet side, with FORTINBRAS and HORATIO for the Montagues. In addition, PRINCE ESCALUS appears on the scene, though importantly, none of your characters are paying enough attention to catch a glimpse. We would prefer to keep mentions of Fortinbras and Horatio to a minimum as well, though you are welcome to comment in passing that they are driving you, if you are a Montague making your escape.

There will be a mini-drop for VIOLA’s funeral on April 10th in game.

[hecohansen31]

A Cure For Unrequited Love

Hawthorne! Michael+Witch! Reader (+Cordelia) :

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I have recently chosen to write a little smutty piece for each Michael Langdon’s era (because I am that fan of his) (right now we have Outpost with “Little Love Notes”, I have this and I have written down a “Fire & Reign” piece I am very proud of, and I am working on a “Grunge Era” Michael, but I am taking a break from fanfic to edit what I am writing, but I have enough for at leats sei weeks!).

Also I really hope you’ll like this, I am low key proud of it (and I love Hawthorne Michael more than my family...) (and special tag for @sojournmichael, whose “Descensum” piece inspired me to write this, so give her a follow and look at her piece, it’s amazing... it gets my latin kink going... love you, babe).

(Also reader is bisexual/heteroflexible in this fic, which means that she also proves attraction for women, I really hope that my rep of this is enough and didn’t disrespect anyone, if I did, let me know and I will take it down immediately, love you!).

SUMMARY; When your crush for the headmistress of Robinchaux, ends up badly, Michael decides to help you get over with it, with a rather “unorthodox” method...

WORDS: 5,1 K

WARNINGS: Rough Unprotected (as always wrap it up before doing the dirty; it will protect you from both unwanted pregnancy and STDs, be smart and safe, lovelies of mine) Sex (specifically we are talking about Hate-Sex, so be aware of that), Spanking, Slapping, Sir Kink, Degradation through harsh words, Oral Sex (Female-Male receiving) and  Magic involved in the bedroom (because that’s what I would do with magic, I am a hoe...). Also Angst, Heartbreak and Unrequited Love.

She had had a crush on Cordelia since she had first joined Robinchaux.

She had been the first one to believe (Y/N) wasn’t something perverse, a horrible and against nature.

She had taught her how to feel empowered and confident in her powers, with nothing to fear.

Because of this, she had somehow latched to Cordelia, when they had both found each other at their lowest; she was escaping a toxic family situation and Cordelia had just lost Misty Day, which meant that as soon as she had seen the girl she had taken her under her wing, raising her as her most brilliant pupil.

And she had somehow mistaken Cordelia’s motherly and professional attention, for the care and affection she had never been given, due to her supernatural nature, something which had developed her to have a “slight” schoolgirl crush on her principal of Robinchaux.

But being not only shy, but also a bit intimidated by the fact that Cordelia was older than her (although it didn’t seem to matter on the nights were her fingers touched her thighs and what was between them) she had avoided making a move on the woman, just admiring her from afar, and listening to her every order.

And as soon as Michael Langdon had seen her loyalty towards the other woman, he had dubbed her as “Cordelia’s loyal dog”.

When they had first seen each other they had immediately hated the other: she was too “witchy” for his tastes, and in her words “the antichrist was an asshole”.

So there was no way they could have ended in that situation: Michael’s hands on her ass, her lips on his plump ones, in her room.

Yeah, definitely no way.

She would have blamed a moment of weakness meanwhile Michael Langdon wouldn’t waste an opportunity to teach a stubborn and bratty witch a lesson, in how he was better than her, in any way she could think of.

Her moment of weakness had started right after Misty Day had come back and her spot next to Cordelia had been replaced by the blonde and sweet witch.

She had tried to avoid feeling jealousy, but she couldn’t help to feel heartbroken for the fact that the lovely lovely Misty Day had so easily taken her place, in Cordelia’s heart.

And that morning she had confronted her mentor about it, not wanting to confess her feelings but she had done it somehow, right when their discussion had reached its peak and awkwardly she had tried to kiss Cordelia, just for the other woman to avoid the kiss, leaning on a side.

“I am sorry, (Y/N) … I just can’t feel what you feel for me, also it won’t be right, we are just too different”.

She had felt entirely ashamed of her gesture and although Cordelia had let her down gently, trying her best not to hurt her feelings, it hadn’t worked and she had just run away from Robinchaux, not daring to come back.

At least not until she had somehow forgotten about the entire thing.

And what better way to forget than alcohol?

But she hadn’t been able to drink in peace, because Langdon had been there, at the same bar as her.

He had pestered her till it got too much for her and she blurted her rage on him, even going as far as to let out a bit of magic, setting the bar stool next to them on fire, meanwhile Michael had just giggled at her, but more softly, putting out the fire, meanwhile he made a move to switch the tequila she had chosen with water.

“Better not have alcohol near you, if you are going to set things on fire” he had mumbled.

“Next time, it will be your hair” she had threatened him, but with no bite in her tone, too tired now that even the last ember of rage had gone out, just the shallow pit of sadness and shame hanging in her stomach.

She had put her head on the bar table, closing her eyes, as if she had wanted to sleep, and strangely Langdon had caressed her hair, almost softly.

“… you wouldn’t” he had stated, meanwhile she  just huffed out, because he was damn right  “… mostly because I might be of use”.

“With what? Want to bring my dead feelings back from Hell? Because if not, let me drink tequila till I pass out” she proposed “… also since you are the “antichrist” can you turn this water in tequila?”.

She had hoped to annoy him enough that he would have left her alone to her self-destructive tendencies, but it  hadn’t worked out perfectly, since he had stayed there, and she had just rolled her eyes.

“When was the last time you had sex, (Y/N)?”.

That had been enough to make some fire appear in her hand.

“When was the last time you didn’t say something that almost got you killed?” she had retorted.

“What I am trying to tell you is that the best way to forget someone is have a full night of the best sex you might have ever had”.

She had been almost halfway from having a laughing fit when she had realized he was being honest with her.

“Are you serious, Langdon?” she had huffed out, immediately raising her head to look him in his playful eyes “… high and mighty antichrist wanting to have sex with Cordelia’s dog?”.

“You should be honored” he had shot back, looking at her with confidence, just to be shot down by a quick laugh from her part.

“Yeah… I am sure that your pinkie would satisfy me more” and then she had made to turn around, just for him to grab her hand, and push her against him and she had soon realized that what she had previously said wasn’t definitely true.

She had always liked both men and women, but nothing had mattered since her crush on Cordelia and it had been a long time since her last fuck, and the fact that it hadn’t been a good fuck (she had been too scared to let out any magic, to actually let herself go, and it had hurt) made it seem all so much longer.

And the comforting warmth of another body, right when she was feeling damnably alone and sad…

“What would you get out of fucking me?” she had asked.

She might have been naïve, but she knew that without any kind of retribution Michael Langdon never did something: he brought Madison and Queenie back to show that he could and be admitted to the “Seven Wonders”, he had brought Misty Day back to make a point and now she couldn’t come up with a reason why he would agree to fuck her.

But she knew, also this time there was a reason.

He had smirked at her, truly devilishly and she could almost feel his telltale tail moving in the air behind him, meanwhile horns appeared from his head, but maybe it was just a hallucination, because of her tiredness.

“Maybe I just want to piss off Cordelia” and he had grabbed her hand, a romantic gesture, was he not looking at her as it he wanted to eat her “… or maybe I just need a good fuck myself, and your body looks like a fucking masterpiece…”.

So here they were in her room, making out and slamming each other against her elegant furniture (Michael had complimented her on it, before grabbing her face roughly, bringing her in a scorching kiss, which left her totally unaware of the open door) stumbling on the few books she had left on the floor.

It was almost comic, was it not for that pleasure she felt deep in her guts.

And, it was just lazy kisses and light groping with Michael, who was trying to almost memorize her body with his hand, with no attention to her sensitive spots, rubbing them roughly, but some part of her welcomed the pain, feeling like it made her feel something, like it made her feel desired, as if Michael was seriously interested in her.

But she didn’t try to get her hopes up, she shouldn’t have let it happen with Cordelia.

Michael pushed her down the bed, as soon as they were close to it and shed his jacket, almost being immediately mirrored by her, who pushed her leather jacket on the floor, meanwhile she kicked her heeled black mary janes off her feet.

They stripped each other shirts off their body, but whereas she had tried to gently unbutton each button, Michael, after having unlaced the little black blow she wore around her neck, had straight up ripped apart her shirt, getting a slap on the chest and an annoyed “Damn that was expensive Michael!”ò

As a revenge she ripped the rest off his expensive top, before dragging him by his bow tie, towards her lips, stopping just half a second before a kiss.

-Do that again, and I will rip every inch of your body apart- this seemed to surprise him, but Michael just smirked annoyingly.

-Oh sweetie…- and as soon as her grasp loosened on his bow, after he had straightened it up, he pushed her down on the bed, immediately getting on top of her, his body crashing her into the mattress and she could feel each inch of him -… it doesn’t work that way-.

And to make the thing even more… evident, he ripped off her pants, as if they were the stripper kind of jeans, and she just chose to roll her eyes, trying to regain to upper hand, but Michael was physically stronger than her.

But she had a few trick on her side, and her body slowly disappeared under him leaving him a bit dumbfounded, before reappearing on him, pushing him down on the bed and thank to the surprise she managed to get some kind of action on him and blocked him with her legs.

-You clearly never fought with a sibling… you would have known that it isn’t over till you scream “mommy”- she mumbled, smiling arrogantly and strangely Michael reciprocated the smile, moving to push a few strands of her hair behind her ear, just to decide to pull on them and use them to change again the position, and as her legs brushed together, she found she was wet, already.

-… oh, you can call me “sir”, then- he mumbled, again that damned smirk on his face, and had her hands not been gripped so tight that she knew there would be bruises, she would have slapped it off her face.

And from the fact that the smirk became bigger she realized he might have read her thoughts and wouldn’t have minded it.

She would keep it in mind.

-… is that a way to compensate for the fact that we can’t call you “supreme”- wrong move, because Michael had been tame at least till that moment and before she knew it, the position had changed again (she would get an headache from it, if he didn’t settle, she was sure…).

And now she was on his knees, sprawled on them with her facing his face and before she knew it a slap was soundly delivered to her ass.

She should have expected, seeing her behavior and Michael’s tendency, but no other partner had ever spanked her in bed, and not with that lack of care that Michael had just used, as if he didn’t care if he bruised her.

She was thankful that at least her panties were still in their original place, taking a bit of the impact but it still stung as hell.

(Which was incidentally where he came from…).

-What the hell?! – she should have shut up after that, but not being Cordelia’s loyal dog, anymore, made her feel daring -… didn’t know that you were a pervert like that, Langdon!-.

-Well, at least I have a good company- and he ashamedly moved himself and her to be able to take a look at her panties, raising them to reveal more, which made her honestly a bit uneasy, since it had been so much time since she had been that exposed, no matter the fact that she still had her pretty royal blue lacy thong (not that it covered much of her), but her wetness was clear as the light of day.

And this proved she enjoyed it.

-… your pussy is already throbbing for me, it’s very very flattering. He laughed at her discomfort, touching her gently through the soft and silky fabric, collecting the wetness he could find, not exactly too much, but still it smeared his finger when he lazily dragger a finger up her folds and he cleaned it up recklessly on her thighs -… maybe you are not Cordelia’s loyal dog, you are more like her bitch in heat, right now-.

-Would you stop talking about her? – not because it was painful, but she knew that Cordelia wouldn’t have approved and she was ashamed of it.

But a part of her liked that she was trespassing an unspoken rule Cordelia had given her.

She had just warned about how dangerous Michael was, knowing she wasn’t some love sick witch, one that would think to want even the slightest contact with Michael.

“Of course, Cordelia, he is just a stupid asshole, not my type” and now she was letting him see in her in her most vulnerable state.

That was called character development.

(And, spoiler: not for the better).

-… does it bother you? – and not letting her answer he slapped her ass again, this time, skin hit skin and she had to bite down harshly on her lip, feeling blood erupt in her mouth, from the cut she had provoked, biting down on her lip -… I bet she would be extremely disappointed to see you wet on my lap. Her loyal bitch has finally betrayed her for some cock-.

-Go to hell, little antichrist ... - and she should have stopped there, but she felt the need to save some kid of honor -… and stop talking while you are at it, you are annoying-.

She expected a slap, and had already closed her eyes, but nothing happened and the waiting was actually worse than just a violent gasp.

When he did act up, he grabbed her hair, again (did she discover a hair kink?) and raised her to meet his face.

-Frustrated much? – he replied, before spitting on her face, something she didn’t expect so she didn’t react, and then she was pushed again on his laps -… now make yourself useful, little bitch, count-.

And the slaps immediately came back.

She didn’t count, resisting him, with an annoyed look, but then the torture got even more worse, because there was not only the sting of the slaps, but also her dripping arousal, and Michael didn’t seem to care about it-

There, she had just given up and started counting, getting an amused laugh from Michael, and she kept her head down to avoid his arrogant and judging eyes.

She arrived at ten, but before she had already received five of them, and Michael wasn’t nice and sweet, clearly wanting to hurt her, although he was careful on where he hit, hitting just the plumpest areas in order not to injure her permanently.

Clearly, she wasn’t the first one on his laps, and she was low key grateful for that.

She wouldn’t have sit down without whimpering for a good week, and as she got a good look at her ass she discovered it was inflamed, and Michael actually smirked, groping her much more gently as if he was comforting her, and in that moment she realized she had tears streaming down her eyes.

She was a mess, but apparently Michael just found her extremely attractive, and he made sure to tell her.

-Look at you, little bitch, all ruined after a few slaps, how will you be after you got my cock in you? -.

-Maybe this is all overcompensating for your lack of…- and she just wiggled her eyebrows, getting an annoyed roll of eyes by Michael, which turned her on her back, in order for them to come to face to face, before slipping under her, and getting on top her, but…

…. There was something strange: he was in the opposite position as her, staring at her legs, but she forgot about any confused thoughts she might have, as soon as he licked a little strip of her through her underwear and if before she had been just started getting wet, now she was dripping, and he managed to collect a lot with his tongue, moaning at her taste, before straight up ripping off her panties.

(She would make him pay for anything he broke she would make sure of it).

-… and you taste so sweet, no matter the bitter words you speak of, I’d much rather listen to what these lips have to say about me, they like me quite a lot-.

-Thank God, shut your mouth and make it useful- she honestly had a thing against people who spoke up not understanding the danger of the situation, but in this case, she decided to be a bit daring (not to say downright stupid).

Oral was something that she honestly missed, since it was something that not everyone she had been with, felt comfortable giving.

Only one partner had actually given her oral and they had been quite good at it (A/N: I decided to keep it neutral, so people can choose!) and she had enjoyed it.

But it was nothing compared to Michael’s skills.

His tongue tasted her, gently at first, before diving into her suddenly and she let out sweet delighted moans.

But everything got better and more intense, as soon as is tongue meet her skin, right on her clit, where he installed himself, sucking it roughly.

But he wasn’t done.

His fingers slowly approached her, and before she knew it, one was inside her, reaching an impossible depth she honestly didn’t believe existed.

And this time she stopped breathing, whining in a very inhuman way, feeling something shatter near her but she didn’t care, not when he started moving his fingers.

Michael smirked against her clit, probably amused by her loss of control over her magic and soon she felt another thing shattering, and this time Michael straight up laughed.

She thought it honestly sounded so beautiful, boyish and genuinely happy and not only she pushed more wetness on his face, but she felt a tight fist in her stomach, begin to unravel, and she was exactly a minute away from Paradise, stars under her eyes and all that shit…

And then Michael stopped.

And if she thought he had been evil after the fifteen slaps, this time he was even worse

… and worst of all… she couldn’t see him, so she couldn’t foresee what would be coming next.

And this stressed her much more.

-… why don’t you also put your tongue to some use? – he replied, turning a bit around to stare at her -… and I might consider going back to what I was doing…-.

-Aren’t you scared my bitter mouth will melt your precious length? – she mumbled, sending him an annoyed look, now the teasing was all welcome.

He couldn’t leave her hot and bothered without expecting some revenge…

-I will take that risk- he stared at her annoyed, but his eyes still had some kind of smirking glint -… just avoid the teeth-.

And she just nodded with the fakest smile on her face.

She unzipped his pants, feeling nervous for what might be happening next, meanwhile Michael turned around to observe her, and if she was nervous before, now she was halfway through having an heartattack, but she tried not to show it too much.

She didn’t want to give Michael any kind of satisfaction.

And as soon as she was in a comfortable position, and the monster length was in her face, she immediately moved an hand to his cock and gently started pumping him, feeling it mostly to adapt and take some time, getting a few low moan from him, meanwhile he looked at her under lowered lashes and hazy eyes, the excitement evident, no matter the fact that he faked a “yawn”.

And that’s when she tried to take as much as she could, without giving him no chance to adapt, surprising him enough that he screeched, just as she had done when he had firstly slapped her, surprised by how much she could take (and honestly she was surprised too… but didn’t let it show).

She watched him through fluttering eyelashes, before retreating herself form him slowly, saliva coating her mouth.

She didn’t push him away completely and immediately went back to it.

She took less, mostly because her throat had been strained a little bit too much, but she tried to appear languid and sexy enough.

She avoided teeth, but as soon as she saw him deep in a trance, enthralled in the throes of lust, she gently ranked them against his dick a bit, feeling him immediately gain conscience, looking at her almost hurt.

And she sent back an extremely fake innocent look, between her lashes, happy of the control she had seemed to gain, but immediately it was taken away from her, again the hair kink appearing.

He grabbed her hair, and as much as she was grateful for them being out her face, his grip was almost bruising enough to pull a few hair, leading her to a fast-paced rhythm, facefucking her as if her mouth was a fleshlight.

But something was much different, because seeing him lose all his senses, because of her mouth was low key… exciting and empowering, because no matter how much tighter his grip on her hair was, she was in control.

And it was even more clear when a pillow on her bed shattered, and this time… it hadn’t been her.

When she felt something musky in her mouth, she twirled her fingers and Michael was roughly and magically pushed off her, no matter his strong grip, and before he could reply and react, she was on top of him, she knew she had no chance to fight him and held him off, so she better hurry up.

And before he could protest, she slipped him inside of her, immediately feeling his muscles, under her tighten, meanwhile she adjusted to the stretch.

Clearly if she had had trouble fitting him in her mouth, she had trouble also fitting him inside her extremely tight canal, since if she was inexpert in any kind of oral, she was even less expert in those things, and Michael was no mere human.

He was the antichrist.

And his dick also showed that.

She had exactly one minute, before he started pushing in her and she immediately had to move her hips at the same rhythm.

She pushed her hand down his chest, mostly to get some stability, since Michael rutted in her with no care.

But she honestly didn’t care-

It felt so so good, with him reaching her in some pretty unspoken places, undiscovered by hands, tongues and dicks, and as soon as she believed it had reached its fullest, she was remembered that he hadn’t…

-… who knew I would enjoy so much the sight of your breasts bouncing…- he moaned out, and he immediately gripped her sensitive globes, unclasping her bra, instead of ripping it, something for which she was grateful and rewarded him with a particular change of angle, and he seemed further in her -… and I somehow managed to shut you up-.

She couldn’t actually answer him, because she was too intent mentally pronouncing the spell that would give her the last laugh… she hoped.

And it worked, as soon as she felt herself leave the bed, levitating over nothing.

She had found this spell a few months ago, the stress of being unable to perform it, had led to her trying to relieve herself through… a “physical method” but the spell hadn’t left her mind and soon as her climax approached him, she found herself levitating through it, and the fear of almost plummeting to the ground had brought her to an mind-blowing finale.

Michael immediately gripped her, tighter, his handprints wouldn’t be only on her ass, but also on her hips, and she cooed in his ear, almost making fun of his distressed state.

-I thought I would make this more magical- she giggled, taking immediate advantage of Michael’s slowing pace, slamming into him -… but don’t take too long, usually my fingers take me fifteen minutes and I have never tried to hold out for more-

But danger made it all more interesting and immediately Michael took the hint.

Slamming into her like an animal, pulling her hair, and palming appreciatively her breast, pinching her nipples, and she almost climaxed at the sight of him biting her nipples, but he just slowed down there, feeling her clench around him, milking him closer to his ending.

And to her questioning look he just smirked.

-… you said fifteen minutes… and just five have passed- he answered, before thrusting up, impaling her on his cock -… I don’t intend to lose even a single minute of this magic-.

Some people, after they had discovered that they had no chance with the person they loved, put on Taylor Swift at the maximum volume and just cried, others drank themselves stupid, not to talk about other substances…

… she had fucked the freaking Antichrist.

She realized that the Antichrist had also cuddled her to sleep, and her muscles were on fire, not only for all the abuse that her entire body had experienced, but also for the aerobic she had done thank to Michael and the little help of magic.

They had actually beat the record, of fifteen minutes, and after her first orgasm, he hadn’t stopped. fucking her through the mattress and she was sure there would be broken tiles, on her floor.

Not that she regretted any kind of those things.

She was just confused at Michael’s presence in her bed, after he had gotten what he wanted-

His strange behavior had started before the accidental sleep-in, after her fifth orgasm, obtained with his cock on her mouth and his mouth on her cunt, after they had calmed down, he had suggested she got some healing cream for her ass, even going as far as summoning the little tube in his hand, and offering to massage her ass, but she had just replied that she didn’t trust him around her ass, after what had happened.

But she had still let him massage her throbbing should.

After she had exited the bathroom, where she had gone to clean herself up both from his cum (he had cum inside her, but he had reassured that she wouldn’t be getting any kind of demonic STDs, alongside the fact that he had eyed her pill on her desk, so no demonic spawn) and hers.

After that she had fallen asleep quickly expecting him to leave, too exhausted to keep her eyes open and check him.

But, apparently, he had slept in and also he had showered, since he smelled like her fresh body cream…

But before she could inquire more, her door was swung open and Cordelia walked in.

She was so caught up into what she was saying that she didn’t notice the “lovers”, till she was near to her bed, seeing not only an awful lot of her naked body, but the start of Michael’s one.

And shame came to her cheeks, in form of a reddish blush.

She could see the disappointment into Cordelia’s eyes, but strangely she didn’t care.

She had gone to bed with the Antichrist just to feel better after she had broken her heart, so…

… it was bad to assume she had some kind of dignity and self-preservation.

-… please, (Y/N) tell me you didn’t sleep with…? – she mumbled, shocked.

-Oh we did more than “sleep”- replied a sleepy voice and behind her, Michael nuzzled her neck skin, his eyes still closed but a touch of smile on his lips, and as much as she hated when he used sarcasm against her, she low key loved it being used against anybody else, it was a very funny show -… and by the way, next time knock, we could have been doing something very different form sleeping-.

-You are not allowed to bring boys back to your room- tried to reprimand her Cordelia.

What she said was true, but she wasn’t a student, anymore, so although it might have been extremely unprofessional to bring Michael back in her room, she was allowed to do her own choices.

-What are you going to do? – she raised up a bit, totally unashamed of her nakedness, wanting to remind Cordelia what she had lost -… punish me? I am not a child Cordelia, I make decisions for my own, I decide who I fuck-.

And this seemed to take Cordelia so so much aback.

She had been always so clean and polished and nice, whenever she was with Cordelia.

Her best smile her sweetest words, and she never dared to disobey her.

But right now, she had enough.

And Cordelia shared her same thought, seeing no way to bring her over to the right side, and instead she just shook her head, delivering a powerful final line:

-You are free to do what you want, but when he breaks your heart, don’t come running to me like a school girl with a crush-.

And there she smirked, no matter the sadness and confusion inside her, choosing to hide them:

-… it’s impossible, my heart is already broken-.

And when Cordelia exited the room, a tang of sadness could be seen in his steps, alongside anger and embarrassment, meanwhile she turned around in the bed, a headache appearing due to all the terrible things she had experienced, in those days.

But before she could go back to bed and hide under the cover, all her bravery disappearing, she heard Landgon stifling a laugh, and this made her send him a confused glare.

She knew he was a freaking sadist, but…

-Oh excuse little old me, I never thought I would see the day when Cordelia’s loyal dog decides to riot against the hand that feeds her- and then his hands disappeared under the cover but she was definitely aware of where they went -… it’s kind of a turn on-.

And she forgot about anything.

Apparently, the best cure for a broken heart was fucking the Antichrist.

Who knew?

---

Hope that you enjoyed it lovelies!

As always, please let me know what you thought about it, any feedback (as long as worded it gently) is very much welcome (whether it is leaving an heart reblog this fic, a comment or a DM or an ask about what you thought about it, everything is welcome)

Also here it is a little list of people who wanted t be tagged here (I am thinking about creating a taglist, so if you want to be in that, shot me a DM or an ask, love you!).

@so-langdon@vampirefairyestelle @sarcasticfuck101 @ahstatejameskai @devilslittlebrat @lindsey3300 @starryeyechae  @raluralu394 @floralpiper @wth-trippy @mollymcbutter99 @writerandee

Love you, lovelies!

-Heco Hansen.

[deliasbabygirl-blog]

New Beginnings

Summary: Reader’s POV. Ally Mayfair-Richards,a recent widow, her young son, and her girlfriend move to New Orleans for a new start. She is quite busy with her new job at the mayor’s office, leaving plenty of time for her son, Oz, and her girlfriend to bond with one another. However, Ally is hiding secret from her son about her new lover, and this new town may unveil it, for the better. 

Pairing: Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader, Cordelia Goode x Reader x Ally Mayfair-Richards

A/N: This is something that was sitting in my drafts that someone begged me to post. There will be a part two and part three, but who knows when I will post them? Y’all know how busy life gets. Any who, let me know what you think, and perhaps throw some ideas or predictions in my inbox, and stay tuned for the next part. Always with love, Olive. (Gif is not mine)

The aroma of garlic and shrimp lingered from the kitchen, ghosting passed the stacked cardboard boxes, up the extravagant staircase, through the corridor into one of the bedrooms where I combed through short blonde curls. “Do you think mommy is going to like the cupcakes we made her?” my girlfriend’s son asked, fiddling with the new comic book within his hands. I ran my fingers through the smoothed curls, livening the hair back up before kissing his temple. “I think she will love them, sweetheart. Now, let’s go make sure I’m not burning dinner.”

The seven year old rushed down the staircase before me, evidently more eager to find a comfortable position on the couch to read his new find rather than giving a singular damn about the pasta on the stove. I, on the other hand, was quite nervous for this the first meal I was making for my girlfriend, the owner of a restaurant back in Michigan. Though I understood it was her now deceased wife whom did the cooking, I still felt the pressure of comparing to such an extraordinary chef.

Stirring the homemade sauce, I could feel the anxiety boiling through my veins, the slight pound of my heartbeat realizing my lover was to be home any moment. I thought of my day quickly, if the meal did not impress her, surely I could find something I had accomplished that would.

The morning started without her for she has rushed to work before I woke, which left me getting her son prepared for his first day at his new school as well as myself for work. That could be impressive, I thought, from realizing he had a growth spurt and only one of his recently purchased outfits fit to spilling the entire box of Froot Loops on the hardwood flooring, so promising to buy him a doughnut on the way.

Somehow, through getting his toothbrush ready and tying his shoes three different times, I managed to throw a pair of jeans on with one of her sweaters I promised to never wear and style my own curls into an acceptable messy bun, strands falling from left and right. “Oz, are you ready?” I had called out, nearly tripping out of the master bedroom as I pulled on my converse.

Before me stood the seven year old, his curls presentable, his teeth cleaner than they’d been, his shoes tied – double-knotted – and his plaid shirt and khaki shorts fitted perfectly on his slender body. “Awesome, dude!” I cheered, pride stretching my smile before we both dashed down the staircase.

Once dropping Oz off in his new classroom, greeting the teacher, again, I headed to my office in hopes of getting a new assignment from my bosses. As I neared my desk, I noticed a pile of several drafts beside a paper cup of still steaming coffee. “Thank you, Sara,” I called out to an assistant I had not seen when walking in.

I took the seat behind my desk, relishing in the feeling of soft leather molding against my thighs and back, reading over the papers until one heading stuck out to me, forcing my brows to raise and me to lower my coffee: New Orleans’ Coven Opens Doors to Witches across the States.

Pouring the finished sauce over bowtie noodles, I found myself grinning remembering the article, though unedited, I desired to share with my girlfriend, an interesting find. I collected to glasses from the cabinet, checking on the seven year old whom responded quickly, obviously very much interested in his book than my concern.

“Honey, I’m home,” I heard my favorite voice call before the door slammed in the autumn draft. The heavy pitter-patter of sneakers against hardwood trailed from the living room toward the front door until I heard my girlfriend’s quiet grunt, her son running into her with a welcomed embrace.

I started toward the dining room with two dishes of pasta, glancing over my glasses to the woman of my dreams grinning widely, holding her ecstatic son within her arms as he rambled on about the comic book I purchased him on the drive home.

Noticing the pair heading toward the dimly lit room, I hurried to collect the remaining bowl along with the duo of still empty glasses, aware the other woman had snagged a bottle of wine after work. “And hello, my beautiful girl,” she cooed as I reentered, handing me the bottle of moscato before kissing me gently. She was always very adamant about showing Oz what love should look like and how it was expressed.

“How was your day, sweetheart?” I asked her, watching her take her seat, circling the table to my own. She mumbled something to Oz about putting his comic book down while we ate before she answered me.

“Oh, I had quite a busy day,” she chuckled, her eyes starry and captivating. I poured the wine, happily awaiting for her to continue. “The mayor is so kind, and she listened to every idea I had about the women’s march on Bourbon Street next month. She even offered to speak, and she said she would ask that woman that spoke with Billie Dean Howard about the coven opening. What was her name?” her brows furrowed adorably as she thought, but my own mind captured her words, widening my eyes.

I placed my glass down on the table, scooting to the edge of my chair eagerly. “Cordelia Goode?” I offered the name that I had read over and over in the article. She nodded, her brows raising as she sipped her wine. “Speaking of the coven, I actually got an article to edit today about this Miss Goode opening the doors of her coven to all witches in the country. Can you imagine what a sight that must be?”

“Are witches real?” Oz asked, drawing our attention toward blonde curls and a juice-stained upper lip. Clearing my throat, I placed another bite of pasta between my lips, gaze flickering toward the other woman.

Though we shared a home and both took care of the sweet young boy, he would always truly be her son, and I was aware she would ultimately choose what to tell her child and what not to tell him, even if white lies poured from her lips to protect her son. Much to my surprise, she nodded toward him, clearing her own throat.

“Not in the stereotypical way,” she began, looking from her son to me before her attention returned to him. I watched her carefully, noticing the lack of tensing within her jaw, the way her smile was effortless. This conversation was nothing in her mind, a simple explanatory conversation to provide her child with knowledge. “But they do exist. Witches are women who possess extraordinary powers.”

Oz seemed satisfied enough with his mother’s answer for he returned to his dinner. The older woman looked to me, placing her free hand over mine on the table, and we shared a knowing glance. “This dinner is excellent, dear,” she smiled softly, her thumb running back and forth along my knuckles. “And thank you for taking care of Oz today. I grabbed him some more clothes on my way home. I can’t believe he’s grown so much in a month!”

Sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed, feet dangling over the floor, I folded the new clothing for Oz, making a mental note to collect an outfit from the bunch the next morning. I could hear my girlfriend whispering a goodnight to her son before shutting the door behind her, before promising him she would ask me to make him pancakes in the morning. Thinking he believed in my cooking skills, I chuckled aware pancakes were above my talents.

“There are frozen pancakes down there,” the older woman chuckled walking into the room, gently closing the door as she sauntered toward me. “Again, thank you for everything you did tonight. I don’t think I would be sane without you.” With a flick of my wrist, the door locked, making her smirk, her thighs straddling either side of my own.

“So, I have extraordinary powers, Ms. Mayfair?” I teased, my hands sliding beneath her shirt to feel warmth along her back. She chuckled, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth with a roll of her eyes. Pulling her body closer against mine, I kissed her, her lips soft and warm along mine. “I love you,” she muttered into the kiss.

“I love you, Ally,” the words moaned passed my lips, and I flipped her onto the bed, her hair spreading against the bedding, her laughter roaring from her throat. “I’m glad you were honest with him.” She gently pulled the band from my hair, releasing the curls as I kissed her jawline.

God, her skin was softer than anything I had felt, the thought of smoother skin and short, trimmed curls drawing my hands to the waistband of her nude slacks. “He deserves to know everything about you,” she breathed, her fingers fiddling with hem of my sweater. “He loves you, and if you’re going to be his-

I silenced her with another heated kiss, deepening it in hopes of distracting her mind. Not only was I to compare to her ex-wife’s cooking, I knew I would have to compare to the woman’s mothering, as well. Never had Ally said those comparisons were needed, that there was a bar I needed to meet, but I could not help feel it was indeed in place.

At least one thing she promised was better with me was the way I made her body feel, the heat I could flush through her, the spasms that left her panting and begging for more.

She lifted her hips, allowing the unbuttoned waist of her slacks to glide over her ass, her own hands now fidgeting at the buttons of her cotton blouse. Olive green greeted me once the clothing was removed, forgotten on the floor, lace against her porcelain skin, high-waisted panties and a plunging bra. “Were you looking forward to this when you got dressed this morning?” I chuckled, brushing the strands of hair from my face.

“Can I not wear lingerie for my own benefit?” she poked my nose before tangling her fingers back in my hair, her eyes growing darker with each passing second, her bottom lip curling back between her teeth. Rolling my eyes, I kissed the space between her eyebrows. “Of course, you can, baby girl.”

My fingers traveled down her tight abdomen, over the lace between her thighs, and a guttural moan escaped passed my lips feeling the damp fabric. Her back ached slightly at my light touch, her need evident. Flicking my free wrist, her lingerie fell from her body, sliced perfectly, resting beneath her on the white sheets. I grinned guilty down at her, scrunching my nose, and she feigned surprise with the drop of her jaw.

“Candles?” she inquired, squirming along the bed to sit against the headboard, and I obliged looking toward one candle, lighting them all around the room. The lamp upon the nightstand turned off, the gentle rhythm of music starting from the speaker upon the dresser.

Standing from the bed, I slowly lowered the jeans from my legs, watching her eyes darkening incredibly and her tongue darting out licking across her lips. “Oh, baby girl,” I feigned a frown, tossing my sweater toward the pile of our discarded clothing. “Did you miss me?”

I crawled back onto the bed, adjusting myself between her bare, smooth legs, placing a kiss on the side of her knee. I enjoyed her watching as I lowered myself, kisses trailing down her inner thigh until my mouth hovered over where she wanted it most. “Oh, please,” she groaned, fingers within my hair urging the contact.

I happily kissed her surely throbbing clit, feeling the hardened bundle against my lips, hearing the subtle moan in her throat. Needing more, craving her sounds and the twitches of her body, I flattened my tongue between her folds, licking upward agonizingly slow until my lips closed over her clit, I flickered it back and forth.

She clawed into my scalp, thighs quivering, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck,” she muttered, a groan ribboning the single word.

Aware her own mind was distracted, possessed by the feelings of her stomach clenching, her walls awaiting something more, I silently dragged the wooden box from beneath the bed into view with a single movement of my finger, opening the lid carefully without looking away from the contorted face above me.

“No,” she panted, forcing her eyes open as she grabbed my hand, pushing it against the bed. She was becoming very aware of when I did magic in the bedroom, even if it made no sound, and it was humorously annoying. “I don’t want you to use that tonight. Just,” she breathed as I sucked on her clit. “Just this.”

Before she could grumble another word, she was coming hard against my mouth, her body trembling violently, and silence pouring from her stretched mouth. I held her thighs, more so preventing their strength from squeezing my temples as I had mistakenly allowed when we started dating many months previous.

“Mommy!’ the familiar screeching of an ended nightmare erupted in the hallway. Ally pushed me off of her, stumbling out of the bed, and I watched for a moment as the post-orgasmic rush hit her, forcing her to the floor with a quiet chuckle. “I’ll go,” I offered, collecting my black robe from the hook. “I got this one.”

“I love you,” she smiled pushing her hair from her face. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to us.”

Blushing, I hurried toward the young boy’s room, attempting to think of anything but the fluttering of my heart. Tomorrow, I thought, we would discuss the woman’s march and the article. Right now, I would soothe a seven year old from his nightmare about clowns, and then I would cuddle with his mother as we drifted into sleep.

“Hey, buddy,” I knocked on the door, fingers curled around the handle.

[faeriecxrcle]

silence [Michael Langdon x Reader]

warnings: blood, graphic death description, desecration of remains, smut, rough sex, oral sex

******

The explosion knocks you out for a brief few seconds, your eyes squinting open to a blur of figures and flames, a ringing in your ears.

You sit up slowly, muscles protesting against every movement. Your vision becomes clearer and you see Michael across the room from you, sprawled on the floor, hands caressing the head of Ms.Mead next to him. A tear runs down your face as you feel his pain.

Then you hear scrambling-

“Madison!”

You turn to find her standing there holding a gun to him.

Instinctively you lurch forward to stand between them but a force throws you back into the wall, “Don’t you fucking dare, Madison,” you growl, pushing against the invisible force.

Michael looks to you and back to Madison, a glance that tells you to stand down.

“Sorry about your little toy, bitch,” she sneers. And she fires, and all you can do is watch. You scream as blood splatters, Michael falling back into the wall behind him. His body, now practically lifeless slides down into a thick puddle of deep red.

It’s over as quick as it began. You let yourself fall to the floor, exaggerating the cries that pour out. 

Let them think you’re weak. Let them think you’re a broken woman.

You listen to their soft murmurs. And you almost break your act when you see Myrtle touch what’s yours, ripping beautiful hairs from his scalp.

She crouches down in front of Mallory, handing the hairs to her, “A personal item, remember dear, focus on it, use it to locate a time and place in Michael’s life.” Your eyes narrow at the words, leaning in closer, trying to hear more.

Mallory nods, “Shed the ego, disengage from this realm, place myself there,” She stands and everyone else follows, “ And say the words, Temporis Infinitum,” a small smile on her lips, doe eyes wide.

“That’s our girl,” Myrtle breathes in relief.

Cordelia approaches Michael’s unconscious body, staring down at him, “Bullets alone won’t kill him, he’s become too powerful,” she turns back to the witches before her, “We have to find a place to cast the spell before he wakes up.”

“I’ll hold him off for as long as I can,” Madison states, no room for argument. Cordelia reaches out and cups her face with her hands, a soft, sad smile on her face. Madison smiles back, “Go,” she orders, “Go!”

They move to leave but Cordelia pauses and looks to you, hesitating on leaving you alone with Madison. You stare back, tears trickling down the skin of your cheeks.

“I’ll deal with her too, just go Cordelia,” Madison shouts.

Cordelia gives you one last look and then she’s gone, joining the rest of them.

In an instant the facade drops. You stand tall, head held high, a smirk on your face, “I don’t need magic to kill you, bitch,” you move closer to her.

Madison’s eyes widen, flicking between you and Michael, unsure who to keep watch on. The decision is neither when the sudden appearance of a flaming body falls from the above, distracting her for just a split second. Enough time to knock the gun from her hands and punch her in the nose with a satisfying crunch.

She falls to the floor, skull bouncing, and you jump on her, straddling her body between your legs.

She tries to push you away, oh she tries, but your rage is burning so hot within, that nothing could defeat it.

You wrap your hands around her throat and begin choking her. Her eyes widen and she gasps for breath, her hands trying to pry yours off.

You laugh, leaning down close to her face, “I’m sorry Madison, does this feel oddly familiar?” You press down harder and you’re so lost in the kill that you barley register the crunch of her throat, her body going limp beneath you.

It’s only a gentle touch of your hair that snaps you out of it.

“She’s dead, my love,” Michael murmurs into your ear.

You release your hold and turn to him, eyes wide. He holds your face between his hands and wipes away the tears on your cheeks, kissing your forehead gently.

He takes a deep breath and stands holding his hand out for you. Smiling you take it and he pulls you up into him, chin resting atop of your head, “Let’s kill them all,” he growls into your hair.

You smile into his chest, and you want to, you really do. You want to bathe in their blood and hear their screams as you pull their beating hearts from their chests, but you know that’ll have to wait.

You pull back, looking up at him, and shake your head, and for a moment you see a glimpse of betrayal in his eyes and he looks away from you.

You reach up, placing your palms on his cheeks, “Look at me Michael,” his gaze falls back to you, “They’re going to kill you.”

His mouth opens, as if to argue back, but you interrupt before he gets the chance, “We need a bath tub, now.” You grab his hand, beginning your journey to the bedroom you both resided in during your stay.

He doesn’t argue, and it hits you just how much trust Michael holds for you, “How do you know what to do?” intrigue in his voice.

You snort, “I was bored at this fucking school all the time,  what else was there to do but read?”

“What are they planning?”

“Time travel spell,” You pause, “They’re going to kill you at your lowest, your weakest moment,” You hiss in disgust.

Marie Laveau suddenly stands before you blocking your path, Michael pushes you behind him.

“You will not pass,” Marie seethes, looking him up and down. He moves towards her but his movement is blocked by an invisible force.

Marie taunts him, “Dealing with the HBIC now,” bringing her face to his.

“You really think your stupid voodoo spells can stop me?” He mocks, head tilting. In the blink of an eye his arm is shoved entirely up into her chest, and you can’t help the gasp of satisfaction that leaves your mouth.

“Is that all you’ve got?” He purrs. You bite your lip to hold in your moan at his show of power.

“Not exactly,” She stutters looking to the space behind you both. A sharp sting slices across your back as you turn, narrowly avoiding impalement from the knife Coco wields.  

You grab and twist her arm, the wound on your back burning in defiance, the knife plunging into her own stomach. She falls to her knees, blood trickling from her lips, her hands shakily hovering over the handle of the knife.

“Normally that would work,” he tears Marie’s beating heart from her chest with a squelch, looking down on Coco. You watch as Marie gasps her last breath before she collapses in a heap. Dead. “But we’re nothing like normal,” he smirks, lifting the heart to his mouth and tearing out a chunk slowly, relishing in his kill. Coco’s eyes widen, mouth dropping at the sight, more blood falling down her chin. Michael swallows, sinfully licking his lips, and with a flick of his wrist, her neck snaps.

He offers you a smouldering look, and you try to ignore the painful ache in between your legs, heat rising in your cheeks. You knock the heart from his hand and it falls to the floor with a splatter.

“You need to stop doing shit like that cause it’s a big fucking distraction and I’m trying to save your life here,” you grab his arm and continue pulling him along.

You hear him snort softly.

“Now where’s the fun in that,” he murmurs as you reach the bedroom.

Across from the bed sits the tub, pale white and claw footed. You run over to it and switch on the taps, roughly placing the plug in the drain, waiting for the water to rise. You fall to your knees beside the tub, head resting on the edge and take a deep breath. You can still sense Mallory's weakening spiritual presence that lets you know she’s not cast the spell yet, if she’s even able to. This calms you down.

You hear footsteps approaching, and Michael crouches beside you, pressing his warm body against yours.

“Why am I not doing this?” His lips brushing your ear making you shiver.

“Because, if they come here I will not be able to protect you alone,” You turn to him, his face still so close that your noses brush, “I’ll need your help with this too.”

He kisses you softly, and you can taste the blood on his lips as your tongue brushes his. He pulls back slightly, his mouth still only just brushing yours, “I’ll bring you back,” he whispers, grabbing your hands, determination in his eyes, “I won’t lose anyone else.”

You nod, “I know.”

He kisses your forehead and stands, pulling you up with him.

“It’s ready,” he looks to the bath.

You take a shaky breath, and lift your leg to climb in; Michael holds your hand the entire time, even once you lay back into the water.  

He flicks his other hand and the water stops running.

It’s silent save your breathing.

Then you feel it, Cordelia’s life force fluttering out of the world, and Mallory’s surging to take its place, her spirit suddenly leaving this realm.

Your eyes widen, “Now Michael!”

He pulls the knife out, slicing your palm, and you gasp at the brief sting. He cuts his own with barely a grimace, and he joins your hands together, gripping tightly. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the contact, feeling Michael’s power flooding you.

“Temporis Infinitum,” you chant, your body sinking into the water, ready to face what’s to come.  

******

You follow Mallory’s spirit, it’s almost like a cord pulling you along and when she’s found her destination it snaps like a rubber band.

Your eyes open to a bright sunny street.

You squint, adjusting to the sudden brightness, looking around and trying to figure out where you are. It feels oddly familiar.

You let the gut feeling in the bottom of your stomach take over and lead you where you need to go, taking you further up the empty street. You try to pinpoint Mallory’s exact location, as you do, but with no luck you let out a frustrated sigh, and glance across the road.

It makes you stop dead in your tracks.

Murder House.

The sound of a door slamming breaks you out of your daze, and you turn to see a glimpse of golden hair shimmering in the sunlight, leaving the neighbouring house.

Your mouth drops at his demeanour, completely different from how he is now; he seems vulnerable and small, even with how tall he is. Tears decorate his face, eyes red and lips swollen. This must be his lowest moment you realise. His pale yellow shirt and grey jogging bottoms practically hang off his lanky body...and he has no shoes. You feel a tear trickle down your face at the sight but you wipe it away quickly.

He’s crossing the street to where you stand, and he sees you.

It makes him falter.

Then a car hits him.

You let out an ear piercing screech, hands covering your mouth in shock as you watch his body roll and tumble under the wheels. It makes you feel sick to your stomach.

He lays there, body twitching, small whimpers and cries coming out of his bloody mouth. You’re over there in an instant, cradling his face, head placed into your lap, “You’re okay, darling,” you sniffle, wiping your leaking nose with the back of your hand, “It’s gonna be okay.”

He looks up at you with his wide blue eyes, and your heart clenches.

You hear the revving of a car and you force yourself to tear your eyes away from his broken gaze. You look up to see the Range Rover stationary in the road, taunting you almost.

You scan the vehicle and it reeks of Mallory’s presence. Searing hot rage pulses through your veins, and you raise your hand.

The car begins reversing.

Yet you persist, you feel blood leak from your nose and onto your lips as the power surges through your body. Higher and higher until the car stops, and instead moves forward unnaturally as if it’s gliding on its wheels. And then it does something you weren’t expecting.

It explodes.

You throw yourself across Michael’s body, casting a shield around you both, and you wait, until you can no longer hear metal falling to the ground.

Once silent you look up. The car sits in a fiery blaze, and Mallory’s spirit has completely disappeared.

You look back down to Michael.

One of his arms are extended, his palm facing the car, and it clicks in your mind that he was helping you. He groans and his arm drops to the ground, his head turning back to face you, weaker than before.

“You’re not going to die,” You stroke his hair gently.

More tears flow from his eyes, “Who... are you?” He gargles, fresh blood spilling from his lips.

“It’s okay,” you coo, “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m going to help.”

“Okay,” he whimpers.

You bring both your hands up to hover over his body and take a deep breath. With clear intent in your mind you feel the waves of magic pouring from your palms. You watch as his wounds heal, and his bones crack back into place. He suddenly gasps and sits up; body now fully healed.

“Who are you?” he grips onto your hands, eagerly looking up at you with wide innocent eyes.

You smile and stand, “A friend,” still holding on, “We’ll meet again Michael.”

******

You surge out of the water with a gasp, blood running from your eyes and nostrils. Michael’s hand still tightly grips your own and he wraps his free arm around your shoulders bringing your head to his chest.

“I did it,” You choke out, laughing.

He kisses your wet hair, “I’m proud of you, my love.”

You hum, enjoying the warmth of his body, the water now turned cold, “Let’s get you out of there,” he stands, never letting go of your hand. He helps you out of the tub, your clothes clinging to your body uncomfortably, water dripping to the floor.

“There’s still two of them alive,” he informs you, hand stroking your damp cheek.

You nod, “Let’s kill them,” looking up a him with a fiery stare.

His eyes darken, a smirk painting his lips as he takes a deep breath of satisfaction.

******

You choke out a laugh at the sight before you; Mallory unconscious and floating in the tub of water, and Myrtle frantically trying to wake her up, shaking her like a rag doll.

Michael steps into the room, “We were always going to win,” a sadistic smile on his face.

`The redhead pauses her movements, looking up at both of you, taking in your wet clothes and hair, “Guess we’re fucked,” she mutters to herself.

You widely grin, and turn to Michael, “Honey, I’m feeling rather cold,” you shiver and pout, arms wrapping around your body.

He looks to you, head tilting, “Well we can’t have that.”

He raises his arm, and with the click of his fingers, flames engulf Myrtle instantly. Her body falling to ash before you.

“That’s better,” you sigh in contentment.

You enter the room further, looking upon Mallory’s delicate form, stepping carelessly through Myrtle’s ashes.

Michael follows behind you.

You both stop and stand in front of the tub and you have to refrain yourself from  ripping her throat out.

Michael crouches beside the tub, staring at Mallory the entire time. You blink and the next thing you know his hand is inside her chest, squirming it’s way up through her lungs and wrapping around her heart.

She wakes with a sharp gasp, her eyes wide with shock.

Slowly you walk around the tub, hand stroking the edge, and you lean over her weak body. Michael looks across her to you, pupils blown out, and you can feel the pleasure pulsing through his veins.

A cry averts your gaze to Mallory.

You hush at her, hand cupping her cheek, wiping the blood from her lips, “Look at us,” you order, and you turn her head to Michael. He offers her a beautiful smile. You turn her back to you, “I want the last thing you see to be us,” you hiss, “I want you to die knowing you’ve failed.”

Her eyes widen, staring up at you, and she can only gurgle and whimper in reply.

“We’ve won,” Michael purrs, and he must clench his hand as her eyes roll to the back of her head, ready to pass out, “Shame you won’t be joining us in our new world.”

He yanks his arm back, revealing her heart wrapped in the palm of his hand, blood pumping from its arteries and down his arm.

It hits you hard, and you fall to the floor, the powers engulfing you. You’re sure you pass out for a moment, because when you open your eyes, Michael is  suddenly there crouching over you, a hand stroking your cheek. He doesn’t look concerned, he looks...proud.

He sits you up and holds his other hand out to you; in his palm sits Mallory’s heart. An offering.

“We’ll rule this world together,” his voice a deep growl.

You take a bite.

Blood drips down your lips and chin, and you hum in pleasure, eyes rolling back, and closing. You swallow the flesh but before you can lick your lips clean, Michael has his hand in your hair, pulling you into a rough kiss, “My fucking queen.”

You moan as he yanks your head back, his tongue trailing up from your chin to your mouth, nipping on your bottom lip. You pull back and smirk, raising your palm effectively throwing him off you. He lands on his back, in the pile of ash, eyes wide, staring up at you.

You stand and begin removing your drenched clothes, practically tearing them off yourself, all whilst staring Michael in the eye. He sits up on his elbows, biting his own lip, eyes darkening by the second.

You walk over to him, cat like and predatory, watching his gaze rake over every inch of your bare form. You stop once you’re standing over him, his eyes dropping to your swollen and slick centre.

Falling to your knees, you straddle his hips, your mouth hovering over his own, teasing. He groans, and for a split moment you feel bad for making him wait, but then he’s flipping you both over and it’s gone, “Someone’s inpatient,” you comment and he bites your neck to shut you up.

You hiss, head falling back, allowing him more access, “And someone,” he murmurs into your throat, licking the blood that’s escaping your wound, “miss supreme,” he mocks, hand gliding up, caressing your soft breasts, until it rests upon your throat, “is being a fucking tease,” he squeezes and you whimper.

He presses his lower body in between your legs, and you can feel the pressure of his hardness against your swollen clit. Your hips buck back instinctively, reaching out for some sort of relief, yet the moment you do Michael pulls away.

You can feel the ashes sticking to your back as you writhe trying to follow his movement.

“Patience, dearest,” he says into the shell of your ear, breath tickling you.

You roll your eyes at him in annoyance and he must have seen because he snorts softly.

“Even though you are being a brat,” he softly pushes at your legs, directing you to open them wider, “I do believe that you deserve a treat.”

He moves down, his lips hovering over your stomach, hot breath making your muscles twitch. He kisses the skin softly and your hips jerk at the touch, eyes tearing up at the ache pulsing at your centre.

He takes a small ounce of mercy on you, his tongue pressing against your clit in one hard lick, your head throwing back, a yelp emitting from your throat.

Your breathing is harsh already at that one touch, “Please,” you find yourself begging, looking down at him. His eyes soften and he leans back down, tongue swiping gently at your opening. His invisible hold on your wrists suddenly disappears, and you push your fingers into his silky hair, pressing him into your centre harder. He groans as you tug and pull, the vibrations making you thrust against his mouth harder and his lips suckle at your clit greedily, lapping up any wetness that trickles from you.

He pulls back and in the next moment you’re being flipped over on all fours, and you find yourself cursing, your thighs rubbing themselves together to relieve some sort of pressure that almost had you cumming. Your eyes tear up at the loss of his mouth. You hear the rustling of fabric behind you and you turn to find him pulling off his clothes, his trousers the last to fall from his hips, revealing his hard flushed cock, damp at the tip, and ready to fuck you into the floor. You open your legs up, and you can feel your wetness dripping down your thighs, inviting him in.

“The first time you cum as my queen,” He palms his cock, spreading his pre-cum all over, “I want to be inside you.”

Your cheeks flush at his words, biting your bottom lip, and you can only nod, taking a deep breath that’s cut off as he shoves himself inside you in one quick movement.

You hear him groan as your pussy pulses around him and adjusts, “I’ll never get bored of this,” he sighs, thrusting again, “How fucking wet and warm you are around me.”

You let out a high pitched cry as he speeds up, his hands clenching your hips tightly. You push your hands harder into the floor, slipping under the ash, trying to stay up with his harsh fucking.  

“Look,” He suddenly shoves your face down into it, and you accidentally breathe making you cough and choke, your eyes watering. He lifts your head, allowing you a moment and once you’ve stopped choking he pushes you back down again, not even pausing in his thrusts. “Look at what we did together,” his voice breathy and low, “Revel in it my queen.”

You find your hands gripping the ash beneath you and without even thinking about it you grab a handful and rub it into your face, licking it with your tongue with a groan, your pussy pulsing. Michael fucks you even faster and he pulls you up by your throat again, shoving his tongue into your mouth, sharing the ash with him, “Filthy slut,” he hisses and you laugh, biting his lip so hard that he bleeds.

He pulls out suddenly, and you whimper at the loss, but then he’s pushing you onto your back, shoving himself back inside you again without a moment to think.

His nails press hard into your thigh, leaving deep scratches in their wake and you open your legs further, head thrown back.

He pins your wrists above you, one hand holding them tightly together, back curving upwards at the position, your breasts bouncing with every thrust. He leans down, mouth wrapping around one of your nipples and sucks harshly, and you hiss. The pain spreads through into pleasure making your clit tingle in response, your hiss turning into a moan.  

He releases it with one last lick, looks at you, a smirk on his face, and thrusts into you even harder than you thought possible.

You can feel it rising in the bottom of your stomach, your hips bucking back at his mindlessly, desperation increasing.

You whimpers become louder and louder, and he bites the unmarked side of your neck “Fuck, yes Michael!” You practically growl, and you cum, your back bending sharply as the pleasure floods your veins. Your mouth stays open in a silent scream and Michael continues driving himself into you, his mind lost on the tightness wrapped around his cock, working you through the wave of orgasms.

He grunts loudly, a feral noise ripping through his throat and you feel his cock throbbing inside you, his completion filling you up.

You sigh in satisfaction, coming down from your high, Michael’s head resting on your chest, his mouth kissing your flesh mindlessly, his breathing harsh and heavy.

He carefully pulls himself out and flops over beside you.

And you both just breathe, staring at the ceiling above you.

“You hear that,” you whisper.

“I don’t hear anything,” he sighs into your shoulder, nuzzling.

You smile, “I know, it’s beautiful isn’t it?”

And he laughs.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Gracie!

You have been accepted for the role of ALICE LONGBOTTOM! We really enjoyed your application for Alice! We loved the personality section and the discussion of Alice’s worldview weaved throughout. Definitely looking forward to see how her black-and-white thinking will play out in the Order! 

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Gracie

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m in my fourth year of college, and I’ve managed to be a part of tumblr rpgs my entire college career, so I’m quite good at balancing my IRL responsibilities with managing replies and all the fun stuff. If I had to put it on a scale of 1-10, probably like a 7, 7.5. I usually know well enough in advance when I’m going to have some tough schedules so I can work around it or ask for a brief hiatus.

ANYTHING ELSE: No triggers or squicks to note, but I’ll let you know if that changes.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Alice Aurelia Longbottom (née Edgecombe)

AGE: 33

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Female, She/Her, heterosexual

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: Nope! Love everything! <3

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

There’s something interesting about being caught in the middle. It forces a person to think, rather than to just pass by.

That’s where the Edgecombe family had always been. Not quite so lofty as to be a part of the Sacred 28, but still, a perfectly respectable pureblooded family. They never really stood out. That was, until Alice.

         Unlike her older brother Frederick (or Freddie to his friends), Alice was always quick to question something. Why was the sky blue? Why was her name Alice? Why could they perform such amazing acts of magic, while muggles lived their whole lives without it? She could always be found digging through her father’s study for the answers or climbing to the tallest tree or digging up the garden to see if she could figure out some of the answers for herself.  

         In school, she had a bit of a reputation as a know-it-all. But not your typical know-it-all. She never insisted on interjecting into every class, every conversation; No, no Alice wasn’t at all like that. It wasn’t that she talked very much. Alice would only speak when she had something to say. She was very quick to correct you if she thought you were wrong and could verbally cite all the reasons why. Needless to say, this didn’t help her make any friends. If someone asked her a question, she almost always had the answer and then some. If she didn’t have the answer for you, you could rest assured that after an evening in the library, she’d basically be an expert on it and could tell you just about anything you’d want to know. The thirst for knowledge was relentless. She wanted so desperately to understand everything, and whatever Alice wanted, Alice would get.

Alice is a perfect balance of soft and tough. She’s like the soft beauty of fresh snowfall mixed with the sharp bite that whips in the winter wind. Being raised as the proper daughter of a pureblood family, she could play the part of the polite, soft spoken, and quite witch. However, she never bothered to hide the wit and charm that crackled in everything she did and said. She’s poised, and at times quite cunning, but never, never cruel or harsh. She’s quite captivating, though she never wants to be the center of attention. At her core, she’s kind, and she’s sturdy. She’s also stubborn as anything. As such, it’s very difficult getting through to her when she believes something.

Her world view is one of black and white. There aren’t any shades of grey. There is only right and wrong. In Alice’s mind, the laws are there to protect everyone- to keep everything and everyone in the right. By breaking the laws- even bending it, could spell out something disastrous. Her world view is why becoming an auror seemed like such a natural fit for her. She could make things right, and she could solve problems. She could see something wrong, look for the pieces of the puzzle and reassemble them to find the answer.

Alice is kind of like a pointillism picture. From up close, there’s nothing that seems to stand out. Just another dot on a canvas- one in a million. But upon further inspection, and a different perspective, she’s remarkable. She could be the center of attention, if she didn’t prefer to hide in plain sight. She liked being considered average. It drew less attention to her, and it made it even more satisfying to surprise people when their assumptions proved to be wrong.

But pictures aren’t always pretty.

The clever, calculated nature of the way her mind works means that some people tend to consider her cold, or unfeeling. The know-it-all wound up separating herself from pleasantries and conversation, as people never seemed to like to talk with her. Alice is incredibly blunt and doesn’t sugar coat things. Facts are facts, and there’s no point in making things seem like they aren’t all that bad when they are exactly as bad as they look. In this way, Alice is her own worst enemy. No matter how hard she tries to make friends, to get people close enough to her so that they might begin to understand her, she says something harsh, or doesn’t let emotions influence her response. Then it’s just one more person who finds her completely intolerable.

There’s also the fact that she was in Slytherin. While being in Slytherin doesn’t automatically stain you with certain irredeemable qualities and brand you forever as a dark wizard, it does sometimes create situations where you’re surrounded by people who tend to agree with the sentiments of dark wizards. Being surrounded by these ideas for seven years of her life, hearing the whispers in the halls and the common room conversations, she learned to think like them. Part of these experiences are what helped her to the top of her field. The other part allowed her to work as they do- to be manipulative, to toy with people. These are aspects of herself that Alice hates the most and would love to see disappear. However, they are a part of who she is, and she will still slip into old habits from time to time when these undesirable qualities are called for in whatever task is at hand. And sometimes, even when they aren’t called for. Sometimes it’s just a subtle comment on something, but this controlling aspect of her will rear its ugly head from time to time.  

Alice is a force to be reckoned with. She knows what it is she wants, and she will get it. She knew she wanted to make her family proud. So, she did as she was told, sat straight, acted the proper lady. She still bites her tongue around them rather than tell them how she really feels. Once she knew she wanted to become an auror, to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, she worked hard and got it. She wanted Frank, and she got him too… But now she’s not so sure he wants her too. He’s grown so distant.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

Alice’s family isn’t exactly easy. Her mother, Cordelia, is the definition of a mother hen. Constantly fluffing and preening and just ever-so-slightly overbearing. It took years, and a muggle book from a Hogwarts friend, to realize that her mother is Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice- to a T. While she would probably never utter it allowed, Alice’s mother wanted desperately for her daughter to marry up in pureblood society. She was positively thrilled when Alice brought Frank home for dinner. But that’s not to say the woman doesn’t care about Alice. She’s incredibly proud of her daughter and her accomplishments. In polite society, she gushes endlessly about her Alice, the auror, who managed to snag THE Frank Longbottom.

         Alice is more like her father, Atticus, than anything. The man is quiet. While he doesn’t say much, his mind is always working, always playing some elaborate game of chess with the world, a game that he will inevitably win. He taught Alice to think before she speaks. To always have a plan, all the way from A to Z- just in case something was to go wrong. Alice was always much closer to him than to her father. He just seemed to understand her better than her mother. The clucking and fussing and frills were nice, but Alice needed time away from all that noise to function. She’d much rather be hiding in her father’s study, in silence but never alone. That’s not to say it was always quiet. The battles of wits between these two were legendary- it’s better to never bring up politics around them unless you’re willing to listen to a very well mannered, but absolutely scathing debate.

         Freddie had been her best friend and confidant growing up. She’d constantly pester her big brother for the answers to her innumerable questions that swirled around her head. He was always more of a “mama’s boy” though. Always looking to stay in the woman’s good graces and do as he was told.

         Now, it’s quite difficult. Cordelia and Atticus are both inclined to stay in the graces of pureblood society. Instead of speaking up, they bow their heads, turn a blind eye. To agree that perhaps Lord Voldemort isn’t all that bad and that everyone’s just blowing it out of proportion. Freddie, never one to question his parents, is following blindly along with them.  Alice is forced to watch silently as her family slowly aligns with something she views as truly, and irredeemably wrong.

OCCUPATION 

Alice is an auror. Alice is bright. She knows the spells to use, she knows the laws, the protocols to follow. But it’s not just that that makes her such an excellent fit for the job. The ability to think quickly, to solve the problem in front of her efficiently and effectively, was the key to her success. She had a clear mind in the face of danger, which helped to make her one of the best duelists in the business. She and Frank had been nearly unbeatable. But something is off with them, and it’s throwing off their dueling, and it’s throwing Alice off her whole work game.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

         Alice is in the inner-circle of the Order. She was there to provide a level head and a ministry insight into what was going on politically. She’s there to try to keep everyone safe and protected. At first, the work she was doing with the Order was right. They were protecting the innocent and defenseless. But when things began to fall more and more into a legally grey area, Alice wasn’t so certain anymore.

She’s known who she is and what she stood for her whole life. To be questioning something now is ground shaking. Watching as the younger Order members are more inclined to cause chaos that increases the panic within the community rather than focus on quickly, quietly, and legally helping the others and slowly dismantling the forces that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is assembling is painful for her. She’s trying so desperately to show them that there’s a better way of doing things. A safer way, for everyone involved. But they don’t seem to want to listen.

Watching as Frank takes on more dangerous and legally questionable jobs from the Order has been causing a pit to form in her stomach. Not just because she adores him and would be inconsolable if anything were to ever happen to him, but also because the one thing she cares about most above all is beginning to exist on the fringe of the black area in her mind. In her world without a grey area, she’s not sure what she can do. She knows she won’t turn on him or expose him, but then, what is she supposed to do here?

SURVIVAL:

         The British “Stiff Upper Lip” defines how Alice gets by. Living in the Longbottom family house is a step up from the tiny Edgecombe household, and a very welcome change to the tiny London flat she’d holed up in after Hogwarts as she was getting her start at the Ministry. Having copious amounts of floo-powder in the house always makes the commute to work a breeze.

More eyes are on her now than when she was younger. Marrying up meant that people paid marginally more attention to her, even more so as a respected auror. She’s forced herself to be very careful. She never talks of the Order in public. At work, if the group is mentioned, she’s always the first to volunteer to investigate them. Better her than any of the other aurors. If it were anyone else, it was likely all their faces would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet, holding numbers across their chests and looking incredibly grim. Worse the end of her career, if she was discovered to be associated with the Order, it would almost definitely be certain death, now that so many of Lord Voldemort’s followers are also working in the Ministry. She can never be too careful with who she trusts.

RELATIONSHIPS:

         While it may not seem like it from the surface, Alice is holding on for dear life with Frank. They’d always been a team in her mind. The two of them against the world. But now he won’t talk to her. He’s been distant, and she barely recognizes him some days. The man she’d married isn’t who’s sleeping beside her anymore, and she isn’t sure where he went, or what she must do in order to bring him back. It’s not as though she can talk to her family or work friends about the problem without exposing the Longbottom’s dirty little (illegal) secret to the entire wizarding world. She can’t talk to anyone about it. She can’t talk to Frank about it. Her parents cannot know that she’s part of the Order, or else they could be in serious trouble. Not that she’d even like to imagine it, but she knows there’s a chance that they could turn on her and turn her in or inform someone in Voldemort’s ranks of just what the Longbottom’s are up to. She can’t talk about it at work or risk exposing herself as a member of the Order. Alice is a cauldron of stress that is at risk of bubbling over. She needs a shoulder to cry on, or at least someone to vent to. Otherwise, Alice is going to explode.

         Caradoc Dearborn is clever. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. He knows how to think, and not just blindly stumble into things firing spells left and right. He’s one of the reasons that she still has faith in the Order and what it’s doing, and why she hasn’t withdrawn. She hopes he can help direct to Order into doing what’s best for the entire wizarding community, without making a muck of every law and statute the wizarding world lives by. She can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a parent, and she’s sort of taken him under her wing as a younger sibling of sorts.

         Mary MacDonald stresses Alice out more than anything. The girl’s completely all over the map. She flickers back and forth between what’s right and what’s wrong in Alice’s view like a light bulb on the fritz. It doesn’t make sense to her that one person can change her opinion on something a million times in a minute. In Alice’s mind, maybe the girl changes her mind so much because she isn’t sure what she believes. Or worse yet, she knows what she believes, and she’s trying to take the whole Order down from the inside and take everyone along with it. She doesn’t trust her as far as she can throw her.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: Alice x Frank, Alice x Chemistry

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE? 

         Alice is very privileged. A pureblood witch who married into another pureblood family? A respectable Ministry job? That’s as good as it gets, as far as some in their community are concerned. But she’s never been one to judge. In school, she enjoyed seeing the other half of the world. She’d trade books and music with muggle-born students, read as much as she could about everything- vampires, werewolves, shape shifters- everything. The unquenchable thirst to know all that there was out there provided her with the facts. But the facts, she’s beginning to find, are often different than the reality.

The underlying prejudice with her still exists, as much as she tries to fight it. She listens to her family and questions whether they always thought that way. Whether or not she used to agree with them. She can’t recall, and she hopes it wasn’t so. But sometimes, watching as these youths who think they’re changing the world by tearing it apart… She wonders just where they learned to think this way. Are they muggle ideas? I want her to try and better understand the struggles that others who aren’t nearly as privileged as her face daily. To try and understand why some are, in her mind, so intent on blowing things up and starting again. To understand their struggle, so that maybe Alice can learn to think beyond what’s black and white in the eyes of the law, and instead see what’s morally and ethically the right thing to do. Perhaps this ability to better understand may help her to realize where her loyalties should truly lie in this war.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

Literally, everything. Alice Longbottom has always been my favorite of the Marauders era characters, as I feel like she can be interpreted a plethora of different ways, and I think that this interpretation of her may just be my favorite yet.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: Maybe an inspection of ministry workers, or something that could poke at whether they’re involved in anything suspicious? Or a raid on Diagon Alley.

ANYTHING ELSE? Nope! <3 Mischief Managed!