#points if you can spot Edgar

[thephoenixcave]

FF6 Artober Day 20: Remembrance

“Hmm… castle hasn’t changed much. And yet, it’s all different. Mom and Dad are gone. Everyone’s gone… since that day…”

It’s hard to say which scene in the game is my favorite, but this one is up there. So much emotion packed into these sprites and their very limited range! But it comes to life in my mind; I imagine it just like this.

FFVI Artober Prompts by @artandsomethingcreated

[baizhoobies]

BSD Men and their Favourite Positions

A/N: OMG my first ever post on here ~ What better way to start off this blog than a little bit of smut with our favourite men? Cooked some of this up with a friend, I hope you enjoy! I ofc couldn’t fit every BSD character in here, depending if its what people want, I may do a part 2 dedicated to the Hunting Dogs, Mushitarō etc and maybe even a part 3 for various BSD women! So let me know if that’s something I should do next!

Warnings:, graphic descriptions of sex, mentions of kinks, 18+, minors dni

Reader is gender neutral with any genitalia !!

Including: Dazai, Atshushi, Kunikida, Ranpo, Fukuzawa, Chūya, Akutagawa, Tachihara, Francis Fitzgerald, Edgar Allen Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Lovecraft, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma, Ango

𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲

Dazai

I am not entirely sure what this position is called, but picture this: You are laying on your back, Dazai using his strong hands lifts you up by the waist, your legs are over his shoulders and he pulls you into him with a rough thrust. I feel like Dazai is stronger than he looks, so he uses his strength to his advantage, and he most certainly is rough with it. Expect him to man-handle you a lot, he has to have complete control over you - expect to ache the next day, along with some very pretty bruises where his fingers dug in. I’m sure this position has a name but my friend called it the ‘cervix/g spot destroyer 9000’ so we will go with that.

Atsushi

Our sweet Atsushi… oh yeah you are bent over doggy style, gnawing at your neck and shoulders as he pounds into you. He would probably cry a little, but only because he feels so good. Unlike Dazai, its not necessarily about control, but instincts for him. Being with you, he would absolutely go feral and his tiger senses just go crazy. He will have nothing on his mind except the thought of him pinning you down with his weight, cock buried deep inside and his mouth biting anywhere he can sink his teeth into.

Kunikida

I am absolutely biased and I will take liberty in saying that he would be quite partial to pinning you down into a mating press. It makes him feel in control, and of course that being in his ideals, will absolutely follow it to a tee. Its a position where you are able to get the best grunts out of him, as someone who isn’t super vocal (more huffing and panting), having him balls deep in you like this is sure to make him let out some involuntary moans. Also…it doesn’t matter what gender you are, he is getting you pregnant fr. Have you ever seen a man so fuck drunk? WELL YOU ARE ABOUT TO; he can only stay in control for so long until his senses overwrite everything. Not exactly his ideal, is it?

Ranpo

2 words…pillow princess. If you have a dick or a strap, he enjoys being pressed down into the bed, hips up and back arched whilst being hit from the back. He comes across as someone who would enjoy being with someone who could ‘outwit him’, and if that is you, he would willingly relinquish the control he feels that he has over people …to you. I personally believe he is a switch, but his favourite position? Any position where you fuck his brains out completely. Bonus points if you reach around and jerk him off at the same time, you will turn him into a moaning and whining mess.

Fukuzawa

As someone who comes across as traditional, I feel like missionary would be his most preferred position. Its comfortable, can be as slow or as fast as he (and you) feels - but what he likes the most is being able to see your face, the way it looks as you take him in and when you cum. If he isn’t looking at your eyes as he thrusts, he is most certainly resting his face in the nook of your neck, kissing your sensitive skin - you don’t complain, as someone who probably isn’t so vocal during sex, this is the best position to hear his low moans and praises on his lips as he comes undone. It’s also a very versatile position because he can be slow and romantic, full of love and praise, or after a stressful day, he can harshly rut into you with rough fingers digging into your hips.

𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚

Chūya

Never tell him that you’re a throat goat because he will go absolutely crazy. I mean CRAZY. He will have you laying on a table or a bed/couch if they are tall enough, your head hanging off the edge and your mouth open, taking him in completely. In this position he is able to fuck your throat mercilessly, noticing the bulge in your neck where his cock is buried; seeing it just inflates his ego and will jerk himself off using your throat for extra pressure/friction. If his hand isn’t around your neck, he will absolutely have one hand on your cock/cunt, playing with it for your own pleasure as he feels himself cumming down your throat.

Akutugawa

Also a missionary king, now it may seem ooc of him, but I feel like he would let his guard down with his significant other; like its a side only you get the privilege in seeing. Like he may have this tough exterior, but secretly he just wants to be held. So as much as he can be rough, he relishes in your warmth, your arms around him and pulling him into a hug; it makes him feel safe and secure. If your arms aren’t enveloping him, he will hold your hand, squeezing it as he enters you and when he cums. - Oh he definitely has a thing for holding your hand. Big meanie who is actually a softie!

Tachihara

The man relishes the thought and the feeling of having you sit on his face. You may feel like you are the one in control, but thats far from the truth. His grip is hard on your hips, pulling you further down onto his face, almost worryingly so; but don’t worry, the man knows what he’s doing. If he’s going to die by giving oral then that is a good way to die 🫡 Master tongue for real, like he prides himself. I BET he is the type of guy who gives his tongue a ‘work out’ just so he builds his durability for this very thing!! He won’t even think about cumming first without you cumming from his tongue; on second thought, he might even cum from eating you out alone, he just gets so in the moment…I better stop.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝

Francis Fitzgerald

Whew, okay this man wants you pinned against something, no matter the position; on his desk, against a wall, if its a hard surface, he wants you there. But in terms of favourite I would say against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, strong hands gripping and supporting your ass as he plunges deep and hard into you. It would definitely be an ego thing for him, being able to support you and also wreck your shit at the same time. Please do praise him, as his already mentioned ego will inflate and I just know he would fuck you better with each compliment. Expect a very bruised back and aching legs after, he doesn’t intend on taking it easy with you.

Edgar Allen Poe

As hopeless romantic like myself, I feel like he would want to be as close to you as possible with also being able to see your face. As strange as it may sound, but Poe enjoys having you in the lotus position - this way, he is able to feel your entire body grind into him so lovingly. The both of you would sit on his bed, your legs crossed around each other and his cock buried warmly inside of you, here he feels safe and content (you just know he is whimpering into your ear). Its also a good position for you to take more control, I just know ya man is a sub at heart, so do please tell him that he’s a good boy and how much you love his voice, because it will only egg him on to be louder.

Nathaniel Hawthorne

As a man of god, you will probably (definitely) be married to him to get anywhere near him sexually. But when you are married, rest assured that he will want to ravish you. He comes across as someone who has a lot of repressed sexual feelings, therefore he’d want a position that can demonstrate his absolute DESIRE. Because I am feeling generous, I would say either the mating press or cow girl. The mating press for…obvious reasons… his big strong body holding you down with a distinct goal in mind? Oh yes. I would also say the cowgirl, mainly because he would enjoy seeing you come undone on his cock, pulling you down either by your hips or your arms, balls bouncing against your ass…that man has seen god and its you.

Lovecraft

This is a tricky one, I don’t think he would necessarily have a favourite position for his own pleasure, but he would probably take gratification in your pleasure. YOU KNOW he would put those tentacles to good use if you ask him. With this in mind, I picture you asking him to “fill your holes”, which he does, and makes sure to do it where he has full view of the show. If you want his cock specifically, he will have several tentacles wrap themselves around your torso, one forcing your head down, the others keeping your thighs apart and hips up for him to enter you from behind - so in short I suppose his favourite position with you would be doggy !

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝

Fyodor

Thigh fucking, 100%. Something that doesn’t actually involve penetrative sex because of the whole,,,religion thing. Unless you were married, there will be no sex; aside from the loop holes. You are on your back, wearing the fanciest of underwear as Fyodor lifts up and presses your legs together, poking his hard cock through your soft flesh and thrusts. He will curse you out, call you a little temptress or seducer…when he cums it’ll never be inside, not that he hasn’t thought about it, he has. Each time you would do it he would get closer and closer to giving in. “You tempt me…” he’d whisper, there are very few people who could get him to question his faith, his morals…but you…you really are a little charmer, aren’t you?

Nikolai

I had a hard time deciding with Nikolai, but I honestly believe that he would be super into 69-ing. He would probably enjoy the fact that its the ‘sex’ number and make numerous jokes about it outside the bedroom. But INSIDE the bedroom is another matter. He would most likely prefer to be on top, it means that he has more power over you (and that you can’t escape him, not that you’d want to). He would be kind of sadistic too, pressing his cock further and further into your mouth, enjoying hearing the little gags and chokes as he essentially keeps you prisoner under his weight; he would never endanger you but…there is always an element of danger with him.

Sigma

Spooning, its something so intimate and personal to him, both fucking you and hugging you. He gives me the vibe that he just wants to be close to you, he’s clingy and a little possessive, so holding you in this position is heaven to him. You are laying on your side, one leg hooked over his arm, lifting it up so that he has the perfect angle to plunge deep into you. He is so loving when he does this, to him you might as well be made of glass. Expect a thousand kisses along your back and shoulder blades, a few little bites but not too rough, but enough to mark you. Sigma is also a whimperer and whiner, very vocal with it too (possibly even a crier if over-stimulated)

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚(𝐬)

Ango

Another very subby kinda guy, though definitely a switch in my mind, but I can elaborate in another post tee hee. I want to say his favourite is having you suck his cock. LIKE ofc he enjoys sex, but his favourite thing is seeing you servicing him on your knees, between his legs and swallowing every inch. He’s veryyyy sensitive on his tip, so even delicately kissing it before sucking him in will put him immediately on edge. He may try to establish dominance at first, but rest assured that will not last long. He will find it hard to compose himself, especially if you take every bit of him in your throat. His glasses will fog up, his face red and his fingers fumbling with your hair; awh look at him, you got him all flustered. Another man who whimpers, maybe even cry, but boy he sounds angelic whilst doing so.

A/N: ahhhh okay done!! I hope you enjoyed, I know I did. I fear that there are a few headcanons I’ve made and will have to elaborate on in the future. Like I am so going to dive into the Fyodor thigh fucking headcanon….lord have mercy I’m bout to bust. Alroighhtttt, till next time 🌸

[kckt88]

Scorched Hearts XII

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

After a confrontation with Daemon, Valaena reveals details of her past with Aemond.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Confrontation, Reminicising, Memories, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Lactation Kink, Fingering, Oral Sex, Smut, P in V, Semi Public, Caught Having Sex.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 4300 (Bit of short one).

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

Valaena sat beneath the shade of a blossoming tree, the gentle sounds of her children’s laughter filling the garden as Rhaegar and Elaena chased one another in wide, happy circles.

Daenys sat beside Lirri, babbling loudly as she clapped her little hands, her laughter and copious amounts of drool bubbled up as Arro watched over them, a protective shadow nearby.

The hatchlings, Sapphyre, Hūra and Valerion, stretched out in the sun, their wings unfurled to catch the warm rays, with Sapphyre’s watchful eye never leaving Rhaegar.

Above, Valaena caught sight of a large shadow sweeping over the garden—the unmistakable form of Vhagar, gliding through the sky.

Behind her followed Sunfyre, Tessarion, and Dreamfyre, their scaled bodies glinting in the sunlight.

Valaena couldn’t help but smile, thinking of Aemond and his siblings soaring together through the sky, reconnecting in a way that only dragon riders could.

“You have mothers glow my lady” said Lirri softly.

“I-I do?” asked Valaena smiling as she gently rubbed her swollen stomach.

“Yes, I can see why my lord likes to plant seed”

“Lirri-” gasped Valaena blushing.

Rhaegar then trotted up to her, proudly holding out his hand. “Look, Mama. Look!” he exclaimed, a tiny red-and-black insect resting on his palm.

“Oh, how beautiful. Do you know what it is?” Valaena said, leaning towards her son.

“No mama. What is it?” said Rhaegar shaking his head.

“Its called a lady bird”

Rhaegar scrunched his face in confusion. “But birds have feathers,” he said, studying the little bug.

Valaena chuckled softly. “I know, sweetling. But this one isn’t a bird it’s a type of beetle, it’s just named a ladybird,” she explained.

Elaena skipped over; her violet eyes bright as she looked down at her brother’s discovery. “It’s pretty,” she said in awe, reaching out a small finger.

The ladybird crawled delicately over Rhaegar’s hand, and he giggled, his eyes shining. “It tickles, Mama!”

“Did you know that there are some people who say that if a ladybird lands on you, flies off and then lands on another, then that person will be your true love,” Valaena said, smiling as Rhaegar’s eyes grew round with wonder.

“Really?” he asked, wide-eyed.

Valaena nodded, watching the gentle creature as it crawled. “And you see those little spots on her back?” she continued. “People say that’s how old they are. Would you like to count them?”

Rhaegar and Elaena leaned in together, counting in hushed tones as Valaena pointed. “I count five,” she said.

Rhaegar’s face lit up with a delighted grin. “She’s the same age as me!”

“She is,” Valaena agreed.

Rhaegar looked down at the beetle with fondness. “I want to keep her,” he whispered.

Valaena smoothed a hand over his silver hair. “She’s a living creature, my darling, and she needs to be free. She might even have a family somewhere, waiting for her. You wouldn’t want to keep her from them, would you?”

Rhaegar shook his head, his expression turning serious. “No, Mama.”

Valaena placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “That’s my good boy.”

Together, they watched as the ladybird spread her wings and fluttered into the air, a small red-and-black dot vanishing into the blue.

Rhaegar and Elaena both waved after her, calling out little goodbyes.

But then Valaena felt a presence and looked up to find Daemon standing nearby, watching her.

His expression was unreadable as his gaze shifted from her to her children, lingering on each in turn before settling back on her.

After a few minutes of silent observation, Daemon approached, his gait slow and steady, but Sapphyre alerted by the presence of a stranger snarled loudly, his eyes narrowing with warning.

Rhaegar stepped in, his small voice calm but firm as he commanded, "Lykirī, Sapphyre." Sapphyre’s tail lashed the ground hard, and his teeth were bared but he quickly obeyed, moving to shield his rider. (Be Calm).

Hūra, too, positioned herself protectively in front of Elaena, who clutched her blankey, watching Daemon warily.

Valaena rose, brushing the grass from her skirts, her expression sharp as she turned to Lirri.

"Would you please take the children back to their chambers?"

"Yes, my lady," Lirri replied, scooping Daenys up and offering a hand to Elaena.

With a final scathing glare at Daemon, Rhaegar called, "Māzīs, Sapphyre-" (Come).

As the dragons followed the children, Sapphyre’s gaze locked onto Daemon, viciously snapping at him as he passed.

Only when they were gone did Valaena face Daemon fully, her arms crossing over her chest.

Daemon broke the silence first, his tone stiff. "That boy of yours has a strong bond with his dragon."

Valaena’s eyes were hard. "What do you want, Daemon?"

Daemon shifted, letting out a slow sigh. "I came to apologize for last night. I didn’t mean—"

"-Drunk words are sober thoughts," Valaena cut him off coldly. "You meant every fucking word."

Daemon’s jaw tightened. "Of all the men you could’ve fallen for, why did it have to be him?" he asked, his voice betraying an edge of frustration.

She scoffed. "Does your hatred of Otto Hightower run so deep that you would scorn Aemond without even giving him a chance?”

Daemon’s gaze darkened. “Otto Hightower was a fucking cunt,” he spat, the venom evident in his tone.

"And, I suppose, you believe Aemond to be the same," Valaena shot back.

“That one eyed cunt lured you away from your family” snapped Daemon.

“When are you going to get it through your head that we did what we did because there was no other way for us to be together, you made that perfectly clear when you opened your big mouth last night”

“You allowed yourself to be manipulated-”

“When will you realise that I’m not some weakling maiden who is so easily seduced by sweetened words whispered in my ear” said Valaena.

“He is a slithering green snake who saw an opportunity and he took it” exclaimed Daemon.

“-Why can’t you accept that I’m capable of making my own fucking choices?" snapped Valaena

Daemon sighed, his voice strained. "Valaena, I—"

But she raised a hand, silencing him.

“Arro” said Valaena firmly.

Arro appeared almost instantly, quickly stepping into the garden from the terrace. “Yes, Princess”

"Will you remove this loathsome cur from my sight."

Arro nodded. “Of course, my lady.” He turned to Daemon, his stance firm and unyielding. “This way, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon’s lips thinned, but he turned on his heel and began to walk away.

He had almost reached the edge of the garden when Valaena called, "-Oh and Daemon." He stopped, looking back with an unreadable expression.

"Stay away from my children." Her voice was unyielding, and her gaze unwavering.

Daemon held her gaze for a long, tense moment before he turned and disappeared from the garden without another word.

Valaena sat beside her mother, her fingers tracing absent patterns along her dress, a small ache in her chest as she spoke.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Mother," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the wall "But I couldn’t bear the thought of losing the only man I’ll ever love."

Rhaenyra took her daughter’s hand, her touch warm and gentle. "I know," she whispered, giving Valaena’s hand a small squeeze. Her eyes softened with grief held close. "But thinking I’d lost another daughter-it was a pain beyond anything I’ve ever known. Even when I was young, when I lost my own mother-it never hurt like that-"

Valaena’s gaze softened. "Mother-"

Rhaenyra’s voice wavered, just slightly. "For ten days, I searched for you. I needed to know-to see with my own eyes if you were truly gone, to see of any trace lingered-"

Valaena’s eyes softened. “My cloak-”

Rhaenyra nodded. “It washed up on the shore,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. She reached into her sleeve and produced the broken silver dragon chain, placing it in Valaena’s palm. “I found this, too.”

Valaena’s fingers closed around it, the cool metal familiar in her hand. “You kept it.”

“I couldn’t part with it,” Rhaenyra admitted.

“Mother-”

“-I remember when I first gave it to you—right after you claimed Silverwing.” Her lips curved in a bittersweet smile. “You cried because it was too large for you, but you grew into it soon enough.”

Valaena laughed softly, the memory easing the ache in her chest.

Rhaenyra reached forward, tucking a loose strand of Valaena’s dark hair behind her ear with a tenderness that only a mother could have.

“I know Daemon’s words were harsh,” she continued. “But please, try to forgive him.”

Valaena shook her head. “But he—”

Rhaenyra interrupted, a sadness in her gaze. “In truth, your death hit Daemon harder than he’s ever let on. Having a favourite among one’s children isn’t something one should admit out loud, but you were his. He loved you fiercely, Valaena.”

Valaena’s face softened, though confusion lingered in her eyes. “Then why didn’t he just say that?”

Rhaenyra sighed. “You know how Daemon is. It’s easier for him to show anger than love, especially when he’s hurting.”

Valaena stared at the broken chain, brushing her fingers over the tarnished silver links.

“But why all the anger at Aemond?” Valaena asked, frustration creeping into her voice.

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed together as she thought. “He needs someone to blame. And unfortunately, Aemond is his target.”

“But it’s not Aemond’s fault,” Valaena insisted, exasperated.

Rhaenyra squeezed her hand. “I know that, and so do you. But Daemon has convinced himself that Aemond manipulated you into faking your death.” She scoffed, giving her daughter a knowing smile. “But I know my girl, and there’s no way you would have fallen for such a thing. You are more dragon than most.”

Valaena smiled wryly. “It’s a pity Daemon doesn’t share that same sentiment.”

“I think he still sees you as that little girl who once begged him to teach her how to wield a sword or how to sneak extra helpings of pudding at dinner-"

Valaena smiles at the memory “But it still doesn’t absolve him of the horrible things he said about Aemond”

Rhaenyra shook her head, a bemused smile on her lips. "Oh, don’t you worry my girl there are many ways I can punish him for his slanders,

Valaena wrinkled her nose. "I’m not sure I want to know what that entails."

Rhaenyra laughed, giving her daughter a knowing look. "Oh, don’t be so coy, Valaena. You’re a mother now; you know the workings between a man and wife."

Valaena blushed, smiling in spite of herself. "In all fairness, Mother, I was doing those things with Aemond long before we became husband and wife."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, glancing around to make sure they were alone before she leaned in closer. "And how is it, between the two of you? Is he a giving lover?"

A deep blush crept over Valaena’s cheeks. "Are we really having this conversation?"

"Why not?" Rhaenyra grinned. "You’re my daughter; we can talk about anything. So, is he?"

A soft, shy smile played on Valaena’s lips. "Yes. Aemond is very giving."

Rhaenyra laughed, delighted. "It feels good to be desired does it not?”

Valaena nods “Yes, its certainly does”

Rhaenyra reached for a cup of wine and offered one to Valaena who politely declined, she then took a deep breath “So tell me about you and Aemond-”

Valaena’s eyes sparkled as she watched her mother lean in, her curiosity piqued. "What do you want to know, Mother?" she asked with a soft laugh.

Rhaenyra took a moment to consider. "When was your first kiss?"

Valaena’s gaze grew distant, a gentle smile appearing on her lips as she recalled the memory. “It was just before you took us to Dragonstone. We went to the weirwood tree, and he promised me that when we were grown, we’d get married” She paused, a light blush colouring her cheeks. “-And then we kissed. It was only a quick peck on the lips, but it was the first.”

Rhaenyra smiled, both tender and amused. "You were so young then.”

Valaena’s blush deepened. “Yes, but it meant everything at the time.”

Rhaenyra seemed to study her daughter’s face, taking in the depth of her emotions. “And after Driftmark?” she asked carefully. “How did your friendship survive?”

“Aemond knew I wasn’t to blame for what happened,” Valaena replied softly. “He knew I tried to help him. For a while, it was just letters—our way of staying close. I’d write to him, and he’d write back-”

“How did you manage to keep that quiet, surely I would have noticed your regular correspondence?”

“Oh, well I would send them under the guise of writing to Helaena, and it was Maester Gerardys who would send them for me, until I got a little older anyway and then I sent them myself and I may or may not have said if anyone found out then I’d feed them to Silverwing-”

“Maester Gerardys?” asked Rhaenyra her eyebrows raised.

“Yes. He’s a good man mother” replied Valaena.

“I know he is. So how did the relationship between you and Aemond progress?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice soft with curiosity.

“When I was old enough to ride Silverwing on my own, we would arrange to meet in secret,” Valaena said, a wistful smile playing at her lips.

“So that’s where you would disappear too” said Rhaenyra wistfully.

“In the beginning we just spent time with each other, he struggled a lot after he lost his eye. Small things were harder for him, and there were times where I would just read to him, or he’d lie with his head in my lap while I stroked his hair.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened. “I never knew the extent of his suffering-”

Valaena met her mother’s eyes with a gentle but pointed look. “Because you didn’t want to.”

Rhaenyra’s lips parted, a faint regret shadowing her gaze. “And then?”

“One night, he came to me crying,” Valaena said, her voice a whisper. “Aegon had taken him to a brothel and paid the madame to lay with him.”

Rhaenyra gasped, covering her mouth. “He was only a boy-”

“Yes,” Valaena replied, her tone tinged with sadness. “He was so disgusted with himself, and he told me that he didn’t want to see me anymore. He was afraid that he’d taint me, that he was no longer worthy. But I refused to let him go”.

Rhaenyra reached out and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Oh, my sweet girl.”

“All I wanted was for him to trust me and he did”

“You must have meant a great deal to him,” said Rhaenyra.

“I’d like to think so”

“When did things change between the two of you?” asked Rhaenyra.

“It started off with little things at first, like holding hands as we sat together or he would put his arm around me when I read to him, we would even spar with one another from time to time-wooden swords of course but the fact that he didn’t just see me as a girl, but a worthy opponent meant the world-”

“-Carry on” urged Rhaenyra, her chin resting upon her hand as she listened.

 “One day we were sparring and he tripped me, but I was determined that I wasn’t going to go down alone, so I grabbed him and pulled him down with me, we landed in a heap in the sand, we started laughing and then he kissed me” said Valaena fiddling with the rings on her fingers.

“And the first time between the two of you?”

“We first laid together just after I turned five and ten-”

Rhaenyra’s brows lifted slightly, concern mingling with curiosity. “And you were alright?”

“Yes. He was gentle, patient and nervous, but it was something that we both wanted”

“That’s good” whispered Rhaenyra.

“Yes, Mother-he took care of me” Valaena’s expression softened with the memory. “After that we learned about each other together, but we soon realized that we needed somewhere private to be-just us, and that’s how we found our place”

“Our place?” Rhaenyra repeated with a curious soft smile.

Valaena chuckled. “There was an old cabin near Wendwater. It wasn’t in the best shape, but we spent time fixing it up, making it something liveable” She paused. “-But It became our sanctuary—a place where we could just be ourselves, without the fear of discovery.”

Rhaenyra looked at her daughter, her smile tinged with admiration and sadness. “And when did you first know that you loved him?”

Valaena’s face softened. “I think I’ve always loved him.”

Rhaenyra sighed, a half-smile on her lips. “And what does he feel for you?”

Valaena smiled mischievously. “You’d have to ask him.”

“Oh, believe me,” Rhaenyra said with a wry grin. “I will.”

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over King’s Landing as Valaena stood on the balcony of her chambers, watching the evening bustle below.

She felt a familiar presence before she heard him, the soft creak of the door, the purposeful sound of boots across the stone floor, and then a pair of strong arms wrapping around her waist.

Aemond’s lips found her neck, leaving a trail of warm, tender kisses.

“Did you enjoy spending time with your brothers and sister?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips as she leaned back against him.

Aemond nuzzled into her neck, sighing with satisfaction. “Yes. It felt good, all of us flying together. It made me realize how much I missed them.”

She laughed softly. “Even Aegon?”

Aemond gave a small, reluctant chuckle. “Yes, even him. But don’t you dare tell him.”

“I won’t,” she promised, grinning.

He tilted his head, looking at her curiously. “And what did you do today, my love?”

“I spent time with the children in the garden, had a bit of a disagreement with Daemon, and then a long talk with my mother.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “You argued with Daemon?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she said, brushing it off lightly.

Aemond slid his hands over her rounded belly, resting them there as he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. “Gods, you smell divine.”

“I recently bathed,” she replied, smiling.

Gently, he turned her around to face him, cupping her face as he leaned in to kiss her, slow and tender.

Resting his forehead against hers, his gaze was intense and filled with a reverence that made her heart race.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful,” Aemond murmured, his voice rough. “Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha jorrāelagon.” (My wife, my love).

Valaena smiled, her fingers grazing his cheek. “Ñuha valzȳrys, ñuha zaldrīzes.” (My husband, my dragon).

With a quiet growl, he pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers with a passionate intensity. His hands travelled up her sides as he began to trail kisses along her jaw, his breath hot against her skin.

“I want you” he whispered, his voice a low murmur against her ear.

Valaena’s hands slid into his long silver hair, tangling in the strands as she pulled him close. “Pār emagon nyke” (Than have me).

Aemond guided Valaena backward toward their bed, his hands deftly slipping her nightdress from her shoulders, letting the fabric glide over her skin and pool softly around her feet.

Her gaze remained fixed on him as she sat down on the bed, watching as he unfastened his riding leathers, the dark material sliding off to reveal his lean, yet muscled frame.

Finally, he reached up, fingers lingering for a moment, and slipped off his eyepatch, leaving himself entirely bare before her.

Valaena reached forward, her hands settling on his hips, pulling him close. Her lips brushed softly against his stomach, trailing tender kisses along his skin.

She nuzzled into the faint line of hair that traced down from his navel, feeling him shiver at her touch.

Aemond’s hands gently cradled Valaena’s face, his gaze warm and intent as he guided her down onto the bed.

He settled her against the soft linens, his touch reverent as he brushed his fingers along her jawline, tracing a path down her shoulder and along her arm.

His eye never left hers, conveying a quiet depth of feeling that words couldn’t capture.

He leaned over her, supporting his weight on one arm, and lowered his face to cover her body with his as he sucked and licked at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Valaena moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Aemond then moved down to lick her nipples, he couldn’t contain his excitement as he went back and forth between her wonderful, enlarged breasts that nourished their daughter.

“Oh” muttered Valaena as she flung her arms over her face, as pearly white liquid began to leak from her breasts, running down her body in rivulets.

Aemond eagerly ran his tongue over the milk that had dripped from his wife’s rosy nipples and delighted in the sweetened taste.

“Hmmm” moaned Aemond as he continued to lick and suckle at her breasts, gorging himself on her milk, his hard cock pressed against her thigh.

His tongue swirling around her stiffened peaks, his teeth scraping against her skin, the sounds of him swallowing.

“Ohhh-A-Aemond” gasped Valaena.

“What is it my love?”.

“Don’t stop-please, oh gods-don’t stop” exclaimed Valaena as she arched her back, her cunny clenching around nothing as she unexpectedly climaxed.

“Did you just-peak?” asked Aemond smirking as he released her nipple with a soft pop.

“Yes” replied Valaena, her cheeks tinged pink.

“Well, that’s never happened before-” muttered Aemond he moved forward and kissed her passionately, his tongue invading her mouth.

“I-I don’t know what come over me-” replied Valaena softly.

“Don’t be embarrassed-I liked it” said Aemond as he began to move down her body, nibbling her at her skin as he went.

He paused at her swollen stomach and placed a series of gentle kisses upon the stretched skin, marvelling at the wonder that was his wife who had already birthed three of his children and was now expecting their fourth.

“That feels nice” whispered Valaena as she closed her eyes.

“Does this feel nice?" asked Aemond, spitting on her cunny before he ran the flat of his tongue up her soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Valaena her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my sweet. Let me hear you”. 

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Valaena.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Valaena, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Valaena. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Valaena; her chest heaving.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, peak for me baby,” moaned Aemond, his face pressed between her shaking thighs.

Valaena arched  her back and screamed as her climax washed over her.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at her centre as she squirted all over his face.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you-” begged Valaena.

Aemond rose to his knees, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth.

Aemond moved up Valaena’s body pausing to grasp hold of her left breast as he ran his tongue over the rosy nipple, his teeth grazing the stiffened peak.

“Oh-yes“ gasped Valaena, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

Aemond then manoeuvred her body on top of his.

“I want you to ride me-” exclaimed Aemond as he lined up his cock with her entrance and sheathed himself inside her with one hard thrust.

Valaena moaned as Aemond dug his fingers into her hips and helped her move on his cock.

"Please don't stop," cried out Valaena.

"I have no intention of stopping" growled Aemond, his feet planted firmly on the bed to allow him to increase the pace of his thrusts.

Valaena braced her hands on his chest as she rolled her hips against his, oblivious to the sound of the door slowly opening.

A satisfied smile spread across Aemond’s face as he looked towards the door.

He quickly sat up, wrapping his mouth around one of Valaena’s rosy nipples. His teeth and tongue teasing the stiffened peak, before he moved to the lavishing it with the same attention.

“Gods-yes Aemond” shrieked Valaena as she moved on his cock, her hands coiled in is long silver hair.

“That’s it-take all of me” growled Aemond laying back down as he moved Valaena’s hips in time with his own thrusts.

“Oh gods-” wailed Valaena.

“-FUCK Valaena” groaned Aemond, his gaze flickering to the door.

“P-Please Aemond. Don’t stop. Don’t stop-“ whimpered Valaena.

“Come for me-” growled Aemond as he felt her clenching around him.

“AEMOND” screamed Valaena as she exploded, her nails digging into his chest.

With a final hard thrust, Aemond’s eye rolled into the back of his head as he exploded spilling rope after rope of his seed.

But then-

“S-Sister?”

Valaena’s head whipped to the side, her heart plummeting as she caught sight of Jacaerys and Luke frozen in the doorway, mouths agape and their faces reddening.

Horror gripped her, and a loud, panicked shriek escaped her as she fumbled to cover herself, her hands flying to shield her exposed skin.

She stayed seated upon Aemond, who, unfazed, simply leaned back against the headboard, his expression calm, one arm folded behind his head.

“Nephews,” Aemond drawled, a smirk dancing at the corners of his mouth.

TBC

[turbulentscrawl]

Reminders of the Horror (Norton & Edgar)

warnings: character death (you), descriptions of heavy gore (I mean it. the Norton one is p bad), angst, lots of blood and pain

Your ears are ringing.

There’s not really any reason for them to be. All things considered, the wall coming down wasn’t that loud, and neither was your screaming. But your ears are ringing like you think Norton’s must have during that horrible event so much like this moment. Aside from the volume, everything is exactly as he’d described it on those late, sleepless nights. The dust, the dark, the agonized cries. (Yours.) Somewhere in your scrambled mind, you’re sure Norton sees the ghosts of his spiteful coworkers littered about him, but it’s just you there, trapped under the rubble of the asylum’s collapsed walls. You’ve seen single portions of wall collapse at the church, but never anything like this. Fools Gold had somehow managed to bring down an entire section of the sprawling building. Right on top of you.

You’re wailing and screaming for Norton, and he’s just sitting there, mere feet from you, paralyzed. His face looks like a dead man’s.

“Norton!” you scream, almost incomprehensible. His name leaves your lips along with all the air in your lungs, the rubble crushing everything out of you. You’d never dared to imagine what this kind of death felt like. Never wanted to experience the horror of it. And the pain is beyond words. Every cell in your body screams wrong, wrong, pain!

The rubble continues to settle, shift, and somehow it all gets worse. Your bones give like fragile chalk. Your abdomen shifts, squeezed from the bottom-up like a tube of toothpaste. When you open your mouth again, blood and bile gush forward, followed by a bulge of something horrifically organ-like that chokes your airways. You claw a desperate hand towards Norton, and he reacts only by numbly pushing himself away.

His back hits the far wall, still staring with unfocused eyes, and through the window above him you spot Fools Gold amble into frame. He’s grinning, albeit tightly.

“Don’t mind him,” the Worse Norton says, stepping through the window. Stepping on Norton like he’s an insect. Stepping right into the pool of your liquified viscera. “Sorry, babe, you know I wasn’t aiming for you. Just trying to give that one a hard time. That sure looks rough, though. Let me help you out real quick.”

You’re crying, but there’s no air to sob. Only bloody, salty tears as your feel yourself about to burst from the mouth. Fools Gold raises his pickaxe—perhaps the one mercy he’s still capable of giving—and brings the heavy point down on your head.

There’s so much blood. Your blood. It’s unnerving despite Edgar’s assurances that it’s good.

From your position, though, it’s hard to see how this is good. Only you two are left in this match against the triplets, and you’re only meters from the exit gate death’s door with a porcupine’s worth of metal thorns lodged in your body. The wrecked wedding venue does not help the mood, and freedom being so close by is but a taunt. You have a win at hand, if only Edgar would flee. Edgar, though, is determined to drag your mangled figure out with him no matter how much it cost.

And it was costing a lot of hurt. The spiks caught in the dirt, in the cobblestone, and pulled on your flesh and muscle, poking and swirling around inside your bruises.

“Go,” you gasp, hiccupping in pain. If he’d go, secure the win, you could die faster too. The pain would stop faster. “Go, Edg—go. I won’t…last. Go.”

“You need to tough it out,” he says through gasps of strained effort. His soft face is twisted with determination. He is not a strong man to begin with, and the added weight of the spikes is only making this harder for him. His skin and hair are dripping with blood, sweat, and mud. “I told you I can do this. Just deal with it a little longer.” In the not-so-far distance, you hear the familiar metal and cloth of the triplets shifting out of their dreaded Breaking Wheel.

“Ed,” you sob, crying dirty tears. Everything is blurry, indistinct. A bubble of blood comes up with your next scream of pain, “Go!”

“I am not afraid of death,” Edgar snaps at you. “Least of all for a situation like this.” Suddenly, he drops you and his hands are all over your body, your wounds, on the ground. Touching until his fingers and palms are running with rivulets of your blood. Then he starts smattering it about his last blank canvas with a desperate speed you’ve never seen utilized for his creations. A mania-like joy overtakes his eyes as he smacks, pokes, and smears your blood into something to distract the Hunter.

“It’s perfect,” you hear him say. When he grabs you up again, you jolt with a scream and realize, foggily, that you blacked out during his creative process. And will black out again, despite the pain’s best efforts to keep you conscious. Edgar starts dragging you again, somehow, miraculously making it to the door. When you look up, you see the triplets there, looking over a propped painting in the aisle. They’re shaking, then howling. With rage.

They grab the canvas and launch it in a tantrum towards your now-immune forms stepping over the invisible line. It clatters in front of your fading eyes, allowing you to see, barely, the butchered forms of the triples painted in your blood. A daring threat from the painter holding you to his chest as you’re swept back to the manor, where you can die and rebirth in peace.

[ddostoyevskyy]

BSD MEN!

↳ AND WHERE DO THEY LOVE TO HOLD YOU.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒... f!reader but can also be read as gn!reader, NSFW, unprotected sex, blowjob, missionary, biting/marking, size kink, slight belly bulge, just some filthy stuff that need to get out of my head.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄... 👁️👄👁️✨

BSD MASTERLIST.

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒, 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 — he’s a traditional lover; a classic love making — tangling your hands together in a tight clasp as he drove his hips, cock grazing your sweet spot and creating a smallest of a bulge in your stomach that made your mind blank — the pleasure of his cock pounding in your walls is all you can think of, adding the stimulation of both of your arms raise over your head as he holds it with one hand with a tight grip as you can feel the burning sensation of his nails grazing on your sensitive skin as your hips twitch; you know he’s close by the way his hand clasped on your wrists together were trembling and his moans were getting louder and breathier as you clenched around his cock — followed by a few squeezes of your fingers on his and littering his neck with kisses, adding the stimulation of your cunt squeezing his cock, he came with a breathy moan.

Nakajima Atsushi, Kunikida Doppo, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Tachihara Michizō, Fukuzawa Yukichi —

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊, 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐉𝐀𝐖 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 — as his lips hover yours, but not quite touching; teasing you with a smirk on his lips when you seems desperate to kiss him while he fucks you; he loves the fucked out look on your face, though he isn’t any better; his mouth agape, lips swollen and eyebrows furrowed together, his nails graze on your jaw and you can’t look away on his eyes when you’re cumming; eyes rolling back with your mouth fell open as he push his thumb past your lips, sucking on his finger as he followed soon enough with a choked moan.

Nakahara Chuuya, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Dazai Osamu —

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐒 — as he hooks it on his shoulders, holding your thighs as a leverage to fuck himself deeper and harder as though to chase his impending orgasm that is hurling faster than he expected, his teeth would graze on the expanse of your skin on your inner thighs, creating marks and bites that will surely last longer and will make you not wear skirts the next day; though, that was the point of his marks, he huffed a breath as he was trapped between your thighs, cock ravishing your cunt in a brutal pace as he leaned in to you, the same time your thighs folded over your chest and you whimpered at the sudden stretch of your body folding in half; he had you in a mating press as he cums, your cunt leaking and milking him the same time — his release too powerful that he has no choice but to bite on your inner thigh.

Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Mark Twain —

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 — as you fasten your pace; your jaw slack as your throat restricted when you tried to take as much of his cock on your mouth — his hand tightened around your hair as you whimpered on his harsh grasp and his moans drift on the air when you use your hand to grip on the base where the remaining inches of his cock can’t fit anymore. He’s harshly pushing your hair away from your face, creating a messy ponytail just to take a glimpse of your hooded eyes and swollen lips taking his cock and when he cums — he’s pushing your head down with a grunt as he paints your throat with white thicks of ropes of cum.

Nakahara Chuuya (damn), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Edgar Allan Poe, Edogawa Ranpo —

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved 2023 ©ddostoyevskyy. Do not repost without permission or plagiarized.

[youryurigoddess]

A. Z. Fell & Co. bookshop and its statues

To start off, you have to be warned that the former set was almost completely destroyed in the S1 bookshop fire and whatever wasn’t important enough to be salvaged before the shooting had to be replaced afterwards. Which means that a few memorable and already identified pieces aren’t there anymore, for better or worse.

This is going to be another long analysis, and certainly not a full one — I’ll describe only the big picture and the most important props. A continuation focusing on the decorations in the less prominent parts of the bookshop will follow here.

Right at the entrance we can see twin tables with the Marly Horses by Guillaume Coustou the Elder. The sculptures showing two rearing horses with their groom were originally commissioned by Louis XV of France for the entrance to château de Marly, a royal residence near Versailles.

In S2 Crowley is shown consistently using one of the horses, partially out of convenience, partially in line with a returning throughout the season dark horse theme. Ironically, the symbolic harnessing of a wild animal mirrors the supposed domestication of the demon by his angel, as seen in the transformation of the statue to the right from the entrance into an altar of his submission.

After all, there’s nothing more vulnerable to Crowley than losing the usual protection of his shades, and using a horse sculpture as a stand for his sunglasses speaks volumes about his natural aptitude towards uncertain and liminal states. He thrives in stress situations, dangles his feet while hopping onto a curb, and assumes the form of a non-Euclidean fluid when asked to sit down in a chair. Stability isn’t exactly what he’s most comfortable with. So what for Aziraphale signifies the power over his (theirs?) own domain and ultimate safe space, for Crowley means a challenge.

It makes sense that this particular spot near the exit is where the demon feels most secure in the bookshop, his favorite place in the world. That’s where he stood after crossing its threshold in 1941 too.

The statue in the middle, right on top of the central bookstand, was replaced after the S1 fire. It’s still clearly a Cupid, but in a different pose and without his weapons — instead of shooting an arrow, now he’s holding his left hand over his head, pointing up towards Heaven or God. Quite a change. This is the most similar copy made after Ernest Rancoulet. The butterfly-like wings (similar to the ones Rancoulet used in his La Nuit Tout Repose, At Night Everything Rests) on the copy in the bookshop have visible screws, so they were probably added either by the previous owner or the Good Omens art department.

What’s especially important from the analytic point of view is that similarly to S1, the Cupid in question still appears in the frame facing Crowley, but not targeting him anymore, like it used to, but rather mirroring. The most memorable example appears during the Final Fifteen™ when the demon points up with left hand to highlight his “No nightingales” line.

This one will be fun! Everyone, meet George Maxim’s bronze allegory of Music in her full glory. Angels like music in general, right? And Aziraphale is a known audiophile, which was asserted in the very first episode of the new season. But there’s another link to music in his angelic roots. A rather apocalyptic one — the Archangel Raphael is believed to blow the trumpet from a holy rock in Jerusalem to announce the Second Coming (the Day of Resurrection), and Israfil, its Islamic counterpart, Qiyamah (the Day of Judgment).

Staying in the very same context, let’s read the ballad Israfel by Edgar Allen Poe, which was obviously inspired by the titular Archangel.

Nothing on Earth lasts forever — but that’s exactly the reason why we should use it for inspiration, savor this momentary bliss, and hold it in our hearts. The ballad shares the same sentiment about all creation being temporary and only the passions of angels (i.e., Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s feelings) staying eternally unchanging as Aziraphale’s “Nothing lasts forever”. His line was intended as an affirmation of his feelings, similar to “You go too fast for me, Crowley”.

And just like the Cupid is mirroring Crowley in the “No nightingales” line, Music is targeting Aziraphale with her harp in the following frame.

On the counter there’s a smaller bronze statue, which original unfortunately remains unidentified, but I was able to track some similar designs. A woman coming back from the harvest with crops — either a representation of Autumn or the Greek goddess Demeter bringing a blessing of a plentiful harvest. In the Bible, the harvest is a metaphor for both spiritual fruitfulness and judgment. Our productivity in God’s kingdom is supposedly tied to our faith and obedience. And the most popular verses repeat an even older saying, how one reaps what they sow:

Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap. For the one who sows to his own flesh will from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the Spirit will from the Spirit reap eternal life. (Galatians 6:7-8)

And another angel came out of the temple, calling with a loud voice to him who sat on the cloud, “Put in your sickle, and reap, for the hour to reap has come, for the harvest of the earth is fully ripe.” (Revelation 14:15)

The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved. (Jeremiah 8:20)

If you read The summer that was never supposed to end meta, you’ll interpret the figure itself as a rather ominous sign. Now let’s add to it positioning right next to the gigantic Victorian cash register one cannot possibly overlook and the recurring theme of payment. And the fact that it conveniently disappears at some point in The Ball (S02E05) episode, never to be seen again. Is the payment reminder not needed anymore, because its day just came?

For some reason ever since S1 this one was often interpreted as a bust of Alexander the Great by the fandom. The proper name is the Head of a Victorious Athlete, also known as Benevento Head. As this suggests, the originally bronze sculpture represents a victorious athlete wearing an olive crown and was found near Benevento in Italy, in the remnants of the ancient town Herculaneum, wiped off from the face of the earth together with Pompeii in a tragic volcanic eruption (which was conveniently used later on as a more modern example of the story of Sodom and Gomorrah). It’s an obviously Roman copy of a Greek sculpture and dates back to 50 AD, less than a decade after Aziraphale and Crowley met in Rome in 41 AD— who knows, maybe they were still around at the time? This would make an interesting connection to the statue Crowley brought back to his apartment in 1941.

And no, in the HD quality and especially en face it doesn’t appear similar to Crowley. In fact, there seems to be a very good reason why most photographers choose another, more flattering angle for this particular artwork. But aesthetics aside, the white bust seems more like a mirror for Aziraphale and his self-constructed (and self-imposed) idealized image, based on a specific set of virtues. The presented athlete is victorious because he’s the epitome of the Platonic Triad of higher Forms: Truth, Beauty, and Excellence, understood in the wider context of the Greek Aretē.

To highlight this point, in S1 the head was literally used as a designated display place of the medal Aziraphale got as a commendation for his 6000 years on Earth in the 1800 cut scene. As a free agent not affiliated with Heaven in S2 he doesn’t hang it there anymore, but the medal is still in the bookshop, visible on his desk. You can see it in detail and read the description of its provenance in the last bookshop meta.

Daedalus and Icarus are a very popular motif in the history of art, but certainly not in this overtly masculine, military style. Icarus was too ambitious for his own good and ignored explicit instructions, which constitutes both the sin of pride and that of disobedience to one's parents (or one’s Creator?).

Interestingly, there’s also a version of the myth in which Icarus fashioned himself greater than Helios, the Sun himself, and the god himself punished him for it with the fall — which resonates very strongly with my vision of Crowley both in relation to his Fall and potential S3 development.

But back to Aziraphale. If the medal in question was given to him as a commendation he from the Supreme Archangel himself, it also serves as a warning for him to not get too arrogant or comfortable with his accomplishment (i.e., life on Earth) or it might lead to his fall (or, in this case, Fall).

Foreshadowing much?

[fishermanshook]

"You look, oddly familiar." (surviors! x gn!reader)

INTRO

A prompt where you knew said Survivor before they came to the manor. Your reason for coming here? Probably because of them.

꒰wc꒱ 1.0k words (grammar and spelling warning, mentions of abuse in Female Dancer’s part.)

The Enchantress

You and the Enchantress were together a lot as kids, or has your growing age started to wipe your memory clean? Do you struggle to remember such personal moments the two of you shared? Such a shame, as it's been over 5 years and you've yet to trace her location down. Has she disappeared from the world entirely? Seems like it, doesn't it?

Oh. Wait. There's a memory. An old one for sure, but a memory is still a memory. You and Patricia had spent what seemed to be every waking second together. So much so that Patricia's "mother" had started to see you as her own. Another child to take under her wing, and she gladly would. You understand that, right? Had she not taught you enough? The two of you had made a habit of strolling through New Orleans together, knowing almost every face that inhabited every corner of the city. You'd be down there for any number of reasons. To pick something up, to look for new ingredients, or just to look around the place you know by the back of your hand.

If the two of you had spent so much time with each other, then why didn't she tell you where the hell she went? She never left a note, a letter, or even a single clue as to where she ran off. So yes, when you received a letter stating to know her whereabouts you followed. Was it dumb? Oh for sure. But you would take every chance you could get to find her. You didn't even get to go up to her when you spotted her, she already knew.

"I wish you hadn't come," The Enchantress says with her back turned to yours. "but I can't help but be happy that you did." She chimed, turning around with a smile and a strange-looking artifact in her hand.

The Painter

You were there when it all started. You know, his painting thing. At first, he was a mess, paint slobbered all over his hands and face like a child. But I guess he was a child when he first picked up the paintbrush. Who would’ve known he would never put it down?

As Edgar’s talent increased, he started painting other things. Boats in the river, flowers growing outside, people strolling around the park where the two of you frequented. His drawings decorated his room and cluttered his bedroom floor.

For your 12th birthday, little Edgar (in all honesty) had forgotten about your birthday. The thought of it struck his mind at 1 in the morning as he quickly grabbed for his paints before whisking out a canvas. Throwing himself into his work, he produced his first of many portraits of you. From that point forward, it was a tradition for him to paint you for each birthday. No matter how many fights you had over his short temper or accidental paint spills imported from the other side of the country, you still received a packaged painting. Wrapped in fine silk with a “happy birthday” note tucked in between the folds. For you, he spared little to no expense. That is, until he got older.

It has been over two years since you've seen the man and you haven’t received a single portrait since. Arriving at the manor, you find him in the garden alone, painting a familiar portrait.

“It’s nice that you remember my face, as I’m starting to forget yours.” Your voice nearly makes him drop his paintbrush, as he whips around to meet you. You in all your stunning beauty, god, how you’ve grown from the small child he once knew.

Female Dancer

It is either that you met Nata-Margaretha in Lakeside Village or during your shared time spent in the Hullabaloo circus. Both experiences that you will not forget, but time makes things foggy. It blurs memories that were important to your life that you can no longer recall. But for the sake of going to bed without a piercing migraine tonight, your brain tells you it was during the circus.

Ah, now you're starting to remember things. As memories (some unwanted) come flooding back to you about the circus. A curious place that produced good and bad thoughts. Your mind flashes back to before the accident when time was spent helping Margie (a nickname used widely throughout the circus by many of its performers) tame animals and perform new jaw-dropping tricks to stun the audience. 

You remember when your ignorance of what was happening behind closed curtains came crashing down. When Margaretha came crying to you, sobbing that she needed to tell you something. She then began to show you bruises and cuts that littered her body, all deliberately hidden in places that couldn't be noticed unless further expected. To keep it short, you were shocked that "he" could do something this horrible, to decorate her upper body in purple and red marks. It was even more shocking that if anyone noticed, "he" would just brush it off and say that she got hurt while practicing. 

At that time, you knew you had to get her and yourself out of there. A lack of knowledge has landed your friend with bruises, cuts, and unwanted love from someone she thought she cared for.

You haven't seen Margaretha since the fire. Actually, you haven't seen anyone since the fire. Not Mike, not Murro, not even Violetta. But following breadcrumbs as to where they all went earned you a one-way ticket to the Oletus Manor, maybe your questions will be answered there.

"Margie?" You almost choke on your words. Seeing her for the first time in so long feels nostalgic. (how old are you again?) She can't even respond, she can’t even believe it's you. All you'll get from her is a death-griping hug and a stained shirt accompanied by her ever-flowing tears.

note: I love you Patricia (writers block is kicking my a rn)

(2024)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[jq37]

How do you rank the Rat Grinders in terms of "most want to be friends" vs "die"

Honorable Mention #1 spot goes to Lucy Frostblade who seems like an absolute sweetheart. Anyone who's doing the Cinderella thing w/ the local rodent population is worth befriending in my book. Hope you're resting in peace now girl. You would have loved Zayne Darkshadow and Edgar.

(1) Oisin: OK listen, I am aware that all Rat Grinders must be regarded with some level of suspicion but come ON. I want so so badly for him to be exactly what he's been portrayed to be--a hot buff nerd who is easily flustered by Adaine. Fig got a wizard girlfriend so Adaine should get a wizard boyfriend. That's just equity. Don't you believe in equity Brennan? Joking aside, I think it would be really nice for Adaine to have another someone in her life who thinks she's great and tells her that since she spent so long deprived of that and is just recently starting to get that from people. Anyway, would love another wizard paramour in the Bad Kid rotation.

(2) Buddy: Hear me out. This dude absolutely needs to be deprogrammed a bit but so did Kristen when we met her. And his heart seems to be in the right place. I think he could be a good friend if they approach this from the right angle/are interested in flipping him. Also I went to college in Alabama, alright? His southern charm got me.

(3) Mary Ann: I haven't really gotten a solid read on Mary Ann yet. Is she suspicious or worn down or just Like That? No way to tell yet. But she hasn't actually done anything wrong yet so she gets this spot.

(4) Ruben: I'm more suspicious of Ruben this week than last week after his performance turned about to be a secret ritual, and he's also consistently been shitty to Fig which I don't like. But I'm suspicious abut how much of that is his natural energy and how much of that is related to the rage god. He wasn't emo when he started, remember? He was all smiles and braces and acoustic guitar. People can just genuinely change for the worse but I dunno. Might be something there and the Bad Kids ally list includes SEVERAL people who should be in jail right now so you know. Open mind.

(5) Kipperlilly: Kipperlilly is frankly just more fun as an antagonist than as an ally lol. Like even outside of the point that they hate her to the point of refusing to properly say her name so friendship was never an option, it's just not the most fun route.

(6) Ivy: Choke on grapes, bitch. I hope she ends up in hell with Penelope. This is Fantasy High. You can be a murderer but you can't be RACIST.

Interested to hear anyone else's takes if their list is different!

[thatchickwithtoomanyhobbies]

The Boys

***My weird head-canons about the boys. Don’t judge me, I know I’m weird. 🤪***

Aiello

-Most definitely a cat person.

-Played baseball since he was a kid and considered going pro but then decided against it.

-Wants to get married but the girls think he’s not husband material despite being pretty good looking.

-A great artist but thinks its not a masculine trait (whatever that means), so he doesn’t do it often or really tell anyone about it.

-A giant momma’s boy. He cried when saying goodbye to her the day he got shipped out and wrote her letters at least once a week. Probably cried at least once while he was gone because he missed her.

-Missed his mom’s cooking to the point that he’d dream about it then wake up starving.

-The youngest of four kids and the only boy. His sisters tortured him with dress up and dolls when he was a kid.

-Not sure if he wants kids of his own but is willing to be the cool uncle.

-Once caught the stove on fire by accident and pretended he found it like that. His parents still have no idea.

-Got hit in the back of the head with an aluminum baseball bat once, cracked his head open, and had to get stitches. His hair still doesn’t grow in that spot but he manages to cover it up.

Stiles

-Definitely somewhere on the autism spectrum. Special interests: philosophy, ancient Greece, Edgar Allen Poe, and of course photography.

-Mom was a single mom majority of his childhood so he is decidedly a momma’s boy. Also very much a feminist.

-He’s got a raging sweet tooth. If it has sugar, he most likely loves it. Especially if its cake.

-Doesn’t really drink because, “I like to be in charge of my mental faculties at all times.”

-So very, very awkward with girls. He tries talking to one, says something he doesn’t realize is creepy and/or weird and scares her off. He still hasn’t had a girlfriend at the age of 22.

-His little sister tries to help him but she thinks he’s a lost cause and is doomed to a life of singleness.

-Once he realized he was most likely getting drafted into WW2 he started researching military tactics because “you can never be too prepared”

-Loved ‘The Hobbit’ as a kid. He’s owned several copies of it over the years because he reads it at least twice a month and they just keep falling apart.

-He was thrilled when Tolkien published ‘Lord of the Rings’ and read it in a weekend.

-Still has his childhood teddy bear and keeps it on his bookshelf. Sometimes he pulls it down to sit in the armchair with him while he reads.

Zussman

-He’d definitely live off of hotdogs and mac n cheese if you let him.

- He was an only child until he was 12 when his parents unexpectedly had his baby sister. He wasn’t excited at first but doted on her constantly once she was born.

-According to her, he’s her best friend. He’d never admit to it at the risk of being called a sissy, but he feels the same way.

-She bawled in his arms the day he left and said she wanted to go with him. He somehow held it together, but after he got on the train he started crying too.

-Whenever he wanted to give up and die while he was a POW he’d think of how she’d feel if he wasn’t there to braid her hair anymore or take her on their “Leah and Robbie dates” and that gave him the strength he needed to push on just one more day.

-Yes he learned how to braid her hair because she wanted him to do it one day and he was upset that he didn’t know how.

-Once he got home, his family refused to let him out of their sights.

-Plays pranks on his family. Sometimes Leah helps, but most of the time its just him booby trapping something and their parents setting them off.

- ‘Robert Cohen Zussman’ said in a very annoyed and somewhat angry tone is very often heard in that house. Along with “What on earth possessed you to do that?” and “What is wrong with you?”

-Although once they realize how close they were to losing him they don’t really mind it as much.

Daniels

-Loves barbecue.

-Enlisted to fight rather than get drafted because either way he was gonna have to go fight and it may as well be on his own terms.

-Is practically married to his grill in the summer. Hazel jokes that he loves it more than her and that he should leave her for it.

-Terrified of clowns. No idea why. They just freak him out.

-Was once dive-bombed and chased by an angry raccoon while Aiello, Stiles, and Zussman were visiting. Zuss had to shoo it away with the broom. After he finished laughing that is.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

You know how with hippies they sometimes meet new people and instantly vibe with them because they're on the same spiritual level? Yeah this happened to Remus once with another person and Sirius was not having it. S was convinced that R would get it in their head that it was a sign that they're dating the wrong person and leave him so he just sort of tries to be a hippie for the day. Remus thinks it was adorable.

THIS THIS THIS

So this oneshot takes place much earlier in their relationship just to make it a bit more feasible because I fully believe that after a few years Sirius was part hippie by nature, so here’s hippie Remus and scientist Sirius a couple of months in :)

Sirius glanced around the small bookshop and bit back a smile. Of course Remus worked there. Everything about them was becoming less and less surprising. Remus had said he’d probably be on till, so Sirius strolled past the shelves adorned with vines and string lights, some with old books, some new, some full of crystals and cards called… tarot? The moment he saw the till, his face brightened. God, what was happening to him? He hadn’t been this sickeningly into anyone since he was 14!

Remus was stood with his elbows resting on the counter, talking to someone who was presumably a customer and laughing. A lot.

Why were they laughing so much?

Sirius stepped a little closer, catching the end of their conversation.

“Sorry, I just have to ask; are you an earth sign, by any chance? I usually get along really well with earth signs.” Remus asked the guy, and Sirius frowned, confused.

What the hell was an earth sign?

“Yeah! Are you a water sign?”

“Yeah, I am.” Remus said with a smile, and Sirius’ heart dropped just a little.

“I’m Edgar, by the way.” The guy introduced himself, as Sirius reached a conclusion that he really didn’t want to reach.

Sirius was… boring.

“I’m Remus.”

He stared at a fucking microscope all day. His house was full of notebooks and equations.

“Well, Remus, we’re meant to be friends.”

Remus was free, interesting. Amazing.

Shit.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

He wasn’t good enough for Remus, with his extensive jewellery, dark purple flowing skirt and white shirt, a gentle brown eyeliner accentuating their amber eyes. Remus lit up a room, Sirius just walked in and analysed stuff. Christ, Remus was probably going to leave him. It had only been a few months, he was probably going to get bored of him in five minutes. He was too sheltered for someone like Remus.

Throughout this very minor and not at all terrifying panic, Remus had looked over and spotted him.

“Sirius! Hi!” Sirius snapped back into reality, trying to slow his own heart. His eyes met Remus’, and everything melted into a smile.

How the hell they could do that, Sirius would never know.

Maybe he really was magic.

“Hi, Rem. You nearly ready to go?”

“Yeah, yeah, almost. As soon as Marlene arrives we can get out of here.” He said, reaching out and squeezing Sirius’ hand, sending a jolt of electricity through him and making his breath hitch. He really couldn’t think like a normal person when he was around Remus. “Oh! This is Edgar!” Remus turned and indicated to him enthusiastically, Sirius’ brain switching back on. He turned and smiled politely at Edgar, ignoring the fact that he wanted to scream. Edgar was covered in crystals. More so than Remus, to the point that it felt like he was 50% stone. Not only that, but they were the ones that Remus had said were his favourites.

It was like the universe was dropping people in between Remus and Sirius in an active attempt to split them up. Sirius almost wanted to start pre-grieving the relationship to prepare for the inevitable breakup. How the hell was he meant to hold on to someone as amazing as Remus when he was just… him?

That was when it hit him.

Surely it couldn’t be that hard to be a hippie. He loved it in Remus, he must have been able to do it himself. There went the next week, while he figured out what he was meant to do.

He was going to be interesting enough for Remus if it fucking killed him.

-

Sirius had been acting off all week.

Remus was good at reading Sirius, and he was pretty sure that Sirius ending any messages complaining about employees with ‘what an air sign’ or ‘the vibes are off with that one’ was pretty out of character. Still, it wasn’t anything too noticeable, not until Remus went over Sirius’ that Saturday.

The moment he opened the door, something felt different.

Firstly, the lights were dimmed, and there was… incense burning? What the hell was going on with Sirius?

“Uh… Sirius?”

“I’m in the kitchen!” He called, as Remus ambled over. The moment he got into the kitchen he stopped, stunned into freezing.

Sirius was wearing a skirt.

A long, flowing, sandy orange skirt.

While Remus’ first thought very well may have been that it was insanely fucking sexy, his second thought was what on earth he was doing. He really wasn’t one for wearing skirts, no matter what a crime it was that he didn’t, and he was baking. As in, not sitting and getting excited about his work like he usually was. It was nice to see Sirius trying new things, but there was something off about it. Like he was trying to fit in to something that he didn’t quite fit into. Not yet, anyway. It seemed like it was making him slightly uncomfortable. He turned around and his face lit up.

Okay, something Remus was used to.

“Rem! Hi!”

“Hey, Sirius. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m great.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, wanting to get some sort of an answer. The switch had happened so suddenly it was like he had gotten whiplash, and he was desperate for answers.

“…yeah? Why, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. How was work yesterday?” Remus asked, walking over and kissing him quickly.

“Oh, I- I didn’t go.” Sirius admitted, cringing a little, and Remus almost cringed right alongside him, with the internal struggle Sirius seemed to have had with himself. “Gave myself a day off, you know? To be more… free.”

“Right, Sirius, what’s going on?” Remus asked. As much as he was enjoying Sirius baking in a skirt, him missing work was so odd that he had to get to the bottom of it. According to Sirius, the only other time he had was when he was so ill that James had forced him to go home.

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean you never miss work. You’ve found something you love, that you’re passionate about. That’s important. You’ve been acting different all week, what’s going on?”

“Different as in… bad?” Sirius asked, looking slightly stricken, and Remus’ heart immediately gave a slight tug.

“No, not bad!” He said hastily, quickly composing himself. “Just… different. It feels like you’re not being all that authentic to yourself.” He answered calmly. “You can talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I just-“ Sirius’ breath caught in his throat as he let his eyes slide shut and took a deep, stabilising breath. “I’m so boring, Rem.” Remus frowned, confused.

“Sorry?”

Since when was Sirius boring?

“I- I saw you talking to that guy, Edgar, at the shop. He was just- he was interesting, and you two got along so well, and it just made me think.”

“Think about what?”

“Remus, you deserve someone like that! Someone who knows which signs are fire signs and won’t talk your bloody ear off about cells!” He exclaimed, going to pace and finally morphing a lot more into the Sirius that Remus was used to. “It felt like a wake up call that, at some point, I would get too boring and you’d leave. Rightfully so. So I took it upon myself to make sure I was someone who deserves to be with you.” Remus watched him for a moment, processing.

Honestly? That was so bloody endearing.

Sirius looked like he was about to start up again any moment, arms flailing just slightly as he paced, pushing Remus to step forwards and grab his wrists gently to stop him. Christ, how Sirius could think he’d ever want anyone else, he’d never know. Couldn’t he see just how completely and utterly perfect he was? Sirius paused, turning and facing Remus, slightly wide eyed.

“Sirius, I don’t think you understand how much I like all of that about you. I really love how passionate you are about your work, how much you care, and how much you care about learning about the things I’m interested in. Just because Edgar knew what they were doesn’t mean I’m going to run away with him, or something. Surprisingly enough, Sirius, I actually love listening to you talk about work. You should see the way your eyes light up. I’m not going anywhere, and you sure as hell don’t have to prove yourself to me.” As he spoke, he slid his hands down from Sirius’ wrists until he had both of his hands in his. He knew he was going to have to tell him. For someone who was typically pretty sure of himself, he was nervous as fuck to tell him. “Christ, Sirius, I don’t just like you, I’m in love with you.”

He had thought Sirius’ eyes were already wide, but it was nothing compared to once he had gotten the words out. Fuck, had he freaked Sirius out? He hadn’t meant to, he had just wanted Sirius to stop panicking about changing. He just wanted Sirius to know he thought that he was perfect-

“I love you too.” Sirius admitted softly, a smile starting to form on his face. Remus smiled straight back, breathing out a relieved laugh.

“Well then we’re set.”

“But what if-“

“No ifs, just kiss me.” Remus answered quickly, moving his hands to pull Sirius in and kiss him. He pulled away shortly after. “I do love the skirt, though. It suits you.”

“Y’know what? I do too. It’s making me question quite a bit about myself, though.”

“Question away, love, I’ll be here for it.”

[softheartedtyrant]

Yandere!Painter x Reader || Identity V ♡

tw: yandere, stalking

Residing in the dark and dusty manor has probably made Edgar's inspiration plummet over time. For an artist like him, this environment is grueling. The other survivors' complaints wear him down, their never-ending bickering is like screeching to him. Nowadays it is hard for him to even pick up a brush, every stroke on his canvas feels like torture. That is, until you came along.

You don't even need to be particularily nice to Edgar, or talk to him much, to pique his interest. It would be enough for you to have an interesting physical feature, or maybe a peculiar habit.

Just like that, you're a gust of fresh air, and he gains new inspiration from you. Finally, picking up his brush doesn't feel as tedious anymore. And what would be more fitting than portraying the source of his rediscovered artistic spirit?

He'll spend hours trying to draw you. Trying to perfect every spot, every crevice, every small blemish on your skin. If he would just be able to get this portrait done, then all his prior troubles with his craft would disappear, he just knows it. But he just can't get it right. Something is always be amiss. Something would always bother him.

And so, he starts watching you. First from afar, then from a more close perspective. Purely from an artistic view-point, of course. This borderline obsession isn't anything emotional, it is only him trying to become a better artist. Atleast, that's what he tells himself.

Truth be told, at this point, he is attached to you beyond any measure of his artistic intent. Seeing you go about your day, fight your fight in matches and converse with the others... something about you is special. He can't quite pin-point what, but something about you makes him feel calm and serene.

You don't irritate him like the others. Sure, he hasn't talked to you more than the occasional "good morning" or "good evening", but that does not matter. He knows you well enough to judge your character from his plentiful observations.

And so, he actually does end up speaking to you. He invites you to paint together, which you accept, surprised by his invitation. This activity becomes a weekly habit.

Edgar doesn't really say much, he mostly just watches you, and listens to you ramble about many different topics, while you two paint and sketch on different canvases. Sometimes when you mention the other survivors, you swear you could see him tighten his grip on his brush, or clench his teeth. But you ignore it, after all, he doesn't seem to be on particularily good terms with them anyways.

From what the other survivors told you, you expected him to be... Much more of an asshole? He doesn't seem half bad. Your skills when it comes to painting are a little lackluster in comparison to his, but he praises you on your unique art-style, and gives you tips for improvement. He even thanks you for spending time with him sometimes, although he only always mutters it very quietly whenever you're about to leave.

It's true, he really does enjoy your time together. Being so close to you, seeing you from such a close distance, hearing you speak and seeing the tiny gestures that accompany your talking, he enjoys it. And finally, he can paint you in your full beauty. Finally, he is satisfied with his work.

But all of that is interrupted when you spend time with the other survivors... Why would you prefer them over him? You've heard how they talk about him, haven't you? How vile they are, how they gossip about him. Truthfully, the feeling is reciprocated, after all, he hates them, and he hated them first, for how loud and messy and dirty they are, but now he hates them even more, for making you think badly about him.

He needs you. Not only for his craft, but for his peace of mind. He'll ensure your attention is on him, and him only. And just like into his art, he'll put his blood, sweat and tears into making sure of that.

[knockyasocksoff2022]

May I Love You - RANPOE Oneshot

FT: Yosano, Dazai, Kenji & Fukuzawa

This is my first time writting anything not an AU for ranpoe, and only my second time in total writting them. Also This is my first time writting Yosano & Dazai interactions in depth, I really like their dynamic and I hope to write more of them.

This is differnet from my usual stuff, it focus less on ranpoe and more on the ADA dynamic, which I love writting.

Thanks to @autumnleaf1111 for reminding me to post this. It's been in my drafts since FOREVER.

Ranpo’s Perspective:

I deduced my boyfriend's– I mean rival’s intentions days and days ago but he’s been working on a new manuscript that I haven’t had time to confront him about it. Ordinarily, I would beat him to the punch but it’s fun watching him be all shy.

A scratching sound from behind me brings my attention back to the office. I’d know that sound anywhere. Karl. My best friend. It’s time.

I turn, and he drops the leather-bound volume in my lap. I start to reach in my pocket but he skitters away before I can give him a treat. How odd! He’s just as much a sweet tooth as I am, is Edgar mad that I haven’t mentioned his recent project? I’d assumed he’d wanted space to work on it.

I open the volume.

It’s blank.

There isn’t a trace of ink or indenting on any of the pages. This is getting more confusing by the second, which is distressing because confusion isn’t something I feel often. Then I spot it.

As soon as I see the note taped to the back, the situation becomes obvious. Ah, Edgar, you managed to stump me for a second! You really are my soulmate.

I start to get up but the amount of effort Edgar must have poured into this, given how shy he is, must have been immense. If he’s asking this of me I really should respect his work.

Already itching to see the book's author, I turn over the last page and read the carefully scrawled note. Edgar’s handwriting can appear at times somewhat messy, almost fevered when his mind is supplying him with ideas much faster than his hand can move. But this note has been written in delicate decadent script, the characters almost taking on the appearance of English cursive as they curve elegantly. He thought about this, most likely writing several drafts until it was perfect.

It reads:

“I’m sorry, I know I should be doing this in person, but I’d be far too embarrassed with all of your colleagues present. I suppose this is what I get for being too impatient to wait until your work hours end. And I’m sure by this point you’ve already deduced my intentions, however, I do wish to do this formally, so if you have any intention of accepting my offer, meet me outside.”

I’d been expecting this, I know I had but I can’t help the way my heartbeat accelerates, pounding in my chest, filling me with butterflies.

I almost knock over Kenji as I run out the door.

Yosano’s Perspective

I’ve never seen Ranpo run before.

Well, I have, but that was when we were about to be murdered. Other than dashing around when he accompanies one of us shopping, his pace is light and even, without a care in the world.

Now he sprints through the office, heading straight for the door. Last I checked there are no new murders he’s been asked to help with. Does he even know where he’s going?

I saw that Racoon, Kyle, I think its name is, drop off a manuscript from the Guild author that comes by often. Did something in the book upset Ranpo that much? And why didn’t Ranpo get sucked into the book after the first page?

I hope we don’t have to go look for him, especially since we’re down four people. Kunikida and Atsushi are out on a reconnaissance mission and it’s the Tanizakis’ day off.

I start down the stairs after him, he doesn’t even turn at my footsteps, and when I get almost out the door I see the raccoon again, and a sleek black car, an American company.

The author is here! I see. That means I should give them some privacy then. I giggle and creep as quietly as I can back up the stairs, so as not to disturb the two men.

Dazai is already standing at the window, looking out over the street below. I go to meet him, still smiling as I think of the detective and the author together.

Dazai looks over at me nodding to the boys below us. Even though they’re older than both Dazai and I, I can’t shake the feeling of watching two teenagers have their first love. Maybe it’s because they’re both so different from others of their age. Maybe it’s because both our pasts have aged Dazai and me so much beyond our physical years.

We’re silent as we watch them share an embrace and then a kiss.

I reach over to the desk and pull the manuscript from the table, a note falls out. My smile only grows as I read it. A love confession, or nearly. Ranpo has a boyfriend now.

Dazai sighs, turning away from the window, back still resting against the sill, looking back to the office. His gaze is fixed on me now, something like a smile on his lips. A smile different from the wide grins he usually flashes, it doesn’t look so painted on. A smile tainted by all he’s been through. Real but fleeting, never wide or bright enough because of a dark, twisted past. I don’t think he minds it, he should, but he doesn’t.

“That makes four of us with partners from opposing organisations” The chuckle that leaves his lips is a twisting hollow sound, not unlike his smile.

“Yeah” is all I can say, trying to ground myself in the calm moment. I force myself to think only of how happy Ranpo looks, the rosy blush dusting his cheeks. If I’m happy for him I can’t be sad for me.

Gentle footsteps echo, Kenji is at the window beside us. He stares at Ranpo and his new boyfriend.

“Wow! Ranpo-san looks so happy, good for him!’ Kenji cheers.

Dazai pats the farmer boy on the head and presses his pointer finger over his lips, shushing him. “How about we keep this between us? After all, this isn’t our secret to tell.” 

Kenji’s eyes widen in realisation and he looks around just to make sure the office is empty as he nods, “Alright, of course, I won’t mention it. You have my word.” 

“Thank you, Kenji-kun.” Dazai’s words are so quiet I almost can’t hear them and from there, silence creeps in, the comfortable kind, the happiness still like a blanket over me even after we turn away from the window.

The warmth of the feeling only dulls when something occurs to me.

“Wait, earlier you mentioned that there are four of us dating those from other organisations, who’s the fourth? Did Atsushi and Akutagawa finally get together?” 

But that would still leave one couple?

“Nope!” The grin is back on Dazai’s face again.

I try to puzzle it out. There’s me and Kaji, Dazai and Chuuya, and now Ranpo and the Guild Author. Who’s the last couple?

Finally, I give up. “Then who?” 

“Not my secret to tell either.” 

I feel the cool steady pressure of someone's gaze on me. There’s only one person who could make you feel that just by looking at you, the only person I’ve ever met who has such an unshakably calm aura—the President.

I turn to greet him, but he’s already walking out.

“Oh, President, where are you going?” I ask because I’m a little embarrassed to be caught just staring out the window and doing nothing during working hours.

He offers a small smile, “Just out. You needn't bother yourself, return to what you were doing. I’ll be gone for the remainder of the day, but should you need me for anything you know where to contact me.”

I watch him go, he’s taking his bag with him. It’s rare for him to leave early, this must be important.

Yukichi’s Perspective

I shake my head as I head out the office door.

Yosano-kun and Dazai-kun have resumed their banter. I listen for a moment.

“Dazai, pleeease!” Yosano-kun drags out the words in hopes of breaking Dazai-kun’s steel resolve.

“Nope!” I can picture that clownish smile of his, so like the look someone I know gets when he’s about to pull something mischievous, only Dazai-kun wears it all the time. As if it was plastered onto his face or he put it on so many times he forgot to take it off or forgot how.

I continue down the stairs, and the last thing I hear is Yosano-kun’s scream: “You little shit!”

I know Dazai-kun won’t reveal the name of the fifth agency member dating someone from another organisation. He’s withstood far more gruesome torture with a smile on his face. Most of the time I can only hope he’ll relax into a life in the light. I wish he would accept that he is truly safe now, but now I’m grateful. If that name were to get out it wouldn't be good for anyone involved

Speaking of couples, I owe a certain surgeon money. 

Oh, my Ranpo, my beloved son, why couldn’t you have waited another month to start dating Poe-san?

(A/N: Even Dazai doesn’t know about Tachizaki)

[nothingtoseeherebyeexx]

Delicate, Chapter Six: You’re On Your Own, Kid

< prev chapter

CW: SA, it’s not described but it has happened. skip from “to be fair” until “quiet weeping” if you’re not comfortable. a bit heavier than usual, but i tried to keep it as light as possible. next ones will be more fun, dw <3

ALECTO @ alectocarrow

Narcissa Black and her unknown ‘friend’ spotted at the party that Lily Evans (the Black Studios’ n1 enemy) also attended…We knew you didn’t like your parents, Narcissa, no need to drag your groupie into this!

narcissa @ thenarcissablack

alecto, you know the addy. pull up anytime and say that shit to my face. i won’t not fuck you the fuck up. period.

ALECTO @ alectocarrow

Is this a threat? Are you threatening me? I’m talking to my lawyer.

narcissa @thenarcissablack

tell ‘em it’s a promise not a threat.

marlsboro @ mckinnon

what if i said narcissa black got that dawg in her?

Euphemia Potter @ euphemiapotter

Hello! I wanted to thank everyone who came to our small gathering last Saturday, hope you all had a good time! 😊 And fun fact! My husband Fleamont is a really good lawyer! ❤️

“So…they didn’t fuck?”

“Nope.”

“They didn’t even kiss?”

“None of that.”

“And she’s like that?”

Amelia pointed to Narcissa, who was busy reorganising the twins’ office, moving the small prizes, photo frames and certifications of an inch from their original positions in a joyous frenzy. Edgar looked just as incredulous (and worried) as his sister.

“I can hear you!” Narcissa said, tiptoe on a chair trying to reach a particularly high shelf. “Your office could use some colour, guys. I could buy you some flowers! Oh and Mel, I want to add another song to the set list for Friday.”

“It’s a twenty minute performance, you can’t sing twenty two songs!” Amelia protested, arms wide in exasperation.

“But it’s really important to me,” Narcissa whined, batting her eyelashes. “It’s, like, vital. Esssential. Pretty pretty pretty please?”

“It doesn’t work with me, Cissa, you know it.”

“Eddie?”

“Nope, we’re not doing that.” Edgar got up from his chair with his hands raised, and Mary watched him cross the room decidedly, pick Narcissa up from her legs and throw her over his shoulder like she was a bag of potatoes. A screaming, kicking bag of potatoes.

“He’s like the Big Friendly Giant.” Mary whispered.

“I feel violated.” Narcissa snarled once she was delicately deposited on the couch.

Edgar ignored her, sitting back in his chair.

“What happened at the party, Cissa?” he asked, calm as ever.

Narcissa smirked, and told them she had talked to Alice and about their promise (although it was more like a threat, but Mary wasn’t going to contradict her), but despite the passionate retelling, Amelia was unimpressed.

“Pick five songs. The show is in three days and we can’t change everything last minute because your crush stopped ignoring you.”

“She’s not my crush-“

“And Mary,” intervened Edgar, “The album is ready to drop. If you want, you can start writing that song with Lily now.”

Those words hit Mary like a bus.

“Yeah, about that…” she began, and all three turned to her. She felt her stomach turn to stone.

“I think we have a problem. I’ve been really focused on the album, so I haven’t written anything new in…four years? Probably?” she admitted, ashamed.

Mary was aware it was a problem: she had signed a contract, so the company expected her to make music. In her defence, lately she had been busy with the album and looking for a label, and she hadn’t really needed to write anything new in the past months, but still…Wasn’t she, as an artist, supposed to feel the need to write? Music was supposed to be an innate instinct, not a product bound by deadlines, yet Mary had lost the natural need to create songs. The notes sounded wrong, the words on paper were smudges of feelings Mary couldn’t extricate. A big skein of too much, a bunch of knots she couldn’t unravel.

Amelia and Edgar were quiet, the first impassive, the second worried, but Narcissa came to her rescue.

“It’s fine, Mary,” she shrugged, like it was no big deal, “Writer’s block is a bitch. If anything, working with Lily will help you.”

“Yeah,” agreed Amelia, though she didn’t seem too convinced. “It’s not a problem, it’s still early. We’ll drop the album, and you’ll have a lot of time to…overcome this block.”

“Maybe you’ve been overworking yourself,” offered Edgar, “You could try resting a bit, you deserve it. It may help your…creative juices flowing.”

“Don’t say creative juices, Ed, it’s disgusting,” scoffed Narcissa, but she threw Mary a fleeting glance.

So she was worried, but was trying to lighten the mood. Mary appreciated it.

“Now we gotta go. I have a set list to organize.” Narcissa smiled, waiting for Mary to also get up. But she stayed on the chair, looking at the twins.

“Amelia, Edgar,” she began, “I’ll do it. I promise.”

Edgar smiled, comforting.

He was such a good-natured man. A human Care Bear. Mary wanted to hug him.

“I have no doubts, Mary. But don’t worry, and take it easy,” he said.

~

Mary had doubts, was worried, and did not take it easy.

“Cissa, can we talk for a minute?” she asked as soon as they stepped into their apartment. “Before you go to your room and write down the best songs to impress Alice, that is.”

“I’ll pick my fluffiest, pinkest pen, lay in my bed, and kick my feet to do that,” she smirked to herself, taking off her shoes. “Get on the sofa while I make some hot chocolate for the occasion.”

As Narcissa slid into the kitchen, Mary got comfortable and closed her eyes. Like this, she could almost pretend she was back in her family home, basking in the sunlight filtering through the thin curtains of her window, listening for her brothers’ bickering or for the sound of her mum’s car parking in the garage.

She hadn’t called.

May was surprised by this, but not because she was expecting her mother to beg her to come back-no, she had been happy her daughter had decided to get a life of her own and stopped being a expense, but Mary was expecting her to get in contact to ask about her (still) unborn career, since many weeks had passed and Mary hadn’t released anything, and she didn’t usually pass an opportunity to say ‘i told you so’. Mary, however, was not going to call her and give her the chance on a silver platter.

She was willing to make an effort for her brothers, though.

She called them everyday, asked them about school, how things were at home. Theo was always full of anecdotes and questions, eager to tell and know, and he spoke quickly, trying to make Mary feel like she was still home. He ended every call with a ‘we miss you’, and each time Mary’s heart clenched.

Bingley, on the other hand, let Mary do all the talking. He usually picked up the phone, muttered an ‘hi’, and kept his mouth shut until Mary started asking questions. To which he rigorously answered with monosyllables or mumbling. It drove Mary insane, but she didn’t blame him-she couldn’t, really. She had to take care of him when their mum was too busy with work, becoming a sort of mother figure to him, and now he was left in a similar predicament Mary had been when she was just a few years younger than him.

Maybe she could go back to them. They needed her, she could help them with their schoolwork, do the chores, make sure they were asleep before their parents got home and awake in time for school. They were still kids. How could she leave them? She couldn’t even write songs, what had gotten into her?

“Okay, I’m back-wait, are you crying?” Mary barely registered Narcissa putting the cups down and sitting next to her, her words activating some traitorous mechanism in her eyes that turned them into waterfalls.

She tried to look at Narcissa, but her eyes were too watery to see anything, which made her feel even worse, so she completely gave up seeing and pressed her palms against her eyes, hiccuping. Mary felt Narcissa’s arms around her, and she let her head fall to her chest.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, but Narcissa kept her close.

“I’ll teach you to become a better liar when the time comes, sweetheart,” she joked, and Mary let out a strained laugh that sounded more like mix between a dying cat and an affronted seagull.

“I’m…decent,” she clarified, and apparently Narcissa found it an acceptable answer, because she let her go.

Mary grabbed the cup of chocolate and took a sip, focusing on the rich, warm drink rather than her rumply face.

“What’s wrong? Is it the writing block?” Narcissa asked softly.

“It’s nothing, really, I’m almost on my period, I get emotional-“

“Mary.” Narcissa interrupted her, delicate but firm. “You wanted to talk. What’s wrong?”

Mary sighed.

“Many things, actually, and I think this block is only the tip of the iceberg.”

“Let’s start, then,” Narcissa grabbed her own cup of chocolate and snuggled up on her end of the sofa, like a kid waiting for a bedtime story. “Open up, let’s have a bonding experience.”

“I was thinking about my family,” Mary began, feeling a little silly being interrogated like that. “My brothers. And my mum. And it’s just…I-I’m confused. Torn. I mean, I’m extremely glad for everything that I’ve accomplished, and I don’t regret anything. On the other hand, though, I feel guilty. So fucking guilty, Cissa.”

She gulped, swallowing her tears.

“I left them. I told them I would always be there for them, and then I left and I don’t even regret it, and I fear I’ll end up like my mother and-“ Mary paused. “And a part of me wants to go back. But then I remember where I am, how I worked my ass off for the past months, and I feel like-like I deserve this. And I do. I worked hard, and I’ve earned it. And yet, every time I enjoy what I have, I can’t help but feel like I’m being unfair to my brothers, like I’m here at their expense. And I know it’s not fucking right, but why does my mind do this? Why do I even end up missing my parents, who were never there for me? What even is there to miss?”

Mary took a big breath, her cheeks hot from the unexpected outburst, and was glad to find Narcissa looking at her with not an ounce of judgement in her eyes.

She wasn’t trying to offer solutions right away, giving her some space to be heard instead.

“But I don’t think that’s the cause of this block. I think that dates back to ages ago, before I came here, when I was still looking for a label, a talent scout, or anything, really,” Mary continued, “I was desperate. I had just got out of high school, I had no job and no money, only a few songs waiting to be heard and pressure from my parents. I didn’t have real friends, only acquaintances, but I told them about my dream, my album, stuff like that. I’m not sure how much they cared, to be fair.

“One night, I went to a club with one of these acquaintances of mine. I didn’t go out often, but I‘ve always been a party girl, so when I did go out I always had fun, drinking, smoking and all that. And that night wasn’t much different from the others, at first: I was tipsy, but still ended up chatting with a guy on a bench. Since I was obsessed at the time, I started blabbing about my songs and my desperate need of a label, and at that the guy’s eyes lit up, and he laughed. He said he had contacts with the Black Studios, that his dad worked there, and that he could arrange an interview. I was euphoric. Then he said he wanted to offer me-his ‘future coworker’, he said- a drink, and when he came back he even dared me to down it in ten seconds. Like a game, you see. A joke. That’s the last thing I remember from that night. I woke up behind a bush a few hours later.”

~

Mary opened her eyes, the sun not out yet, but its rays already tinting the sky, timidly pushing away the dark blues and purples. A few stars still hung in there, resolute. It could’ve been a peaceful moment, but then Mary remembered she was lying on the ground, next to a bush right outside a club-a perfect spot for people in desperate need to piss, not ideal to fall asleep. She pushed herself up with her hands, and was surprised to find her whole body aching.

Mary checked her arms and found scratches, and her legs were bruised. Too much damage for a few hours sleeping on the ground.

What time was it? Had Sheryl already gone home? And where was that guy, Mulciber?

Suddenly the world seemed far, far away, and as a suspicion made its way in her mind, a horrible feeling started growing in her stomach, making her want to puke. She didn’t want to know what happened anymore. She wanted to go home, but her ride had left her.

“Hey girly, what are you doing there?” called a voice from a jeep that had just come to a stop next to her. It was a girl, maybe a bit older than her, with straight dark hair and flashy sunglasses and an exceptionally green eyeshadow.

“D’ya need a ride home?” said another girl, her blonde pigtails peeking from behind the first girl. She chewed noisily, and was also wearing bright blue eyeshadow.

“Jess, go help her up, for fuck’s sake!”

“Oh my God, I’m going!” a third girl shouted, coming out of the backseat. She had ridiculously high platforms and a small, tight pink dress, along with a white feather boa and a red wig. Mary thought she was hallucinating.

When she arrived, she crouched in front of her and looked at her with big, brown eyes.

“You okay? You look like a mess.”

Mary wasn’t okay. In fact, she was too confused to answer. The girl took out a tissue from her small purse and started cleaning her face, sweeping away the dirt from her cheeks and the leaves from her hair.

“A bit better. D’you need, like, a ride? I’m still tipsy but our driver, the blonde one, is stone cold sober, I swear. She refuses to drink because she doesn’t want to, like, piss in public bathrooms. Cus it’s too gross for her.”

Mary nodded, speechless, and the girl, Jess, helped her up and led her to the truck. She ended up in the seat between her and the green girl, who had left the spot at the front, and the two soon started to clean her up, fixing her dress, brushing her hair, they even took off her makeup and put a few skin care products. The girl in blue drove recklessly, but the trunk of the car smelled of weed and Mary had the absurd thought that maybe it had an effect on her own sense of self preservation, because she didn’t mind the danger. The girl in green started patting her head, and Mary had the feeling she was the reason behind the sweet scent in the trunk.

“Ok sweetie,” said the blonde, swerving to avoid a pedestrian who was crossing the street. “What happened?”

“I…don’t remember.”

“You got absolutely sloshed last night, didn’t ya? Typical.” smiled the girl in pink. She took out a gum and offered Mary one, and she took it.

“I wasn’t that drunk…A guy was supposed to bring me a drink and…” Mary’s head was too light, her memory blurry. “The last thing I remember is drinking with him. Then I was really sick and…I found myself bruised and aching on the pavement.”

There it was again. The knife in her stomach, the knot in her throat. She wanted to curl up on the seat and cry.

“You got roofied?” asked the girl in blue bluntly.

“Oi! Be more tactless, you cunt!” countered the girl in green.

“I’m taking her to the hospital, bitch. If she was raped, she needs proof.”

Raped. Proof. Mary was going to vomit.

The three girls began fighting, but Mary could only think about her brothers. It was Saturday. She had to help Bingley with a school project and she had promised Theo she’d take him to his friend’s house. She had to clean the house and go grocery shopping. All before her mum came home, or she’d start doing everything herself and then complain about it.

“Take me home,” she whispered, and the girls quieted down.

“Take me home, please.” Mary repeated.

The girl in blue threw her a heavy look from the rear view mirror.

“Are you not going to at least press charges?” she asked, popping her gum. “The police station isn’t far-“

“I don’t have the money or the time. And I was drunk, and I…” Mary let her head fall against the headrest, closing her eyes.

“No one would believe me. It’s a waste of time.”

At that, the girls lost all the will to fight. The girl in green took her hand, drawing small circles on her wrist with her thumb, while Jess rested her head on Mary’s shoulder.

For the rest of the ride, Mary let the air inside of the car, heavy with the smell of weed, perfume, pity and resignation, be filled with her quiet weeping.

~

“Three girls took me home. Now that I think about it, they were dressed like the PowerPuff Girls,” Mary snorted, although she felt more like crying rather than laugh, and Narcissa apparently didn’t find it funny either, her chocolate cold and forgotten now on the table in front of them.

“Mary…”

“Yeah?” she answered, her voice breaking. Narcissa opened her arms, and Mary barely hesitated before throwing herself at her. Narcissa hugged her tightly, as if she could squeeze all the pain away, crushing it until it imploded.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.” Mary cried.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Narcissa repeated.

“I didn’t say anything back then. And now, I feel like I can’t say anything,” Mary sobbed, “I have tried writing songs, but every time I sit down with a pen in hand, I can only think about that drive home. When I realised.”

“Why don’t you write about it, then?” Narcissa asked, sweetly, running her fingers through Mary’s hair.

“It’s scary, Cissa. It’s something I don’t want to remember, much less make it known. I don’t care about the public opinion, but I don’t want to be known as that one girl who was assaulted, I want to be known as Mary MacDonald.”

“You don’t have to release a song,” replied Narcissa. “You could write a letter, or a poem. It can be personal, or you can choose to publish it. I think it could be helpful, regardless of what you choose to do with it. Cathartic.”

“Do many singers even release this kind of stuff? It’s…very personal.” Mary pondered, ignoring the fact she had cried all over Narcissa’s (now soaked) arms and shirt. Mary was still holding her chocolate, which she miraculously hadn’t spilled.

“Some do. Take Evans, for example. She writes mostly autobiographical stuff, and the people love it.” Narcissa shrugged. “That’s also why I think she will be good for your block. She can bring out the best in you.”

Mary smiled.

“Can I tell you a secret? It has nothing to do with all this,” she whispered, lifting her face to meet Narcissa’s gaze.

“If you want.”

Mary paused for suspence.

“I’ve never listened to Lily’s songs.”

“What?” Narcissa exclaimed, shocked. “How is that possible? She’s literally a pop icon! Has been for years!”

“I know but-“ Mary laughed, returning to her half of the sofa to watch Narcissa freak out from a safe distance.

“She has won multiple awards, set records, made multiple cameos in shows and ads-“

“Cissa.” Mary interrupted her, smiling. “I’ve heard some of her most famous songs, I just thought it was funny because everyone expects me to know everything about her, starting from her discography.”

She took a sip from her cup, hiding a smile, but Narcissa seemed thoughtful. Mary had a feeling she was still thinking about what she’d told her, and was debating bringing it up again.

“What did you say his name was?” she finally asked, breaking the silence.

“He said it was Mulciber, but I doubt he was stupid enough to tell his real name. Why?”

“There is a Mulciber who works in my family’s business,” she said, and Mary felt her blood speeding up in her veins.

“He’s Snape’s manager.”

~

“I am so fucked. So. Fucked.” Alice was pacing back and forth in her living room, or rather, had been pacing for a while now, with three pairs of eyes following her.

“I’m a hypocrite. What was I even thinking?” she cried, “Do you think I’m a hypocrite?”

Lily and Frank immediately responded with a choir of ‘noo’’s, while Marlene let out a dubious ‘meh…’ that made Alice pout.

“She didn’t even tell us what happened!” Lily protested, and Marlene just shrugged.

“Actually, can you tell us what happened? In detail, because I think we’ve already got the general gist,” intervened Frank.

“How long have you-you know what, I don’t care,” said Alice, and started walking again.

“Narcissa and I were in a relationship, it ended badly, and I haven’t spoken to her since. I thought she hated me, turns out she hates the fact that I don’t think about her all the time-“

“Which is a lie, because you do,” Marlene interrupted her, and Alice threw her a glare that made the blonde raise her hands in surrender.

“-anyways. Now she wants me to watch her performance and I am going fucking crazy because I have been ignoring her, and I don’t know what to expect.”

“Crazy detail, Fortescue.” Frank commented. Alice ignored him.

“Why don’t you listen to some of her songs, so you do know what to expect?” suggested Lily.

“I would have to endure listening to her voice for hours and I don’t think I can do that, the show is tomorrow.” Alice answered. “I swear, she makes me want to bang my head against the wall.”

“I think she only makes you want to bang-“

“Marlene, I’m begging you. Stop.”

She smirked from her stool.

“If the issue is time,” began Frank, “Lily and I have made a list of songs that might be about you.”

“And why in God’s name did you do that?” Alice asked, exasperated.

“We were bored and had a perfectly good whiteboard,” said Lily.

“Oi, we can use that as a bucket list when we watch the show!” Marlene exclaimed.

Alice wanted to rip her hair off. “Let’s organise a watch party while we’re at it,” she said ironically, covering her face with her hands.

“We’re all going to be watching the show, Alice,” replied Lily, “James and Sirius will also be performing. Marlene and I can go to Peter’s with Remus, if you want to be alone.”

“Yes, thank you. Sorry for banishing you from your own home.”

“It’s fine, Alice. We’ve been looking forward to going, actually.” Marlene said, comforting. She came closer to Alice and started patting her back. “When was this relationship with Narcissa, though? Before or after she left the Black Studios?”

“…It was when we were still at Hogwarts.”

“Ten years ago?” Frank spoke under his breath, and Marlene’s hand dropped from Alice’s back. Lily bit her bottom lip, possibly to refrain from saying something.

“Holy fucking shit, Alice. And you’re still like this?” commented Marlene.

“Of course I am. You would be like this, too, if you were in my place!” Alice protested.

Because what she had with Narcissa was incredible.

It was playful, youthful at first.

Thrilling and passionate in the middle.

A tragedy in the end.

But it was theirs, all throughout, and it was real. It was real for Alice, and maybe she was wrong, maybe it was real for Narcissa, too.

In twenty four hours, one of two scenarios would happen.

In the first, Narcissa’s songs were going to be about how badly Alice treated her, maybe they diminished their past to a silly teenage love and humiliated her publicly, other than break heart in even smaller pieces.

In the second, Narcissa apologised and confessed her undying love for her. Which, honestly, might be even worse.

The sound of Lily’s ringtone interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh!” her face lit up as soon as she saw the screen. “It’s Mary! I’ll be back in a sec!”

She didn’t even wait for an answer before skipping to another room, her hair bouncing with every step.

“Are we going to address that, or…” Marlene said, pointing towards the door Lily had just shut behind her.

“Let’s address that. I’m tired of being the one under the spotlight,” agreed Alice. “That’s a lot of excitement for a friend.”

“Well, you know Lily,” intervened Frank, “She loves her friends a lot. And, she’s a girls’ girl. I don’t see anything weird.”

“Why are you trying so hard to defend her (alleged) heterosexuality?” inquired Marlene, wary.

“That’s suspicious, Frank. People might get the wrong idea,” agreed Alice.

He rolled his eyes vigorously.

“She’s dated plenty of men. She said multiple times she likes men.”

“Bisexuality is a thing,” countered Marlene.

“I would know that, McKinnon.”

“I can’t possibly know that, you never tell us about your love life!”

Frank and Marlene began bickering, and Alice was laughing so hard she had to kneel down.

“I’m back!” smiled Lily, entering the room.

“That was quick,” said Alice, still wheezing.

“She had to help Narcissa with something. Anyways, she invited me to her place tomorrow. Narcissa is going to be away all day, so she wanted to start writing our song. I’ll stay with her to watch the show,” she explained.

“Oh, so it’s going to be just the two of you? Alone?” Alice asked innocently.

“Yes, imagine how sad it would’ve been if she was by herself all day!” Lily replied.

“So sad,” agreed Marlene, using the same tone as Alice. “I’ll tell Peter and Remus you’re not coming, then.”

“They won’t mind, will they?”

“I’ll tell them why you can’t come, they’ll understand,” Marlene smiled, and then threw a glance at Frank, who was unimpressed.

“Thank you, you’re the best. I have to pick an outfit, Friday is literally tomorrow!” Lily said, going to her room, but then stopped and turned back to them.

“Actually, this may sound weird, but…” she started. “Do you think Mary likes women?”

Alice covered her mouth with a hand, trying to muffle a laugh. She didn’t know what was going on between Marlene and Frank, but if she took a quick look she knew she wouldn’t be capable to stop herself from cackling.

“I think she does,” replied Marlene after a quick silence, since Frank clearly wasn’t going to answer.

“I heard she has a girlfriend. Valentina, I think.”

“Oh really?” said Lily, taken aback. “I mean, of course Mary isn’t single, have you seen her? She’s gorgeous, it would be a crime if she were. She’s really kind, too. I’m just surprised, it’s…well, she hasn’t mentioned a girlfriend, and we’ve been talking for a while.”

Lily Evans was rambling. Alice and Marlene were going to taunt the fuck out of Frank at the first available opportunity.

“Anyways. Marlene, how-who told you?”

“No one, I lied. I wanted to prove a point to Frank.” Marlene smirked, pointing to him.

Lily pressed her lips into a thin line, and Alice could feel a few gears getting into motion in that smart, oblivious head of hers. She left the room shortly after, and Alice and Marlene didn’t have to say anything: Frank raised his hands in surrender, giving up under the girls’ laughter.

[mo-nee-ta]

The (fictional) girls from Klaus Poppe’s and Humbert Humbert’s pasts

Disclaimer: since I have to rely on the fan-translation of Another Monster, please let me know if you spot a mistake that changes the meaning of the original text in a significant way. Thanks!

CW: pedophilia, death mention, sexual assault mention

Another Monster introduces us to a certain girl with whom the young Klaus Poppe supposedly fell in love. Everything we know about her comes from rumors: 

Oh yes! I remember, there was something about his father and the girl from the rumors and another boy his age. The son fell in love with the girl, but lost out to a young man in a neighboring village who stole her away… A typical story of passion among young guys like that, but somehow the rumor turned into a story about his father and the girl. Well, you can’t help but get this sort of thing in a small town.

(...)

— What about the rumor of falling in love with a young woman?

It was a rumor that ran through the whole town, and I heard it myself. Although she was young enough to be his daughter, the story goes that he asked to impregnate her. She supposedly lived in this town, but was of both Czech and German parentage. At the time she was probably 18 or 19 and very beautiful… all the young men in town were in love with her, thus giving rise to endless gossip and rumors. In the end, she hastily married a man in a neighboring village, but it was quite a rumor while it lasted.

— The girl in the rumors about his father… the one the son fell in love with (...)

Weber then presents his interpretation of the rumors and states that there is no evidence to support it:

This is all just my terrible imaginings. It’s a story with no evidence or foundation. 

Still, there are some elements that make her character more real: her double parentage (something she could bond over with Poppe), her sudden pregnancy, and the resulting necessity to get married in another place, with Terner Poppe, Klaus’ father, as the possible father of the child. 

The son fell in love with a beautiful girl of German and Czech descent, but the girl and his father fell in love.

While Weber presents his interpretation, he fails to notice the darker undertone of the story—in what he calls Terner Poppe and the girl falling in love, I see a story of an older man taking advantage of a girl who was young enough to be his daughter.

These elements aren’t, however, enough to create a full picture; all we have is a shadow of a character.

Another shadow of a character is presented in Lolita; it’s Annabel Leigh, Humbert Humbert’s first love.

Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.

Her name is an obvious reference to Edgar Allan Poe’s Annabel Lee.

It was many and many a year ago,

   In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

   By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

   Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

   I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

   Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

   My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

   And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

   In this kingdom by the sea.

We don’t get much information about her:

Annabel was, like the writer, of mixed parentage: half-English, half-Dutch, in her case. I remember her features far less distinctly today than I did a few years ago, before I knew Lolita (...) Let me therefore primly limit myself, in describing Annabel, to saying she was a lovely child a few months my junior.

And she dies suddenly (just like the girl from Poppe’s past suddenly disappears from his life):

I was on my knees, and on the point of possessing my darling, when two bearded bathers, the old man of the sea and his brother, came out of the sea with exclamations of ribald encouragement, and four months later she died of typhus in Corfu.

Much later, Humbert Humbert recognizes Annabel in Dolores, the girl he will later turn into Lolita: 

I find it most difficult to express with adequate force that flash, that shiver, that impact of passionate recognition. In the course of the sun-shot moment that my glance slithered over the kneeling child (her eyes blinking over those stern dark spectacles — the little Herr Doktor who was to cure me of all my aches) while I passed by her in my adult disguise (a great big handsome hunk of movieland manhood), the vacuum of my soul managed to suck in every detail of her bright beauty, and these I checked against the features of my dead bride. A little later, of course, she, this nouvelle, this Lolita, my Lolita, was to eclipse completely her prototype. All I want to stress is that my discovery of her was a fatal consequence of that “princedom by the sea” in my tortured past.

Humbert Humbert mentions the princedom by the sea again; we are reminded of the fictional nature of Humbert’s dead bride. Taking this into account, can we believe him when he describes the discovery of Dolores as a fatal consequence of that “princedom by the sea”?

A similar question comes to my mind when I think about the girl from Poppe’s past: is the stolen love that we know about only from rumors enough to explain Franz Bonaparta and his obsession with the twins’ mother?

Let me quote a further fragment from Lolita:

The able psychiatrist who studies my case — and whom by now Dr. Humbert has plunged, I trust, into a state of leporine fascination — is no doubt anxious to have me take Lolita to the seaside and have me find there, at last, the “gratification” of a lifetime urge, and release from the “subconscious” obsession of an incomplete childhood romance with the initial little Miss Lee.

Here, the text openly mocks the belief that everything that happens in Lolita can be explained by Humbert’s incomplete childhood romance—the romance built of too many fictional elements. 

Similarly, the girl from the rumors can’t be the answer to what created the monster inside Klaus Poppe.

While the girls aren’t the answer, they provide us with bits of information that form a more complex picture, and in this picture, we can see more elements that form Humbert Humbert and Klaus Poppe. The mixed parentage; the partially fictional past (due to the imperfect nature of human memory and the very limited point of view); the grieving the loss of innocence; the pain they’re not able (or willing? or both? or?) to let go and which results in even more pain and destroyed lives (countless in Poppe’s case).

Are these elements the answer? Again, no. Both Lolita and Monster aren’t interested in giving an answer. Instead, they show that the richness of the human experience and all the little details that shape it make creating a gapless picture impossible.

The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea.

[figgybeans]

FHJY trailer frame-by-frame

because i love these freaks. ok lets get into it (this is gonna be long)

love the dome this season !! the backgrounds are beautiful. the steps up in production across FH is amazing

ADAINE !! JAWBONE !! BOGGY !! i think her splash art is my have from the six. i have no clue what ESF stands for so anyone lmk

her mini is also i think my favorite, the pins on her leather jacket really sell it. minus points for boggy's HUMAN ARMS though, theres a clearer shot later on

fabian time ! love the blanket. bill seacaster art as well ! god hes terrifying. the doodles on the owlbear stickers are cute too

apples bee ! plus some art of cassandra. kristen is in her strong arc, which the world is all the better for. i think its also important to remember that from the start of the series kristen has always had a higher strength score than fabian (ignoring her 4 dex)

ignore the phantom riz mini, the trailer hardly stayed on his intro art for long. which is a shame cause LOOK AT IT !! the kalina picture, fuckin baron, the corn cuties, so much night yorb, bizz in the corner, captain whitclaw, coach daybreak - the man riz shot through the head in cold blood, the bardy boys !! its perfect.

fig !! sad theres no ayda art in here but theres gotta be in the series. "-and a wizards paramore, YES its part of my identity, thank you" iconic. glad her mini has a custom bass. also gilear <3<3

gorgug my boy. with his giant fuckoff axe. so happy his mini is including his artificer level, PLUS that probably means he takes another level in it, and unlocks infusions >:)

this two headed dragon guy. red dragon can always mean some Kalvaxis callback, but we never know. i DO know that there's a statblock for two headed dragons in Monster Manual Expanded III, so maybe brennan uses that ? or just gives a regular dragon two breath weapons. we will see

this was one of the clearest frames i could get for this art, but what we can see is still cool. love kristen in her kill bill jumpsuit. as an aside im still a riz-has-a-tail believer

now THIS is a battlemap. im like 99% sure that that's the Thistlespring Tree in the background, and the Sig Figs are having some kind of concert here. HOWEVER, if we zoom in, it doesn't look like any of their minis are on the stage. intrigue.

the internet mall ! or something. i have no idea who the minis could be, BUT the IDK-wearing purple one in the middle could be some Guardian of Faith representing cassandra. also adaine and boggy have matching berets in the wide shot

this set i think is a gladiatorial arena of some kind? because we see a bunch of monstrosities and aberrations with this in the background later. also the big gates and monster-keeping pens are a clue.

BOGGY ARMS. BOGGY ARMS. adaine is covered in blood. but fig looks to have some kind of ghost opossum familiar. BUT, my friend pointed out that it could be edgar, zayn's ghost rat ! so maybe we have him return for an episode. this house looks spooky enough. maybe mordred manor gets infested by demons or something

otyugh spotted !! my favorite monster of all time

this roper-looking thing. it overlays when brennan says "an eldritch beast that threatens all of the denizens of this world," so im really thinking there's gonna be an overarching Aberration theme in these combats

also this guy. i have no clue what he is honestly. the rectangle in the background could maybe be a mirror or painting, so this might take place in the mordred manor-looking set from before

purple worm, in the gladiator arena !

some sort of ghost ship? doubtful that its bill seacaster's ship again, and the mist could mean the ethereal plane

the bad kids !! just noticing that fabian's eye patch is either missing or on the wrong side

im pretty sure this is an umber hulk, also in the gladiator set

skateboard fig mini. also, this could be the hang van (?) but it also could be too long and be some kind of ghost limo. idk

graveyard ! maybe they team up with zayn here

a blue dragon, which makes me think the red dragon from earlier isnt kalvaxis related and is just a dragon

more POV arrow shots, but this one's going into a fucking hydra. which looks like it grows three heads instead of two ? if that's what the attachment on the right side means.

this could be the red wastes ? back on the kalvaxis theory.

a wider shot of the internet mall. note the "YARRRRbucks" behind lou

THE RETURN OF THE CRAB KING !!

aaaand the final art frame !! fig finally gets her license (or not)

all in all 10/10 frothing at the mouth till jan 10

[nightghoul381]

The Devilish Jack of Hearts

Here is your gift @pondlilies00 I hope this is good enough for you!! I tried a couple of other ideas but this one flowed pretty easily so I hope I was able to do Edgar justice and that you enjoy! Also thank you @lemeowade for hosting such a fun secret santa gift exchange!! Pairing: Edgar Bright x Reader Prompt: Enemies to Lovers Genre: Fluff and light angst

“Come on now, Alice. You can’t stay in your room forever. You must be hungry by now, so why don’t you join me in the dining hall?” Edgar’s irritatingly chipper voice seeped through the cracks in the door and you let out a deep sigh.

“I can stay in my room as long as I please. I don’t intend on joining you in ANYTHING, thank you very much. You’ll have to leave me alone to rot unless you let me go.”

You repeated the same words you had said every day since Edgar and Jonah had found you in the Central Quarter and dragged you back to the Red Army headquarters.

Jonah seemed to be genuinely concerned about your lack of eating and had instructed one of the servants to bring you snacks to keep your hunger at bay at the very least.

“You’re quite stubborn Alice. I’ll get through to you at some point, and you’ll be eager to have my attention.” Edgar’s chuckle faded away as he moved down the hall and you felt your shoulders finally relax.

Time ticked by, and the time that the servant typically brought your snacks came and went. You moved over to the door, unlocking it and peeking out into the hall. Your stomach had been growling and you were starting to feel incredibly thirsty as well. Where was that servant?

You spotted a flash of white and red and hastily ducked back into your room, closing the door softly and turning the lock.

Almost caught! You thought to yourself, although you’d not been doing anything wrong. You heard the sound of some heavy footsteps and clinking glasses approach your door, followed by three loud knocks.

“I’ve got your snacks, Miss Alice.”

The muffled voice sounded strange, but the hunger you felt was far greater than your apprehension and you threw open the door.

What a mistake that had been.

Edgar strode into your room, his hands holding a tray laden with various sweets and a large pitcher of ice-cold water. You felt your mouth begin to water at the sight of the delicious food, but the man carrying it made it difficult to truly let yourself get excited.

“Alice, you can’t possibly expect me to eat this all by myself can you? Come here and take a seat!” He stated, looking back at you with a knowing grin.

Damn, he must have figured out the little system you had going with Jonah and disrupted it for his own games.

“Why are you here.”

Edgar’s eyes crinkled with amusement.

“I’m here because you fascinate me. I want to know more about you,” he explained plainly.

“Well, I’m not some sort of spectacle for you to gawk at. So, if you don’t mind, leave.”

You motioned forcefully toward the door, frustration building as you watched Edgar slide out a chair and make himself comfortable instead.

“I wasn’t joking when I said I can’t eat all of this by myself,” was all he said before he started tearing into the various sweets and snacks on the tray. He poured both glasses full of water and you found yourself a bit mesmerized by the way his throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

How is it that you’re so hungry and yet your mouth has now grown drier than a desert?

Much to your chagrin, Edgar catches you staring and throws you a saucy wink.

“I’m not the treat, you silly girl, come eat some actual food.”

You felt your face flush bright red and absentmindedly stumbled over to the table where Edgar quickly jumped up and pulled out your chair.

“I…um…thank you,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest and keeping your eyes trained on the table.

The soft warmth of a gloved finger touches your chin and turns your face to look at him.

You jerk your head back and begin aggressively stuffing your cheeks with strawberry macarons.

A low chuckle sounds near your ear but you do your best to ignore it and its owner, hurriedly finishing off the food and drink and excusing yourself to the bathroom adjoined to your room. You sat waiting for Edgar to leave, finally hearing a faint farewell and the sound of the door closing behind you.

Thus began the long pattern of Edgar intercepting the servant and bringing the food to your room instead.

You tried to fight it at first, but after three days of Edgar being the one to offer you the food, your hunger won out and you allowed him in.

Once again, he pulled out the chair for you and proceeded to take a seat himself.

Rinse and repeat, day in and day out.

Eventually, you had become accustomed to seeing Edgar’s vibrant green eyes crinkle with amusement as you sigh and let him in. You begin to answer his probing questions, throwing in some of your own. Like it or not, even though you were being held captive by the Red Army and the Jack of Hearts, you were beginning to enjoy his company.

--

Curled in your bed one day—a gloomy, overcast day—you find yourself anxiously awaiting Edgar’s appearance.

You had been fighting internally for over a week now, trying desperately to deny the fact that, despite him being the enemy, you could feel yourself becoming more and more drawn to him.

There was something so enticing about his charm and charisma that you couldn’t help but be moved by. He managed to make you laugh and your thoughts drifted to him more often than not.

Today when you heard the knock you bounced up, excitedly moving toward the door only to be greeted by an unfamiliar face.

“Hello, Miss Alice, I’ve brought you snacks as the Queen of Hearts has instructed,” the young man stated, bowing his head, and holding out a comparatively sparse tray of food.

“Oh… thank you,” you murmur, accepting the tray and watching as the servant scurries off down the hall.

The day repeated itself, the young man bringing you your treats and growing increasingly more uncomfortable as you find it harder to hide your disappointment.

By the time a few weeks had passed, you’d grown incredibly anxious to see Edgar again, to make sure he was okay at the very least. Right on schedule the servant came and delivered your food, but this time you stopped him from leaving immediately.

“Um, would you mind telling me… where is Edgar? I just…haven’t seen him in a while, which is a bit odd…” Even as the words left your mouth, you could feel your shame warming your cheeks.

Why not just come right out and say you miss him while you’re at it! You scold yourself for being so obvious.

“Oh, I thought you knew… we launched the attack on the Black Army… He’s been on the front lines.”

At this, the young man departed and you felt your heart clamoring in your chest.

He’s on the front lines. Was he okay? Did he get hurt? Was he being careful? Worried thoughts swirl through your mind and you slump down in a chair beside the table.

The thought of never seeing Edgar’s princely smile and hearing his melodic voice forces an intense wave of longing to wash over you. You lean over the table, laying your head against the cool wood surface and letting a single tear fall from your eye.

You know there’s no point in getting upset, besides you’re going to be leaving, returning to the Land of Reason soon enough.

You suddenly realize that you may never see Edgar ever again. Once you went to the Land of Reason, there was no point in coming back to Cradle after all. A few more days pass as you struggle to try to come to terms with your unwarranted disappointment.

Late in the night, you hear another knock at your door. You’d already received your food for the day and figure it must be a mistake. At first, you just ignore it; hopefully whoever it is will get the hint and leave if you don’t answer.

Another knock, then another. Finally, you sigh and begin to stand up when you hear.

“Come on now, Alice, this hall is particularly cold tonight. Won’t you let me in?”

You feel your breath catch in your throat. Were you hearing things? There’s no way he should be here right now, not if they were in the middle of a war.

You stop in your tracks, wondering if you’re just tired and imagining things.

“Please Alice, I wasn’t joking… It’s really cold out here.”

Your heart begins to race in anticipation. You ran toward the door, throwing it open haphazardly.

There he was, he was here, he was fine.

Without realizing it, you throw yourself into his arms and hug him, burying your face against his chest and clinging tightly to him.

“Well now, I suppose if you’re going to do this then the hall won’t be nearly as cold.”

His familiar chuckle fills your ears and you feel a sense of calm settle over you. Stepping back, you look up into his deep emerald eyes and search his gaze.

The tender look on his face made your pulse pound louder in your ears and his hand gently moved to brush a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I missed you too, Alice,” he purred, leaning his face achingly close.

“… I never said I missed you,” you whisper, feeling the warmth of his breath against your lips.

Edgar’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “You didn’t have to.”

In that moment you feel the soft pressure of his lips against yours. All of the anxiety you’d been feeling falls away as you give yourself over to his kiss. Your mind fills with relief and passionate longing as you continued to move your mouths together.

“Stay with me, Alice?” He whispered, his eyes scanning your face with a fervent neediness and you could do nothing but nod and pull him in for another kiss.

How is it that you had ever wanted to leave this man? You can’t imagine your life without him and his absence had been exactly what gave away how deeply you had fallen for him.

You knew his words held so much more weight than just asking you to stay for the night. The earnestness in his expression told you as much. The passion with which his lips attacked yours and you returned made one thing achingly clear: Your heart had been stolen by the devilish Jack of Hearts, and you had no intention of taking it back.