#round mirror with gold trim

[walldreams]

A Touch of Modern Elegance – The Round Mirror by Wall of Dreams

The placement of the right mirror can convert your plain room into one with a touch of elegance and sophistication. The fantastic Round Accent Mirror by Wall of Dreams is stylish and fits into any room, as it can be customized according to the requirements of our customers.

[toyastales]

Well done!

[saigonmarket]

Bathroom - Transitional Powder Room White walls and a wall-mount sink can be seen in this small transitional powder room photo with a multicolored floor.

[misstel]

Salt Lake City Powder Room

[roseoptics]

Rustic Bathroom - Bathroom

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (XIV) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Y/N joins Contessa Zabini for tea. Luna and Y/N make way to Reine, Norway. Y/N remembers something important about Regulus.

Part XIII / Part XV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: The Zabini's and Baroque architecture just makes sense to me. Also uhhh have fun <3.

The cranberry tinted cup that sat in front of you made your tea flush like diluted blood, the glass flared at the rims to resemble a blossom, imposing on the matching saucer that you couldn’t draw your eyes away from. 

Luna sat perfectly quaint to your left, eyes running across the opulent clusters of furniture that accessorized the already extravagant room. Intricate carvings lined cream pillars that pinched the rounded windows in front of you, each imposing structure veiled by heavy blush curtains. The wooden table in front of you was polished spotlessly, matching the ornate chair that sat sturdy underneath your rigid body. On the opposite wall, you’re suddenly aware of the colossal gold-trimmed mirror that was no doubt reflecting your squared shoulders. 

Blaise was living in a baroque daydream. Damn him. 

Your tongue was doing a funny thing, tipping between sensitivity and leathery roughness. That would be of your own doing, having immediately drawn your lips to the scalding tea in an effort to diffuse the tension in your shoulders. Despite the abrupt burn, you had held in the sputtering that twisted in your throat in order to maintain some semblance of decorum. 

The silence was becoming unnerving and you could tell that Blaise agreed, the usually composed slytherin was twitching to twist his rings for the nth time. Unexpectedly, when you all had arrived at the Zabini Manor, you were met with a rather unimpressed Theodore Nott. Blaise had quietly whispered that the boy was well-liked by his mother and was often a guest at their manor. 

It felt like you and Luna had become prey trapped in a den full of beguiling predators. The Contessa sat across from you with Blaise to her right, the woman not even batting an eye when Theodore chose to round the table and sit next to you instead. 

Easy access to attack you or was he also intimidated by the elegant woman?

“So you were at a wedding, dear?” The Contessa’s voice was smothered in a richness that complemented her unflinching gaze. 

Clearing your throat lightly, you lean forward to meet her keen eyes, “Yes.” Your tone was mellow–formal, and the lack of embellishing in your answer seemed to both amuse and vex her. 

Not giving up so easily, the woman stirs her tea without breaking eye contact, “I see, and you were both making a quick trip to Diagon Alley afterwards?” The question would have seemed innocent if it were coming from anybody else (perhaps with the exception of Voldemort), but you could practically see the gears in her head turning. 

“A little disruption ruined our appetite for celebration.”

The woman raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at you, “Oh? What’s a wedding without a little family drama?” 

You felt like someone had taken a bludger and scrambled your brains with it, high society was truly not for the weak to stomach. You weren’t even sure if the Contessa was teasing you or trying to prod for information. 

It was likely the latter, and the thought made your stomach twist a little. Your exchange of letters had always been polite, borderlining strained pleasantries that involved Hogwarts classes, your research, and plans to meet up (that you were hoping to never attend). 

“Family drama would have been preferable, I’m afraid,” Your tone lifted ever so slightly, but the small smile pulling at your lips hid how irritated you were becoming with the tango of words. 

You shoot Blaise a small glance and see him watching you both with an unreadable expression, though his intense eyes unnerved you a bit. Like mother, like son.

The Contessa’s lips purse thinly and you get the impression that she is also becoming increasingly irate with your resolution, but then her face settles into a sharp grin.

Humming lowly, she tilts her head to assess you before speaking, “You impress me, my dear. It would seem that Blaise is getting better at picking his companions,” You see her shoot a small approving glance at Theodore, who merely sips his tea nonchalantly, “Theodore, Y/N – I hope you both will continue to look out for Blaise. We Zabini’s pride ourselves in our unflinching loyalty and we always return what is given to us threefold.” 

Chancing a peek at the boy next to you, you see Theodore meet your eyes evenly. Your move. 

Nodding at the dignified woman, you smile genuinely for the first time that evening, “It would be my honor, Contessa Zabini. However, my devotion to Blaise would have continued without question, he is quite-” you raise your eyebrow at the boy, “-fascinating, after all.” 

By fascinating, I mean half as scary as you and ten times more approachable. His wicked sense of humor is also a plus.  

Blaise narrows his eyes goodheartedly and drops a sugar cube into his cooled tea, “Thanks.” The dry response has Theodore hiding a small smirk in his tea cup, while the Contessa merely shoots an unimpressed look at her son’s sickly concoction. 

“Indeed, you are quite personable, Y/N. I can’t help but wonder though, what is your stance on the current political climate? It would be ever so insightful for me.” The woman smoothly questions, the calculative glint in her eyes flashing under the chandelier lights. 

Translation: Are you going to induct my son into Voldemort’s goonies or Dumbledore’s sycophants?

Stirring your tea absentmindedly, you decide to answer honestly, “I have my own motivations that don’t exactly align with the polarized ideologies of our sphere. Of course, I have a preference for who I wish to see come out on top, but either way, my own interests outweigh my desire to participate in politics.” 

Your answer seems to catch everybody off guard (except for Luna who smiles like she’s known all along), and you see consideration paint the Contessa’s face, “Interesting. Blaise has indicated that you are quite close with Harry Potter, yet you declare neutrality?” 

“Neutrality for as long as my interests continue to hold my attention, but I hold no ounce of admiration for the Dark Lord or his underlings.” You hesitate to continue, feeling shifty with how easily your words were spilling out. 

Blaise seems to grasp onto your words and leans forwards to prod you, “But?” 

“But, I do not think that certain knowledge and teachings should be tabooed.” 

Theodore speaks up for the first time to confirm what you were insinuating, “The Dark Arts.” 

You nod and lift up your tea cup, sipping carefully despite how tasteless it was due to your burns. 

“And these interests of yours, do they involve the Dark Arts?” The Contessa swipes a manicured nail around the handle of her cup, eyes no longer shrewd. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you lean back before answering lightly, “They might. I cannot say for certainty that they do. However, it does involve unusual magic.” 

“I see. It makes sense now why you asked to see those Norwegian tomes.” The woman’s eyes are alight, a glow that made it seem as though an investment of hers bloomed to fruition beautifully. 

You shuddered imperceptibly. Was it an honor or an omen that she seemed so intrigued by you? 

Theodore perks up and he turns to you with wide eyes, “Norwegian tomes?” 

The boy’s eagerness for knowledge was palpable, and you couldn’t help but be amused by his antics. It was so familiar because you saw it often in Regulus. 

Regulus. You winced. You wouldn’t think about it anymore. 

“Yes,” Turning to face the Contessa, you weigh your options, “If I may, I was wondering if I could borrow an owl for a letter. I want to inform my other friends of my plans going forward.” 

Blaise raises his eyebrows and frowns, “Plans? Are you not meeting up with them soon?” 

“Actually, I-” Luna turns to you with determined eyes at your slip up, “-we are heading North.” 

“North?” Blaise looks exceedingly unimpressed and you knew you wouldn’t be going anywhere until you satiated his curiosity. 

“Yes, up North.” 

“Where up North, pray tell?” He drawls with crossed arms. 

“Norway. We’re going to Norway.” Your tone was flat, eyes conveying your exasperation. 

Blaise sputters indignantly and barely restrains himself from throwing his hands up, “Norway? We have school in two weeks! How long are you planning to be there for?” 

“Indefinitely. It’s for my personal research.” 

“Well, I’m coming with you.” Blaise’s declaration has you darting your eyes to the Contessa with bated breath, watching the woman cross her arms. 

“Absolutely not. You have school, caro.” Blaise frowns deeply at his mother’s refusal and sits back in his seat, shoulders sagging in defeat, unwilling to argue with her. Theodore looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, likely considering if he would be able to leave school early too with the excuse of sabbatical. 

The Contessa turns to you, ignoring her son’s fit, “Of course, I’ll have one of my house elfs fetch you some parchment and ink. I’m sure Blaise wouldn’t mind if you borrowed his owl,” The woman suddenly rises from her seat and shoots you all a pleasant smile before smoothing out her dress, “This evening has been quite insightful. I look forward to our next meeting, Y/N. Safe journeys, don’t be a stranger.” 

Without waiting for a response, the woman spins on her heel and struts towards the double doors, calling for an elf as she crosses the threshold, “Viren, bring some parchment and ink for my guests.” The door clicks shut behind her as her last words reach your ears, and you slump in your seat as exhaustion soars through your veins. 

Before a disgruntled Blaise or an eager Theodore – the bloody ravenclaw in snake skin, can get a word out, a light pop draws your attention towards a rather properly dressed house elf, parchment and writing supplies in tow. 

Luna is quick to gather the supplies and quietly thank the elf, smoothing out the parchment in front of you. 

“I still want to go with you.” Blaise’s voice is soft, and you’re unable to detect any irritation. 

Peering up from your writing, you smile lightly at the two boys, “Sorry. You two need to hold down the fort. I didn’t say anything earlier, but the Ministry has been infiltrated by Voldemort and his followers, that’s why we left the wedding in such a hurry. Scrimgeour is dead as well,” You heave a sigh and flick the quill casually, “I suspect Hogwarts is going to be overtaken next, and Harry and I wouldn’t be caught dead there this year, we’d be like little crup puppies in a ball pit.” 

Both slytherins look stumped by your straightforwardness, and Blaise huffs out a little ‘well shit’ that has you nodding. 

Theodore stares deeply into the translucent pool of tea in his cup, voice barely above a whisper, “The war is going to end soon.” 

“Yes, and Harry’s going to make sure Voldemort is damned all the way into the afterlife.” If either of the boys were unconvinced by your conviction, they didn’t let it show, opting to share a look of understanding with each other before turning to you and nodding lightly. 

Blaise rounds the table and drops his hands onto your shoulders, “You better not die. And I guess I can take care of our ward for the time being.” 

“Ward?” Theodore sounds (rightfully) perplexed by his best friend’s words. 

“Little Draconis,” you supply, much to Theodore’s bewilderment, “And Blaise, stop making it sound like we’ve adopted him!” 

You wave your friend off and finish up your letter, leaning back in satisfaction as you hear Blaise clamber away to fetch his owl. 

Prongslet (and co), 

Luna and I are going to redeem our meal tickets (not as bizarre of a gift as one may think). We may not be back before darkness falls. Tell the old menace I said hello, and that I will make good on my promise to him. Stay safe and stay together. 

- Someone’s beloved Birdie 

Norway was incomparably arctic to Britain, the frigid winds bit at the tips of your fingers with fervid rushes, and you were positive that your legs were now flesh icicles. Despite how ardently your body protested against the climate, you couldn’t help the serene smile that mapped the muscles of your face. The chill was not the only difference the region had over Britain, and its tranquility was almost foreign to you. 

Now more than ever, Wizarding Britain seemed to have a miasma of doom looming over the country and the change of pace was almost tangible. 

“Here we are,” Luna’s airy voice was a welcomed sound amidst your inner exultation. You couldn’t help but draw similarities between the mysticality of Luna’s magic and disposition, and the blankets of fog that permeated over the lake in the far distance. 

Both were curious in their own aspects, but you couldn’t help but want to melt deeper in the feeling they both surrounded you with. 

You pulled your overcoat tighter around your body, thanking Merlin and those above that Blaise practically tore his closet right to left to find suitable clothing for you and Luna before you both departed from Zabini Manor. 

Stepping closer to Luna, you hum as you observe the view in the distance, “It’s beautiful.” 

Reine was truly idyllic. The fishing village was cupped by snowy peaks that towered over the clots of buildings which mottled the shores of the lake – a place truly untouched by the withering fog of petulant human conflict. 

The apparition was quite tiring and you could feel fatigue coiling around your muscles, urging you to quickly seek refuge.

“Couldn’t have picked a better place really: picturesque, remote, and lauded for proficiency in multiple languages.” Your words are light and playful, spurning a grin to bloom on Luna’s face. 

Dumbledore practically handed you a bubble-wrapped opportunity served on a golden platter. 

The both of you begin to trek towards the village, not wanting to risk apparition in case you were seen by any locals. To your knowledge, this Anders Fiske was the only magical folk in Reine, holing himself away from densely populated regions for reasons only Merlin knows. 

As you approach the banks of the waters and the largest building amongst the cluster, you inhale shakily as you see a sinewy man exit the building. The man seems to pause and do a double take, fully turning when he realized that you weren’t a figment of his imagination. 

“Hello,” His voice is gruff and gratingly neutral, only weakening your resolve. 

Talking to people was hard. But you survived a – conversation? interrogation? with Contessa Zabini, this should be a piece of cake. 

“Hello, we’re looking for someone named Anders Fiske,” your tone is even and you try your best to look as friendly as possible. Luna simply stares off into a red house in the distance, seeming to look straight through the man in front of you. 

Immediately, you can see the man tense before he forcibly relaxes his stance, pinching his eyebrows together as he surveys you, “There is no one here by that name.” 

You would have believed him. If you were a dolt, of course. 

“Are you certain? It’s rather important, and he’s the only one that can help us.” The man doesn’t falter and you frown when you feel something inch towards you. 

Helga almighty. 

He had a magical signature. The man in front of you was clearly a wizard, whether he knew it or not. 

Before you can ruminate on your discovery, the man speaks up, “Yes. So you both should leave.” 

A subtle bone in his body, there was not.

Feeling your eye twitch, you decide to do some searching on your own terms. Releasing your magic, you slowly blanket the surrounding buildings in search for another magical signature. It was clear enough that the man in front of you was not who you were looking for – unless Dumbledore wanted you to have some grilled monkfish with the most conspicuous wizard ever to roam the earth since Godric Gryffindor himself. 

As you continue to scavenge the village with your magic, the man in front of you shifts from side to side, clearly becoming wary of your sudden silence and blank stare. 

Before you can continue, a thunderous slam has you flinching out of your concentration. Peering around the looming man, your eyes meet a guarded gaze. Tilting your head, you sidestep and assess the newcomer, smiling slowly as you realize that he was another wizard. 

The new man was much older and you could see the way he leaned on his right leg as if his left one was aching from the slightest pressure. He was hunched in the pathway of the red house Luna was observing, mouth set into a deep frown. 

“Bingo,” Without waiting for the younger man to say anything (or possibly toss you into the lake), you stroll over toward the older man who was slowly retreating back into his house. 

Luna follows after you and nods happily to herself, starting to skip by your side. 

Stopping a few yards away from the man, you roll your shoulders to ease your soreness before jumping into the golden question, “Are you Anders Fiske?” 

The man appears to be ready to vehemently deny your question, but Luna speaks up before he can even utter a mumble, “Dumbledore sent us!” 

“Dumbledore?” The man’s harsh wrinkles smooth over ever so slightly, and your former headmaster’s name seems to roll off his tongue instinctually. 

“Yes. In his will, he told me that I needed to seek you out for a…meal? I’m in need of your help,” The man seems nonplussed by your declaration, and you purse your lips before sweetening up your words, “Please.” 

You see the man’s eyes flicker behind you and back rapidly, seeming to mull over everything. 

Without a word, the man dips into the shadow of his house with one last glower. 

Excuse me, what?

“Come,” You’re startled out of your stupor by a familiar deep voice, and you can only trail forward, mouth hung open, as the younger man leads you and Luna inside. 

As the younger man closes the door shut behind you, an array of lamps flicker to life around the room, illuminating the perimeter much to your amazement. The room was cozy and frazzled in a similar fashion to the Weasley’s home, and your eyes couldn’t help but trail across a wall of tomes the size of your head. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” The older man – Anders, grumbles from the middle of the room, sat at the dining table with a demeanor you found synonymous with Moody during meetings at Grimmauld Place. 

Smiling coyly, you watch Luna as she wanders almost weightlessly towards the small corner kitchen, “You shouldn’t have revealed yourself, Anders.” 

The man lets out a low grunt and you almost have to physically restrain your eyebrows from floating off your face. This man was literally Moody in a different, older font. 

“You would have figured it out anyway. Could feel that magic of yours suffocating the whole place from in here.” His tone was rough, but you wanted to believe that there was an impressed shine in his eyes. 

The younger man who was (surprisingly) still behind you, decides to interrupt your conversation, “Father, who are these people?” 

Anders places his elbows on the table and gives you and Luna a once-over, “Magical folk.” 

“A threat?” Anders’ son carries an edge to his tone that has you nearly rolling your eyes. 

You were about to blast him through the window, but you couldn’t let this opportunity slip away because of unbridled temptations. 

“That remains to be seen.” 

Anders’ reply seems to placate his son for the time being, and he heads off towards Luna as the girl hunches over to study a chipped teapot on the counter. You shift and make your way to stand in across from Anders, not exactly sure what approach to take. 

The yellow lighting bounced off the man’s face and gave him a sickly complexion, emphasizing his stress lines and suspicious eyes as you drew closer. 

“So, Dumbledore is dead?” He sounded almost regretful. Either that or you knocked your head on the way in. 

“Unfortunately. War is not forgiving, especially to martyrs.” Your tone was not nearly as sad as it probably should have been, but it seemed to be of no trouble for the older wizard. 

Anders sighs and leans back in his seat, one hand coming to clutch his shoulder unconsciously, “The old fool knew what he was getting into,” He raises his eyes to look at you appraisingly, “Can’t imagine why he’d send you my way, anyway.” 

“I’m researching. Something that is unfortunately, extremely niche. Dumbledore said you might be able to enlighten me on the subject.” Your determined tone seems to draw in some interest from him, and you have to mask the victorious feeling that washes over you. 

That’s right, scholar to scholar. Hook, line, and sinker.  

The man waits for you to continue, so you slowly pull out the chair in front of you and sink down across from him, “It’s about magical essences. It seems that you are quite sensitive to magical signatures, seeing as you could sense me releasing my magic earlier,” Anders gives a brisk nod, and you clench your hands as you continue, “A few summers ago, I encountered something strange–special. I found a portrait that was imbued with magical essence, and this portrait, he was extremely sentient.” 

You feel a knot lodge in your throat at the reminder of Regulus, the wound of his destruction feeling painfully raw again. Seeing your sudden hesitance, Anders raises a scruffy white eyebrow, “And where is this portrait now?” 

Your gaze drops to the table, your eyes blazing right into the worn wood, so marred and aged, unlike the one at Zabini Manor. 

“Gone, then? I don’t know how I’m supposed to be of help in that case.” You raise your eyes and meet his cold gaze, clenching your jaw at his stoic expression, “You both can stay the night in the basement, for the sake of doing an old friend a favor. I expect you to be gone by daylight, tomorrow.” 

Without pause, Anders pushes himself off the chair and limps further into the house, leaving you to awkwardly stew in your rejection while his son and Luna linger behind you. 

Anders’ son breaks the tense silence first, “Sorry about him, he’s…” 

“Stubborn?” Luna offers. 

“Honest.” You reply at the same time. 

Whirling around in your seat, you will away the veil of exhaustion and hurt that clouded your mind and look up at Anders’ son, really seeing him for the first time. You see the resemblance between the both of them, from their narrowed eyes to their thin noses, and the unmistakable metallic chill engulfed in both of their magic. 

Slowly rising from your seat, you send a fleeting smile to the boy, “Don’t believe we know your name.” 

“Asger,” His tone is much less taut than before, from pity or understanding, you didn’t know. 

“Nice to meet you, and thanks.” 

The boy–Asger, waves off your thanks and simply juts his shoulder forward, silently telling you to follow him. Feeling all of your survival instincts switch off, you tread behind him with glassy eyes, barely aware of your surroundings even when Luna tucks her arm around your body, guiding you around the unfamiliar environment. 

It appeared that Anders utilized his magical prowess and performed a disappearing act by the time you reached the basement, the older man being nowhere in sight despite the fact that there was only one door in the back of the house–which led to the basement. 

You and Luna got settled in, not bothered by the loose threads of your blankets or the dusty boxes that rested against the walls. You were both given a (surprisingly) comfortable mattress to share, and you almost wanted to cry when Luna started to draw patterns on your palm as you both stared up at the spackled ceiling. 

“Our journey has not ended yet,” Luna’s voice is small, but still fueled with conviction. 

“Thanks, Luna. I don’t even know where I’d be without you.” 

A comfortable silence descends upon you two, and you shift to get comfortable in your spot, realizing that Blaise’s overcoat was making it difficult to turn over. Slowly sitting up, you shrug off the thick material, and fix your jacket, realizing it was slightly askew from your movements. As you smooth down the material, you freeze as your hand moves over a thick bulk in your inner pocket. 

Portrait…? 

No. Of course not.  

Ignoring the cold sinking of your stomach, you fish out the object and search blindly for your wand. 

“Lumos.” 

Your breath hitches. 

Regulus’ journal. The one you found stuffed between his mattresses. Swallowing harshly, you slowly run a hand over the wrinkled cover. 

How could you have forgotten?

As you try to maneuver your wand to allow both of your hands to be free, a gentle tug has you swiveling your head to the side. Luna merely smiles at you before looking back at the journal, nimbly holding your wand over the book so you could flip through it. 

“I can look away if you want,” Luna’s gentle voice slices through the air with a warmth that you viscerally feel in your chest, and you smile at the girl in gratitude. As she turns her gaze to the darkness, seemingly becoming entranced by nothingness, you slowly furl the first pages open. 

Property of Regulus Arcturus Black 

You turn the page, fingers twitching as you resist the temptation to trace the swirls of his name. 

3 November, 1976 

Today is Sirius’ birthday. The first year he will celebrate away from home, as a disappointment to the family name. Mother and Father were particularly cold today. I just have to try harder. Sirius has stopped replying to my letters, and he avoids me in the halls. 

I think I hate him. 

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest as you reread the entry, struck by the unfamiliar loathing coated in his tone. Sirius was sixteen when he left, so seventeen in 1976. Regulus was only fifteen when he wrote this, and already so tied down by his family and abandonment issues. 

The next few pages contain similar entries, all filled with abhorrence for Sirius and bitterness towards his parents. 

Then the year changes. 

8 September, 1978 

The Dark Lord is going to change the world, make it a better, purer place. Mother and Father were pleased when I announced that I would be taking the mark soon, already having made strides among his growing forces. 

Sirius would hate it. I know he would. But he would expect it. He should, anyway. 

He already hates me, what damage could this do to our already broken relationship? 

He should hate me. 

I hate myself. I hate him.

I hate him so much.  

17 December, 1978

Visiting my portrait was eventful. I can feel him growing stronger with every meeting. I think I’ll have to repaint it soon, looking at it and seeing a reflection of who I used to be never gets easier. 

The next repaint, I’m going to finally do it. Hopefully, all my research will have paid off. Uncle Alphard’s book on magical essences was more helpful than I could have ever imagined. 

The room is complete, and I can feel my magic all over it. If I can imbue it into my portrait as well, it will be perfect. 

Maybe then he can forgive me. If I explain. If I try. 

The Dark Lord is expecting me soon. 

3 January, 1979 

The repainting was a success. My hand will be sore for the next few days, but it was all worth it. I finally figured out how to key the room. The only person who will be able to access it now is Sirius. That is if he ever returns home. 

My portrait is so like me, it’s truly uncanny. Perhaps I can publish my findings after I graduate. 

My mark aches often. 

I miss Sirius. 

5 March, 1979

The Dark Lord tried to kill Kreacher. 

After everything I’ve done for him. After everything I’ve sacrificed. 

Sirius was right. 

Kreacher keeps talking about a potion and a locket. I need to understand. I have to. 

It is imperative that I impart everything I know to my portrait, so Sirius will know that I tried. That I finally understand. 

Is this my punishment? Must I suffer so for forgiveness? If he does not forgive me, will it all have been for nothing? 

I need to find out what the Dark Lord is hiding. It will be my repentance. 

19 May, 1979 

Horcruxes. 

Such vile creations, a defiling of one’s soul. The Dark Lord has a horcrux. I need to destroy it. 

My portrait grows restless with me. To think it was even possible. He only has the faintest ideas of my current ambitions, but I feel everyday that he is growing to be someone I never could be. Someone that Sirius would be able to forgive. 

I’ll destroy the horcrux and accept the conditions tied to it. 

There is no other way. 

8 June, 1979

Everyday I grow closer to executing my plan. 

I have given my portrait everything he needs to know. 

I wonder, is all soul magic as abominable as horcruxes? I begin to see parallels with magical essences and soul magic. Yet, they feel completely different. 

Or perhaps I have finally lost all sense. I have always been a hypocrite. 

I wait with bated breath. 

I will destroy it even if it kills me, and it will be glorious. 

28 July, 1979 

I fear that if I wait any longer I will go back on my conviction. 

Mother and Father are growing increasingly vexed with me. I think they want to marry me off by winter. 

It will be before then. 

I have stopped confiding in my portrait about my deeper feelings. I fear that my weakness will be obvious even to him. 

I have read more about magical essences to distract myself. Even the Dark Lord is not omniscient. Magical essences have ties to one’s soul, the bounds of such revelation I do not know. Yet, I have learned of something even the Dark Lord is ignorant to, and because of that, he has debased himself with horcruxes. 

A small victory, and an inkling of how it will feel when he’s gone. 

When he falls. 

14 August, 1979 

I will do it in autumn. 

I hope it will all be worth it. 

26 October, 1979 

My portrait can cast magic. 

I wonder if Sirius will be proud. 

29 October, 1979 

I wonder what being in love feels like. 

2 November, 1979 

I never really had aspirations outside of what was expected of me. 

Have I always been so pitiful? Was I the only one who couldn’t see it? 

15 November, 1979 

I hear that the Potters are expecting their first child. 

I wonder how Sirius will treat their baby. 

I think I’m going crazy. 

17 November, 1979 

Tomorrow. 

You flip through the journal hastily, and you feel your eyes sting in the darkness at the crushing realization. 

Blank pages. Empty and unfeeling, and so telling of his fate. 

You weren’t going to leave tomorrow. 

Anders would have to drag you kicking and screaming. You wouldn’t give up on Regulus, not after everything he sacrificed. 

You will do whatever it takes. 

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txorua @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale @peachyaeger @thegayhoenextdoor @l--absinthe @ok-boke @summer-noir @mikeikax @musically-ambiguous @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @randomfaeriechild @misacc08 @that-bitch-bri @littleshadow17

[baristabastard]

Her. Like just her. She came to serve and she succeeded. The laminar? armor that still has a cinched waste just like most plate armor. That little buckler the she definitely has murdered people with. The fact that she has armored thigh highs and hoops despite being a no nonsense murder godess?!?

Also, she really looks like her mom. Her hair is very similar and those two floating things evoke the same hairstyle without actual committing to it. Her little round titty plates and the moon mirror the three skulls on Nyx's dress and even her gaze evokes the same intensity. Nyx I think looks arrogant, regal. She stares straight at you daring you to offend her. Nemesis also has an arrogance but instead of the regal bearing she has a focused fury.

It's honestly remarkable how many elements they share. I'm sure if I compared the other children of Nyx, there would be similarities, but this feels much more than just a few details. They both have chokers, but Nyx's only covers half her throat. It's the kind of thing a queen wears. Nemesis's gorget (fancy words) completely covers the throat. Maybe this shows a lack of a real voice or a hesitancy to speak out.

I wonder how Nemesis truly feels about Nyx? Where I am in the game she's expressed anger but with all these details I think she craves a love that was maybe never shown. The fact that she models her dress on Nyx. Wearing a crown in with the same purple in the same spot. The hints of gold on her armor trim. Her hair being up in the same way. It all makes me wonder if Nemesis resents those who live in the house of hades. From context clues Nyx seems to have acted more like Chaos when she was younger and now that she's showing more warmth what if Nemesis, the embodiment of revenge, can't let go?

[whumped-by-glitter]

Chapter 2 Part 1: Mistakes and Backtalk

⚠️CW: Slave Whump, Dehumanization, Angst, Defiant Whumpee, Mention of Minor Whump (barely). If I missed anything, let me know, please!

@3-2-whump's official rating: ‘Dasa’s gonna have a real bad time, as if he wasn’t having a bad time already’

✨️A special thanks to my Beta Readers! I couldn't write a coherent sentence, much less a story without them! @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz, @aloafofbreadwithanxiety. If you like my work, go check theirs out!

Masterlist

⏮️ Previous

Story under the cut.

Balor gritted his teeth, watching the great, noble Corvius, his father, go out, down the dirt path, to the slave building yet again to check on that idiot slave he called Boy. His concern for those beasts was humiliating. It was as if the man cared more about those damn slaves than him.

Watching his father preen over the slave made him wish the Drar had actually died, it was sickening. ‘And so what if Boy had died? If four days without food killed him, he deserved death. It certainly wasn't his fault Drar burned through food faster than other races,’ he thought with vitriol.

 That aside, don’t even get him started on that creepy runt he called Dog, the one being taught to consume poisons. Balor did not understand his father’s fascination with that one at all. That slave had more one on one time with his dear father than Balor ever had in his 19 years alive. It was disgusting.

Though, he wasn’t that different he supposed, recalling fondly the first time he’d injured that filthy Mongrel. The sight of the slave struggling against the pain to obey Balor’s own orders not to move, the image filled him with a feeling of absolute power. Power was not something he had obtained yet, despite his privileged birth. Thus having such a complete amount of it over The Dog was intoxicating. It was a small taste of what he hunkered for.

Balor huffed back to his room to get dressed and ready for the day. He put on his usual ruffled shirt, white today, and a pair of trousers. In the mirror he swept his short sandy blonde hair to the side of his round face. After wiping his pale, blue tinged skin, a trait inherent to his race, with a wash rag he met his own cold navy-blue eyes in the mirror. He frowned, seeing how his pudge made the fabric of his shirt strain slightly. His silhouette had been a source of great displeasure lately but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He pulled on his brown, gold trimmed boots, tightening the laces. Shaking off the depression, he headed out to meet up with his father.

Not finding him in the shabby, filthy, slave house off at the side of the building, Balor went out to the fields a little trek off from the main house. He shifted his blue speckled white wings in annoyance. He hated going out this far, it wasn’t worth the massive energy to fly, but walking the path was drudgery. It was far too much work when he could normally just have a slave bring him everything he needed without ever needing to leave the mansion.

The fields were at harvesting. Theirs were mostly made up of fruit orchards. The yellow-skinned lel fruit dotted the nearest trees. Beyond the lel trees there were rows of grapes climbing up ornate walls built to support the vines.

“You miscounted your yield yesterday!” He heard his father, yell at one of the slaves. The voice came from the grape fields.

He was still too far off to hear the slave’s pathetic reply. He sure as hell heard the subsequent slap though.

“Because of you I now need to go all the way to Xonia to clear up this mess!” Corvius exclaimed, slapping the slave again.

Balor watched the older man storm up the hill towards him and the back entrance of the mansion behind him.

“What happened Father?” Balor asked, trying to keep the glee out of his voice. It was satisfying to watch his father get worked up over some dumb slave.

“Zan, the slave we were brought to train for old man Banks has been messing up his count for months,” Corvius answered with a scowl on his face as he began walking them back towards the mansion. “I now have to go all the way to Xonia to get this straightened out with the merchant there. That means you will be in charge here. Can I trust you not to kill any slaves while I’m gone?”

Balor hid an eye roll, “Of course Father, you can count on me.” He was certain these next few days were going be a drag. The thought of that amount of responsibility made him tired just thinking about it.

Corvius paused walking. “I’m trusting you to run things, you best not disappoint me.”

Balor was certain his father had read his thoughts. He could feel the intrusion. The sensation made him more annoyed. It was considered rude for Tallisians to read each other’s or even Valtens’ thoughts. It added an additional layer of insult knowing his father rarely even intruded on the slaves in this manner. “I can assure you, I won’t,” he mumbled, “You don’t have to treat me like a child, I’m 19 now.”

“If you are no longer a child, why is it you perpetually still act like one?” Balor’s father sighed and shook his head. “This is an opportunity to prove yourself, you shouldn’t look so gloom. I’m leaving Zan’s discipline to you, if you do well discipline will be yours permanently.”

This got Balor’s attention, he finally met the old man’s gaze for the first time since they started talking this morning. He studied his pale blue tinged skin and weathered features. Perhaps he was looking for a hint of approval in those stern features, in which he found none of course. His thoughts turned back to fantasizing, maybe, just maybe, these next few days wouldn’t be such a drag after all.

“You’re engaged to the Crown Princess, it’s high time you start learning leadership and responsibility instead of loafing about.”

His father continued to lecture him, but Balor was hardly paying attention anymore. Instead, his mind was fantasizing about how best to make Zan suffer.

‘I could make him count lashes…. Nah, too simple. A stress position on the frame maybe? That had nothing to do with the infraction though….Forced silence, that would be a good start, I just need to decide how, and what I want to follow that up with…’ Balor’s thoughts continued to spin, musing on the possibilities.

He'd prefer his father’s favorite, The Mutt, the one he’s lived in the shadow of his whole life. Oh, how he’d love to take full control of that dog, that useless object of his father’s attention. Zan would have to do however, at least for now.

“Mongrel!” Corvius yelled as soon as they entered the mansion. A slight echo reverberated off the polished stone of the greeting room.

The Mutt seemed to materialize from shadows, the mask of void Corvius preferred firmly plastered on its face. ‘Creepy beast, it barely counts as a living thing,’ Balor thought as the slave knelt, pressing its forehead on the floor.

“Get my bags packed for five days,” Corvius ordered, barely glancing down at it.

“Yes Master,” The Mutt replied and disappeared up the stairs.

Corvius led his son into the parlor and sat him down. “Now before I go I need to give you some instructions. First, you are not allowed to maim, kill or permanently injured Zan in any way. Second, you will be giving The Mongrel its poison doses every day.”

This further interested Balor. He loved slipping the slave some Divinity’s Downfall for the entertainment of his friends. He was owed that much from it.

“Understood Father,” Balor replied, barely containing his excitement.

“You may have friends over and do as you please, but so help me if I come back to a wreck, you will be paying for it. You need to prove to me that you can manage these slaves. Show me that you can be King, consider this practice.”

His father’s tone was serious. The younger Tallisian knew he meant what he said and shuddered to think what ‘paying for it’ would look like.

“Everything will be in perfect order when you return,” Balor tried to sound confident despite the nerves.

It wasn’t long after the two had fallen into silence when The Dog returned with the packed bags for his Master.

“Everything is there?” Corvius asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Master,” The Mongrel bowed.

“Very well, don’t just stand there, take them to the carriage,” the Master snapped. “Oh, and Balor, I’ll be taking Ruby and Boy with me,” he added as the three of them began to walk out the front door.

Outside Balor saw that the two slaves had already been harnessed up and ready. He had been a little surprised when his father said he was taking those two, but saw now saw how similar in size the two were, Boy was growing fast.

Once he saw his father off, Balor was finally free. The first thing he wanted to do was to deal with Zan.

“Mutt, go fetch Zan,” Balor ordered.

Masterlist

Next 🔜

The Taglist:

@whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee, @wounds-seen-and-unseen, @emptycalories-splitlip

@pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000, @onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink

@turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps, @paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer, @vampiresprite

@whumping-in-the-dark, @saffitaffi, @ichortwine

If you want to be added or taken off my taglist just let me know!

**additionally, this is a chapter set to have extra NSFW scenes. If you want the on extended edition taglist, please let me know.

[raayllum]

For Day Three of Snake Boi Callum Week: Magic / Mirrors Summary: Callum and Kpp'Ar have a conversation after he's released from the coin. Word Count: 2k

ORPHEUS: How will you remember? EURYDICE: That I love you? ORPHEUS: Yes. EURYDICE: That’s easy. I can’t help it.

—Eurydice, Sarah Ruhl

The initial confusion—the hazy gold imprisonment and bone-deep ache that had been equally familiar in death as it had been in life, the harrowing first few coughs as his lungs learned to work again, hand grasping for a cane that wasn’t there—had faded overall quickly, mostly because too much of his circumstances didn’t make sense.

The walls around him had been a shimmering white and purple, unlike anything he’d ever read of in the Pentarchy, loud elven voices echoing off of walls that didn’t seem to be able to make an echo arguing over something that didn’t make any sense. 

Only one thing truly stuck, in the aftermath: a young man looking over him with a shadowed face, swoopy hair, trimmings of a High Mage tunic fluttering round his knees, and the burst of emotion brought forth at the reality that Viren was here, that Viren had both trapped and freed him, and that Kpp’Ar still—

Throat hoarse, and lips cracking from disuse, parted to form his name. “Viren?”

But the mage reared back in disgust (still not unlike his protegé), throwing a younger, tanner face into the light, a fresh white lock of hair falling over glinting green—not gray—eyes.

“I am not Viren,” he said tersely, looking vaguely familiar for a different reason, hands shaky as he bent down to help Kpp’Ar up into a sitting position. He handed him a crystalline cup of water and then rose unsteadily to his feet.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Hello, I want to share this idea with you that I had from the Turkish TV show... I don't if you know about Turkish soaps...

So, reader is District Attorney’s daughter and Steve is the son of the mafia/mob.. they’re both artists and met in same art school. They started with love hate kinda relationship, then some mutual pining but they still can't tell each other they’re in love because its forbidden. They’re from two different worlds and in love. Steve doesn't have any criminal record YET but he's still a mob's son...

I'm just sharing it with you, if you want to write a one shot perhaps turn it into a series... whatever... or maybe you won't consider giving it shot.. that's okay...

Thankyou for providing a safe space for everybody and let me share it with you...❤

Bad For Me

It’s immaculate, the dark walls that are encompassed by rich gold trim around the baseboards and crown moulding. There’s a oversized chandelier hanging above the bed with teardrop crystals and the same gold trim that surrounds the room, the base of the chandelier that holds it against the ceiling is carved and etched metal that mirrors the sconces on the wall.

The bed is an Alaskan king, the size would have seemed almost outlandish if the room was smaller, but as it is the bedroom is as expansive as you would have imagined.

The bed is made of sturdy wood, dark to match the colour of the paint, with a curved headboard that rests high against the wall, almost like the back of a throne, and there’s two distinct round studded holes that you can only imagine would be for your restraints. There is a section of padded material to keep you from injuring your head should you throw yourself against it.

The rest of the room is as breathtaking and stunning to match, across from the bed is a fireplace that’s still burning leftover logs. There are walk-in closets set against the right half of the room, both are placed precisely between two floor to ceiling mirrors. Across from the closets is the ensuite bathroom with the shower and bathtub placated flush against each other a design, he had claimed, was to bring an air of intimacy to the relationship.

And to finish off the room, there was a chaise set before the windows, the furniture designed to be the focal point for his artwork. He had claimed, again, that it was meant for intimacy.

“And I will be drawing and sketching you.” He promised you that everything in the room would come to good use.

The heavy door opened and his footsteps were heard on the hardwood floor. You had stood before the windows, glancing out at the property below, so entranced by the prospect of escaping.

“There is no running from me.” His voice had hit your ears, the scent of his cologne invaded your senses and you had wished you hated it more. “Why so somber, my wife?”

He was the son of a ruthless Don, and you were the daughter of the district attorney. He was attending art school where you had taken a few classes, your main focus was classical and contemporary dance while he was dabbling in sketching, drawing and painting.

You didn’t know who he was, he had only ever given you his middle name but he knew who you were. He had you figured out on day one, and you knew you should have left his presence before he got in too deep.

It was your fault, it was your fault that you were here.

“Steve please don’t do this.” You begged him, you pleaded with him to let you go. “Choose someone else, anyone else.”

“You know the tradition of bride kidnapping?” He brushed your hair off your shoulder, his large hands had come to rest on your waist as his lips met your jaw.

“You could have anyone else-“

“The groom snatches the woman he wants as his bride to save her from any other suitors. It’s most common in other parts of the world, but its a practice that suits me well.” He was possessive yet tender, kissing your neck as he pulled you back flush against him.

“You’re the most dangerous man on the east coast, you could have-“ you stopped breathing, negating your reaction to his fingers tugging on the silk tie that held your robe around you.

“I know what I am,” he hummed, his cock twitching against your ass, “I know what I want. I know who I want, that’s why I had to take you.”

“We met at school, we didn’t-“

“I know how you felt about me. Before you knew what I was, we had gone on a date. We had fun and you let me taste you. Did you really think-“ Steve groaned in your ear, hands running up your abdomen to your bare breasts.

“-I could handle just one taste?” Steve’s hands grasped your breasts, his fingers squeezing as you moaned and pliantly pushed back into him. “You are not the kind of woman who only requires one taste.”

“Please…” you whined, cratering with your willpower. “Steve…”

“Yes, Mrs. Rogers.” He nipped your neck and let go of your breasts only to sweep you into his arms and take you back toward the bed. “I will feast on your sweet pussy again. But…”

Steve leaned back and looked down at you, your chest heaving and your legs spreading to reveal the dampness of your thighs.

“I think its time,” Steve pulled you up and switched positions with you, this time it was him laying back on the bed, “you ride my face.”

“Steve I-I can’t…I’ve never-“

“Yes, darling wife.” He snatched your wrist and pulled you forward, dragging you until you had sat on his chest. “Don’t leave your husband starving. Ride my face.”

He settled his hands on your hips and dragged your forward until you hovered above him. “Don’t hold back, fuck yourself on my tongue.”

[alyssalenko]

Jingle Bells

Marlo tries to help Harry regain the Christmas Spirit he lost in his divorce with some sexy Christmas lingerie and some jingle bells...AO3

Marlo collapsed beside Harry on the sofa after she finished putting the star on top of the tree, Harry smiling as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her against his side, kissing the top of her head. It was their first official Christmas together as a couple, and tomorrow everyone would be together, but for now it was just the two of them able to make the most of their time together. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and between it and the twinkling lights on the tree, the room had the coziest atmosphere. Marlo snuggled into him, her head on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat, reminding her that they were both here and alive.

“What's your favorite Christmas tradition?” She asked, resting her head on his chest as she curled her legs up underneath her body and traced patterns on his pec with her fingers.

“My mother actually used to have all of us--me and my cousins, aunts and uncles, as well as her and my father–gather in the kitchen to make different treats from cookies to candies to hot chocolate. Just a nice way to have the family all together.”

“That's really sweet. Mom and dad always let D and I open one gift on Christmas eve--we were impatient as children and it kind of blossomed into tradition from there.” Marlo chuckled at the memory, Harry rubbing his hand up and down her arm as he pressed his cheek to her hair.

“Since the divorce, I haven't really done anything for the holidays.”

Marlo frowned and sat up--his ex-wife had really done a number on him and she hated it; he deserved so much better. “I think it's time we change that, combine both of our traditions and start getting back your Christmas Spirit. I need to get your first present ready, so I can't join you in the kitchen, is that all right?”

He nodded, the two of them extricating themselves from each other, Marlo heading into their bedroom and Harry heading into the kitchen. She'd been looking for an excuse and a way to change into the Christmas themed lingerie she'd secretly bought to seduce him with. Helping him get back his Christmas spirit was just a bonus. Marlo checked her reflection in the mirror as she placed a Santa hat on her head and tied a spring of mistletoe into the bow at her waist before she made her way over to the tree and arranged herself underneath it--Harry's one Christmas Eve present to open. After a moment's deliberation, she grabbed a candy cane off the tree, peeling the plastic down and sticking it in her mouth; a naughty idea forming in her head.

Harry nearly dropped both mugs of hot chocolate as he rounded the corner from the kitchen when he saw what was waiting for him. Marlo was lounging back on her elbows under the Christmas tree, a candy cane in her mouth, a Santa hat on her head, red gloves with white trim by her elbow and knee high black boots with gold buckles on her feet. Red poinsettias covered her nipples, red and green jingle bells dangling from them in front of discs that he realized said ‘Santa’s Slut’ as he got closer. She had a black satin ribbon wrapped around her stomach, a clump of mistletoe wound into the bow in front of her belly button, pointing at her red thong tied with white puffballs at her hips, the words ‘so nice, Santa came twice’, emblazoned in white lettering across the red fabric. He would have laughed if he wasn't so goddamned horny at the sight of her–if this was how she embraced the Christmas spirit, he was in for a very long season, indeed, but he was absolutely looking forward to it.

"Jesus Christ, Marlo." Harry growled, setting the mugs on the coffee table and running one hand through his hair as he cursed under his breath, a bulge tenting the front of his slacks as he reached down and adjusted himself in his pants. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

Marlo took the candy cane from her mouth and covered it back up with it's wrapping, grinning as she ran a hand over her bare hip and up her side, flicking the jingle bells dangling from her nipples, a pleasant chime tinkling in the air. She smirked as she bit her lip, Harry stepping closer and kneeling on the floor in front of where she lounged under the Christmas tree. Teasing fingers trailed along her leg, Harry pulling the zipper of one of her boots down slowly and pressing his lips to every inch of skin he exposed, before doing the same to the other side. He kissed his way from her ankles to her knees, Marlo biting her lip as he moved to her inner thigh, close to where she wanted his attention the most. Harry met her eyes as he placed a kiss to her clit through the fabric–the rules of mistletoe quite clear--before his forefinger and thumb closed around the ends of the dark ribbon wrapped around her torso, watching as the satin and the sprig fell away--she was the perfect present; his own little Christmas treat. His fingers closed around her ankles and he gave her a tug, pulling her out from under the tree as he trailed kisses up her stomach and along her jaw, Marlo gasping in surprise and draping one leg around his hips. She trailed one hand along his jawline, as the other one disappeared between them, a very specific destination in mind.

"I hope not; that'd certainly put a damper on the things I had arranged for you tonight. I was planning to do so many filthy things to you…but if you're not–” She smirked, hand stroking his erection through his pants. “-- up for it…”

Harry's lips on hers silenced the rest of her sentence–and here he'd thought she only made doctor puns. He rocked his hips against hers, the bells jingling faintly with the motion. He caught her hand in his as she reached for him, pressing a kiss to the inside of her elbow as he worked the white-trimmed red velvet glove down her arm, Marlo sighing in contentment as he turned his attention to the other glove. His lips teased the inside of her wrist and her fingertips, the gentleness with which he was handling her, despite the hard bulge rubbing against her core, nearly undid her. A low growl rose from his throat as she shimmied her hips, rolling them against his cock in invitation. Marlo locked her ankles behind him, bringing his erection flush up against her, Harry chucking darkly and thrusting forward a couple times for good measure making the bells jingle–he was going to remember this moment every time he heard bells from now on. He unhooked her legs from around his waist and inched backwards, gentle hands wrapping around her knees, parting her legs and opening her to him. He reached between them, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed her clit through the fabric of her underwear before he slipped his hand underneath the fabric and drew a finger through her dripping folds, making her writhe in pleasure, already so wound up and he'd barely touched her.

"Harry…" She breathed, as he dipped one finger inside her, her hips jerking towards his hand, the jingle bells on her nipple clamps tinkling again.

Her hand groped along the coffee table as he teased her mercilessly, fingers closing around the candy cane she'd had before and offering it to him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I think you aren't as good as these imply.” He whispered huskily as he pulled the crotch of her thong to the side, adding a second finger and pumping them in and out of her, drawing a moan from her throat and another chime from those damn bells.

“Lies and slander.” Marlo laughed breathlessly, hips stuttering as his fingers retreated from inside her and leaving her bereft.

His fingers grasped the candy cane by the curve at the end, unwrapping it and bringing the candy to his mouth, sliding the length of it through his lips from one end to the other. Marlo bit her lower lip as Harry rolled the peppermint candy through her folds, sliding it up and down through her arousal pooled there, in lieu of his finger. The steady rhythm of the candy cane rubbing up and down against her clit halted, a small growl of indignation escaping her lips. He spun the peppermint stick in his grip, easing the candy cane inside her to the crook and drawing it back out of her at the same pace his fingers had just set, both of them watching as it went from white with red stripes to pink and sticky.

Her eyes fell closed on a moan, chest heaving as Harry replaced the candy cane with his mouth. The tip of his tongue traced her slit, wet with her arousal and faintly tasting of mint. Marlo canted her hips invitingly, begging for him to devour her...and he intended to do just that. He plunged his tongue inside her, making her back arch and bells jingle, his name almost a chant on her lips as he closed his mouth over her dripping pussy and sucked hard, tongue flicking at her clit. When he sucked the little nub between his lips and tugged it gently, she came apart at the seams.

He caught her eye from his position between her legs, her breathing ragged as she came down from the high of her orgasm, Harry placing a teasing kiss to the tattoo on her hip bone, before kissing his way back up her body. Heat and desire lurked behind his eyes...he wanted— needed —to be inside her, to feel her walls stretching and shifting around his cock. His hands went to the button of his slacks as he loomed up over her as his lips found hers in a hungry kiss, tongue teasing hers when it slipped between her parted lips. He pushed his pants off his hips, freeing his throbbing erection as he widened the gap of her thighs with his hips, rubbing his cock up and down along her folds coating himself in her wetness. He paused before slowly entering her, letting her feel every inch of him as he filled her to the hilt.

He thrust forward. Once. Twice. Her insides stretched to accommodate him as he fucked her, the rhythm of his hips erratic and the bells tinkling with every move they made. Harry interlaced his fingers with hers and brought her hand to his lips, the tenderness of the gesture tugging at her heartstrings, as he rocked his erection against the roll of her hips. His hands ghosted over her breasts, the nipple clamps magnifying his every touch. He flicked one of the bells, letting the chime resonate for a few seconds before brushing his thumb over one of the poinsettias, a whimper of pleasure escaping past her lips. His touches were frantic, the need hitting him like a tidal wave as he thrust forward again the tension inside him climbing higher, a shiver racking his body. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Harry thrust harder, deeper, as he reached between them to tease her. Marlo moaned, head falling back, walls closing tightly around his shaft and dragging his orgasm from him on a shuddering breath. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply, taking a moment to catch his breath and gaze at her lovingly, his finger circling her clit slowly.

He rocked his hips once more, the friction sending Marlo over the edge of ecstasy to join him in mindless oblivion.

“Are you feeling a little more festive?” Marlo panted, trying to catch her breath.

“I may need a little more convincing, though I think we can do without the jingle bells this time.”

“I find your lack of cheer disturbing.” She giggled, leaning up and placing a kiss to his shoulder.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Au contraire–this little sexcapade was just what I needed. But you don't need me getting horny every time a bell rings because I can't help but remember this.”

“I don't know. I think that's exactly what I want. Now, Santa, I think we need to go again. You have a quota to meet.” Marlo giggled, pointing to the twice in ‘so nice, Santa came twice’ on her underwear and making Harry chuckle as he rolled onto his back and lowered her onto his already hard again erection.

At this point he'd have to reheat the hot chocolate he'd made, but it was worth it–and for now he had some more Christmas spirit to regain with her by his side every step of the way.

[walldreams]

Gold Trim Mirror | Wall Of Dreams

Explore the enchantment of the Gold Trim Mirror transformation with the Wall of Dreams. With our beautiful collection of exciting art pieces and magnificent wall mirrors, you can easily elevate your home. With our carefully chosen assortment, let your walls tell a tale of grace and elegance. Today, redefine your environment and give your aspirations a new life.

[somethingclevermahogony]

Happy STS! Your characters have been invited to a formal dinner. How do they do?

Happy STS!

So this really is depends on whether this would mean a formal dinner by our standards or a formal dinner by Kishite standards (a noble banquet). Just for fun I'll answer for both.

Before going through each of the characters I should probably illustrate what a banquet would look like. I'm turning this little STS into a big worldbuilding post, sorry.

A Kishite Banquet

Most royal banquets take place either in special rooms within the palatial structure called the dalushkiwash or more simply dalukshi (Kishite Dal-Room/Space, Ushki- v. To Eat, Ushkiwash- participle. Eating) or in courtyards, dependent on the size of the banquet, the weather, and the construction of that particular palace.

Communication at a Kishite banquet is highly reliant on various hand signals and social cues.

Getting Ready

Before going to a banquet you would be expected to prepare yourself. Most often this would mean bathing, or at the very least applying plenty of perfume and scented oil to the body and hair to prevent any adverse smells. It is crucial that you be checked for lice or fleas. Nothing ruins a nice meal quite as much as a parasite. Additionally, see to it that you do not drink before your banquet, as it is considered uncouth, unless of course you were doing it with or with the express encouragement of the host/ruler. Your nails must be trimmed and your hair brushed. Such banquets are also the best time to display your best jewelry and clothing. Gold, silver, amber, and silk are all expected guests. Properly preparing for a banquet may take hours, you may even eat a meal during the process of getting ready.

After you have been cleaned up and are dressed your best, you will be welcomed into the dalukshi by either the head of the household, that typically being the monarch, or more often the nobleman in charge of banquets, the so-called Chief of Feasts or else the Chief of Beverages, who bears the responsibility of keeping track of the palatial stores of beer and wine. They will see to it that you meet their expectations. You will be checked for offensive odors, and more importantly for any unsanctioned weapons or other materials. If you are found to be all in order, you will be welcomed in.

The Setting

The room itself is likely one of the largest in the palatial complex. They are typically round, though they may come in several other shapes. In general however, dalukshi are not square and rectangular, as these shapes are considered inappropriate for spaces meant for dining, and are rather reserved for the throne room. At the center of the hall one will typically find a large hearth, mirroring the shape of the room. Here things like soups, stews, warmed wine, and certain roast meats, will be cooked and kept warm for the benefit of the dinners, while other dishes will be brought from the kitchens. Across from this hearth, along with a small station meant for those tending to the fire, you will typically also find a small stone stage or step where poets, dancers, performers, and/or musicians are tasked with entertaining the diners. As the night goes on and alcohol flows it is not unusual for the attendees to take to this stage, to play games and give performances of their own.

Along with the diners and performers, expect to see slaves and servants weaving among the tables, bringing new dishes, cleaning messes, or else attending to the various needs of the guests. You will typically also see a number of dogs, but fear not, these are not mere street mongrels. These are workers, well cared for and clean, in Kishetal these are often the palace's resident hunting dogs, kalupabun (Kishite Kalu-Dog, Pabakazi- v. To Hunt). It is their job to clean up scraps which may be dropped accidentally or intentionally.

Decorations will vary. Expect to see potted plants, statues, decorative ponds, exotic birds, fountains, and other objects.

The Table

You will be guided to a seat, Kishite seats are typically low benches, often padded with furs and silks. Unlike their neighbors in Shabala they do not sit on cushions, nor do they use couches to recline as is popular in Apuna and Korithia. As with the room itself, as a rule tables at these events are never rectangular, rather they are more often round or hexagonal. The monarch and his closest family or friends will share a table, while others will be seated at tables of variable distance from the ruler, according to the discretion of the host. At your table you will find waiting for you a bowl filled with water or even watered white wine, scented with various herbs and flowers, this is meant to clean your fingers between courses. You will also find a cloth/napkin, or you may bring your own. You will find three bowls, one of wood , one of ceramic, and one of some sort of metal or stone (this is except for Chibal, where instead you will find a golden ladle, you are expected to drink using this). The wooden bowl is meant to hold cold foods, such as olives and fruit, while the ceramic is meant for holding soups and stews. The stone/metal bowl is your drinking bowl, meant typically for wine and beer. Underneath these you will find a large flat disk, typically of polished stone, this is your plate. What you will not find is utensils. It is expected that all items will be server in bite sized pieces, as such knives are not necessary. For liquid dishes, it is expected that you will bring your own spoon. The quality and material from which that spoon is made is often a sign of class and refinement, as significant as any necklace or ring.

On the floor next to you, just out of the reach of the dogs you will find a large clay pot called a jalhuka (Kishite Jal- Great/Big/King, Huka- Pot, Container). It is here that you will empty any scraps or trash which the dogs cannot eat as well as where you will pour your hand cleaning water between courses. These bowls will be replenished by slaves.

The Meal

After it has been determined that enough guests have arrived, the banquet will start. Typically this will start with the service of a plain beer, ashikur. Rather than being served to each guest individually, this will typically be served in a large shallow bowl, with each guest receiving a bronze straw. This beer is typically served warm and unstrained, thus necessitating the straws. According to Kishite etiquette it is considered rude to drink from the bowl alone. As such before each drink it is considered customary to announce that you intend to drink, this is done by raising the hand (as if asking a question). You wait until the gesture is returned by one or more other guests at your table, and then you may drink. Oddly, while the Kishites are normally extremely wary of any possible saliva contamination that may come from sharing food, they do not see any issue in this practice. The practice itself is a remnant from their Shabalic roots.

This first "course" ends when the bowl at the ruler's table has been emptied. As such, this could happen before most tables have had a chance to finish their bowls or long after. Regardless, the bowls will be taken away and in their place bowls of wine or beer with golden and ceramic ladles will be placed. This wine will then be watered down typically to a ratio of 2:1 in favor of water or 5:1 if a child is at that table. This is done to prevent drunkenness too fast. There is often great variation in what wine is served, and they may even vary from table to table. Serve yourself with the ladles, or if you fear staining your clothes, ask a passing slave. If you would like to try the wine from another table, direct a slave to fetch you a ladle full. Never go to another table to get the wine yourself. If the wine is finished, new bowls of wine or beer will be brought to replace the old ones. With each new kind of wine/beer, slaves will wash out your bowl with special jugs of water. Unlike the initial beer, all others are not drunk from a communal bowl, though using a straw is still typical.

While drinking from your bowl, it is expected that you will slurp, however it is rude to do so if someone is actively talking, slurping should be done to fill silence. Always hold your bowl with two hands. Do not let any wine or beer drip down your chin. After each drink, wipe your mouth with your napkin.

At the same time as the wine is brought, food will too. The ruler's table will get theirs first. Food typically arrives in groups of three, typically a bread, a meat or fish, and something else (this will vary, a vegetable, soup, etc). In the case of soups and stews, or items served in a broth or thin sauce you will be served by the slave/servant that presented the dish. If you finish your first bowl and want more, you may request more, however you must not serve yourself. There is no such rule for items which are dry. These you may be taken directly from the platter using your fingers. However these bites should first be deposited onto the plate, rather than being put directly into the mouth. You must clean your fingers with the cloth before taking more, not doing so is considered gravely offensive. All bites should be complete, if a piece of food touches your mouth, it should never be placed back onto the plate, the table, or serving platter. If you find that you do not like a bite, or you find a piece of gristle or bone, you should spit it onto the floor, a dog will soon clean it up. In the case of seeds and vegetable/fruit peels, these should be spit into the jalhuka.

As with the first beer, the arrival of new courses is determined by the eating habits of the royal table. When the ruler has decided that they are done with a particular course, the dishes for all tables will be removed and then replaced with new ones, regardless of the wishes of other diners.

It is typical for a banquet to consist of upwards of 30 dishes spread over the course of several hours. You are not expected to eat from every course, and often vegetable dishes will not be touched at all (these are often served purely for show). If you begin to feel full, you may stand and walk it off, only after announcing your intention to do so by turning your drinking bowl upside down. Alternatively you may take a diet enhancing potion such as madilu. If these do not suffice, you may induce vomiting. In the case of needing to vomit, whether intentional or accidental, vomit into the jalhuka. Though you are not expected to leave the banquet after vomiting, it is considered good manners to skip the next course.

The After Party

The meal will typically finish with a warmed beer or wine, fruit, nuts, and cheese. The ruler is always the first to leave, along with his table. It is up to the discretion of the host, when other guests will be made to leave. Often after these banquets, the guests, drunk and happy, will engage in parties called, Feparati, named for the Kishite God of Intoxication, Fepaha. Dancing, singing, games, sex, fighting, further drinking, and other forms of entertainment are typical here. This debauchery is thus often the subject of songs and raunchy poems. Children and married individuals without their partners are strictly banned from these festivities. Sometimes the Feparati may take place in the same banquet hall, or they may take place in one of the palace courtyards, or they may even spill out of the palatial complex, forming a parade of sorts through the city. Though there are few social expectations during this time, you will be held responsible for any damages you may cause during the revelry the next day.

Some Miscellaneous Rules

As with vomiting, if you need to blow your nose, do so into the jalhuka

Burping is encouraged, and considered a sign of appreciation. As with slurping, only do so when it does not interrupt the flow of conversation at the table. If you need to burp and someone is talking, indicate so by holding up your index and middle finger in front of your lips, facing away.

Passing gas is considered offensive. If you need to do so or relieve yourself, excuse yourself by turning your drinking bowl upside down and walking to the nearest toilet or dalduz, you may ask a slave to guide you there. This is usually little more than a pit or channel leading outside of the palace. This is also where the contents of the jalhukun (plural of jalhuka) will be poured. When you leave the dalduz, and return to the table, you are expected to skip the next course, and to wash your hands with your water bowl before resuming eating.

Sneeze towards the ground or into the jalhuka. Do not cover your mouth with your hand, clothing, or napkin. Never sneeze towards food.

Do not speak over someone of a higher rank than yourself. If you wish to contribute something to a conversation and are having issues finding a gap in the conversation, hold your hand in front of yourself with the palm facing upwards. Do this until a gap in the conversation allows you to speak or until one of those currently speaking acknowledges you. If you are of a higher or equal social rank to those speaking, this is not a concern.

Only your hands and forearms may touch the table. Never rest your head, feet, or any other body part on the table.

Eat with your mouth closed, do not talk with a full mouth.

If you are talking and wish to stop momentarily in order to take a bite or drink and yet you are not done with your story and point, ask one of the others at the table to hold your place. This is done to prevent anyone else from starting a new conversation. They will hold out their hand flat, with the palm facing towards the table. This is a call for silence. You will then take a bite or drink and then resume where you left off. You must only take one bite or drink before resuming, to do otherwise is considered rude. You cannot do this if you are going to relieve yourself, or leave the table for any other purpose.

Do not approach the ruler's table unless expressly told to.

Do not interrupt the performers, if you wish to take a turn on the stage, wait for them to finish.

It is considered unclassy to wear closed footwear at a banquet. Sandals or barefeet are both preferred.

If your napkin/cloth becomes too soiled to use, give it to a slave to clean. You should refrain from eating until such time as they return.

Do not wash your face with the water in your hand washing bowl.

Do not suck on your fingers.

Do not pick your nose at the table.

Do not scratch yourself at the table.

Do not touch the dogs while others are eating (you may do so after the banquet, though there is no guarantee that they will be friendly)

If you are choking, grab the hand of your neighbor and put it on your chest to indicate as such. If someone indicates to you that they are choking, flag down a slave to assist them.

Do not throw food, unless to one of the dogs.

Follow these rules and you will have a pleasant (enough) experience at a Kishite Banquet.

Now a look at the OCs

These are as these characters are at the beginning of the story.

Narul

Kishite Banquet: 3/10 While Narul is a slave working in a royal palace, and has even been in the dalukshi for a number of banquets, he's never actually partook. He knows the basics, but he would be awkward as all hell. He would struggle to order things from the slaves and his own status would make communicating with the others at the table difficult. He couldn't even enjoy getting drunk as it takes massive amounts of alcohol for Narul to feel intoxicated. He may not purposefully cause trouble but, unfortunately I think his size and awkwardness would ultimately mess things up for him.

Formal Dinner: -3/10 No. Trying to squeeze Narul onto a fragile little wooden chair would be a nightmare. Imagine an adult sitting at a child's tea party set, that would be Narul at a formal dinner. Trying to teach Narul how to use a fork and knife, much less various kinds, would be a nightmare. A wine glass would be little more than a sip for Narul, and it is almost guaranteed that he would accidentally break the glasses. Those tiny fancy servings would do nothing for Narul, and he would almost certainly be still hungry when he left. He wouldn't complain during the meal itself, but he would almost certainly find an excuse to not come to the next one.

Ninma

Kishite Banquet: 10/10 Ninma has been going to banquets since she was an infant. She knows all of the etiquette, she loves a banquet and insists on wearing her best before every banquet.

Formal Dinner: -10/10 Ninma would somehow be worse than Narul at a formal dinner. Whereas Narul would be confused and anxious, Ninma would be confused and angry. She would have to be told multiple times not to dunk her hands in the water jug to clean them. She would be annoyed by the lack of dogs. (Who else is supposed to clean up the pieces of food that she throws on the floor?) The forks and knives would confuse her and she would ignore them in favor of her hands. She would be horrified to be served food that wasn't bite sized and would almost certainly choke herself trying to stuff a whole piece of chicken or fish in her mouth. She would make all of the hand signals, and would become increasingly angry that no one was responding to them. She would be outraged that no one was serving her wine or beer (She is a princess, how dare you suggest she is too young for wine?). Why is the table this shape? Why are there so few courses? Are you poor or something? What do you mean I can't just grab the food I want from the platter with my hands? Where are all of your slaves?

Hours of being told how stupid and terrible your dining customs are by an angry spoiled child.

Otilia

Kishite Banquet: 8/10 The Korithian Banquet is quite different from its Kishite equivalent, however she would would adjust relatively quickly. Knowing Kishite would certainly help with this. She would take some issue with the rules surrounding not being able to set food back onto your plate after it has touched your mouth, but ultimately she would get over it. Certainly she would have an easier time adjusting to a Kishite Banquet than the Kishites would adjusting to a Korithian Banquet. She would be pleasantly surprised by the fact that Kishite men and women dine together, unlike Korithians who dine at separate tables.

Formal Dinner: 6/10 She would be a bit awkward, and as with the others would take a bit of time to grasp the concept of most cutlery, however she would learn it much faster than the Kishites. She is a good conversationalist, and would pick up on the rules of modern conversation fairly quickly. She would be somewhat disappointed by the small servings of wine, but would be subsequently shocked and a bit scandalized by the fact that the wine is not watered down. She would be unused to sitting on a chair to dine rather than reclining on a couch.

Zatur (Zatar)

Kishite Banquet: 3/10 Zatur has even less experience with banquets than Narul and is an even worse conversationalist. Zatur has a strong distaste for anything noble, and banquets are no exception. He would disparage and actively ignore most of the manners. The only real thing he would have over Narul is that he isn't a hulking giant that will break things by accident.

Formal Dinner: 2/10 Zatur would be just as dismissive of our manners and customs as he would be towards the Kishite ones. He would use his fork(s) to violently stab his food. Lots of loud chewing and messy eating while he glares at the other diners. If you attempt to start a conversation with him, he would almost certainly just glare at you all while he continued to eat. The only reason he would be better than Narul and Ninma is that he would at least fit at the table and he would just glare at you or ignore you, rather than berating you like Ninma would.

Akard

Kishite Banquet: 10/10 The gold standard, taught in the ettiquettes of Kishite, Apunian, Namutian, Pyrian, Knoshic, and Ikopeshi dining. Polite, well-dressed, charming. He could teach the host how to do their job, but of course he never would, because that would be rude.

Formal Dinner: 9/10 Akard is a quick learner and would pick up on the various rules rather quickly. Good conversation, polite, he would offer to help clean up, he would be a perfect guest. The only real reason why he loses a point is because he would need initial coaching when it comes to dishes and utensils.

Thank you for the question, sorry it is such a big one, hope you enjoyed it though.

[nelegance]

Chapter 5: Share

I stood in my room after Lestat left. I felt strange. Like I was suddenly overtaken by sadness. He made me happy. I think. Now he was gone and I was back to being invisible And silent. Not for long though.

Things changed quickly. The next day after meeting Lestat, I was given a new room. A real room. It was basic but clean and most importantly, had no fumes. I ran to the window right away. I hadn’t had a window since I arrived. It was raining outside. People ran across the muddy lane from this way and that. Some held newspapers over their heads to protect themselves; like the worse thing was a few raindrops on their hats.

It was a dull day. Cleaning rooms, preparing them for another round of business transactions. The usual. I was excited that I would get to help the new songstress put on her various costumes throughout the night though. They were so pretty. Simple dresses but with so many things that sparkled under the dim light. But at the last moment, I was told I wasn’t needed and that I could go off to bed. And I did that. I crawled into my bed and stared up at the yellowed ceiling. I knew why I suddenly wasn’t needed. I unknowingly ratted out Gwen. If that one moment, that one stupid moment in time with Lestat had ruined everything, it was time to move on. Yes, I wasn’t getting paid but I was getting tips. Now the tips disappeared. Along with the one bright moment in my life. I curled up on my side and cried. I was frustrated and didn’t know what to do next. I quickly snapped out of my self loathing though when a knock came at the door. Lestat leaned in without me giving him permission to enter. (As usual.)

He scanned the room with those icy blue eyes and then landed upon me.

“Why are you crying?”

I sat up and shook my head, “No reason. Can I help you, sir?”

Lestat stuck out his hand, “Come with me. Loui—Mr. Point du Lac would like to speak with you.”

I could hear the squeak of the taps turning off and could catch a glimpse of Lestat’s naked back in the vanity mirror.

“I thought you were going out!?” I shouted from the bed. 

No response. I should have known better than to shout. Lestat never responded to being shouted or screamed at.

I rolled off the bed and entered the bathroom. It was fancy once upon a time. Gold trimmings, a clawfoot tub, warm yellow wallpaper. Now the wallpaper was peeling, the gold was flaking and scratching off to reveal brass, and the tub had chips. The once shiny marble flooring now too showed its age. 

“Get in with me,” Lestat demanded as he took off his pants.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Yeah but why? It’s not really a two person kind of bathtub especially when one person is rather tall. I don’t think I’ll fit. What if we flood the floor? That wouldn’t be good. This is an old house and the floor is already in a terrible state.”

Lestat looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, “pour l'amour du ciel.”

I did love bothering him. A lot.

“I’m getting in…” I chuckled and stepped into the tub.

Lestat got in and put his legs around me so I was face him and he was facing me. He stared at me for a second too long. 

“You’re breaking up with me. You found someone who has better blood and less of a mouth.” I rattled off as tears started welling in my eyes. “I whine too much, don’t I?”

“What? No. No, not at all,” Lestat reached out and ran his finger over my bottom lip. “I like your mouth. I like it very, very much. But yes, you whine far too much. I am used to it though.”

“What then? Why are you looking at me funny?”

Lestat sighed dramatically, “I was just thinking about how bad of a decision I’m making.”

“Hmm?”

“Louis and I have decided that if you wanted to come to the club, you could,” It almost seemed to hurt Lestat to say that.

I gasped and clapped, splashing him in the process.

Lestat pointed his finger at me, “But! But there are going to be rules, okay? I would really like to take you home alive and well afterwards.”

“Absolutely. I’ll behave. You won’t regret it!”

“Oh I very much doubt that.”

“On the topic of things you might change your mind over…”

Lestat ran his wet hand through his hair and tried to lean back in the bathtub as much as he could.

“What now?” He asked, rather harshly.

I bent forward and found my way up his body until I got to his chest. I rested my cheek there, hearing nothing and feeling only the warmth of the water. He draped his hand over my hip.

“Do you think you could call me something other than your donor?”

“I already do. You’re Madeline.”

“But you always introduce me as ‘this is Madeline, my donor’.”

“If this is you asking me to call you ‘my companion’ again, my answer is still no.”

“Because of Louis?”

There was a moment of silence. I had strayed into dangerous territory and instantly regretted it.

“Because you are human and, while I do love you dearly, we share nothing together but blood and sex.” Lestat finally answered. 

And he was right. We shared a house and fucked and that was it really. When he went out, he went out alone. When I went out, I went out alone. We didn’t sit and share funny stories about our lives. We didn’t have any hobbies in common. When he was bored, he would force me to play chess or listen to him read from the most boring books…and yet, my heart was his. Sometimes he would sit across the dining room table from me and watch me eat. He said he liked the glow of my face as I ate food that he couldn’t remember the taste of. Or he would barge his way into the bathroom while I was bathing and wash my hair for me. When I was ill with a fever years ago, he loudly paced the floor because he didn’t know what to do and was convinced he had made me ill when he bit me the night before. I woke up to three different, scared, doctors and two dozen roses scattered around the bedroom. He loved me. But I had to share that love with someone else. Louis.

[hughjidiot]

Total Drama Level Up Chapter Ten Sneak Peak

Chapter ten is coming along nicely, and I hope to have it published by mid June. Here's a little taste of what's to come.

--

In the middle of the warehouse stood a modest two-story Victorian-style manor home, surrounded by a sparse forest of fake trees. The contestants took in the steep gable roofs and bay windows framed by decorative trim as Chris led them down a stone walkway, past a wrought-iron fence and up a spacious porch. An intern in a suit stood at the front door; he nodded as Chris approached and opened the door.

One by one the teens filed into a spacious foyer. An ornate rug stretched across the floor, oil paintings of landscapes lined the walls, and a crystalline chandelier hung from the ceiling. A grand staircase led to a second story, and archways opened to different rooms on the ground level.

“Welcome, one and all, to McLean Manor,” Chris said to the assembled teens. He motioned to a framed map on the wall next to the stairs, showing an overhead view of each floor. “We have a wide variety of amenities for your enjoyment. You can relax in the lounge, grab a bite to eat in the dining room, take a stroll through the garden, enjoy the peace and quiet of the library, shoot some pool in the billiards room, and of course dance in the ballroom. Oh, and on that note…”

Chris walked to a plain door next to the stairs that seemed to blend into the wall. It opened to a long room with racks full of fancy clothing, a row of mirrored vanities against one wall and changing booths in the back corner. Various masks hung from wall hooks: simple black domino masks, white masks with gold trim, masks styled in the shape of animals, and more.

“Since this is a masquerade ball, we’ve provided you with formal wear,” Chris said. “Suit up and we’ll get the party started.”

--

“I’m still positive Chris has something horrible planned for us later on, and this is just to lull us into a false sense of security,” MK said in the confessional closet. She shrugged. “But for now I might as well try to relax and enjoy myself. After what I’ve been through this season so far, I think I’ve earned it.”

--

After several minutes passed, the contestants and their guests gradually filed out of the dressing room. The men (as well as Axel and MK) wore three-piece suits ranging from solid black to shades of gray and blue, vests and ties providing splashes of color. The rest of the women wore either full dresses or blouse-skirt combos, in a wide spectrum of colors and styles. Rounding out their ensembles, each wore a mask over the upper half of their faces.

Chris, who’d been looking down at his phone, smiled and nodded at the assembled teens.

“All right, everyone’s looking good,” he said. “And you got done right on time, because the last of our guests have just arrived.”

“Wait, more guests?” Zee asked, the others looking equally confused. “Who else is left?”

As if in response, footsteps were heard coming up the porch.

The front door opened, and a heavyset blonde man in a mustard yellow suit entered. The black domino mask he wore over his eyes did nothing to hide his identity from those among the contestants who recognized him.

“Hey, it’s Owen!” Raj said, waving.

“Hey, what’s up everyone?!” Owen asked exuberantly.

“Uh, and he is…?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow.

“From Total Drama’s first generation of campers and winner of the original season one,” Priya said instantly.

“He also was a guest judge during the cooking challenge last season,” Axel said.

“That’s right,” Chris said, “and he didn’t come alone!”

One by one, by more people – two men, three women, all of them around Owen’s age – stepped into the foyer.

A short woman whose ghostly pale skin contrasted sharply with her black dress, matching domino mask, and shoulder-length raven hair streaked with teal, blue and green.

A tall Asian woman in a deep red dress, a long slit running up one leg. Her black hair was done up in a bun, and piercing gray eyes stared from behind a stylized fox max.

A smiling woman with her blonde hair in a braid, her white mask lined with glistening with faux sapphires. The skirt portion of her deep blue dress seemed to flow like ocean waves.

A shorter man who practically swaggered in, smirking beneath his sparrow’s mask, wearing a garishly-stylish purple vest under his suit.

And finally, a bored-looking Indian man with plane white semi-circle mask over his eyes and nose, hands shoved in the pockets of his greenish-gray suit.

“Gonna go out on a limb and say these are more past contestants,” Bowie said.

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock,” the Indian man said flatly.

“Ooh, I like him already,” MK said.

“Correct-o-mundo, Bowie,” Chris said. “Introducing Gwen! Heather! Bridgette, Cody and Noah!”

“That’s right folks, the Code-Meister is back!” Cody said, a cocky grin on his face as he bowed.

“I’m sure your tens of fans are thrilled,” Gwen snarked.

“So these are the new guys, huh?” Heather asked, regarding the assembled teenagers with a critical eye. “Hmph. Not nearly as iconic as us, but leagues above the freakshows from seasons four and six.”

“Be nice now, Heather,” Bridgette said. “They’ve got enough to deal with being on Total Drama.”

Noah also looked over the cast, and a single eyebrow rose above his mask. “What’s her deal?”

The contestants turned to look. Priya’s eyes were practically bulging out of her head, her mouth opening and closing.

“I-i-it’s them! It’s really-!” Priya stammered. “Gwen and –! And Noah –! And H-Heather!”

“Whoa, she’s gonna faint!” Damien said when Priya started swaying on her feet. “Somebody catch her!”

“I gotcha!” Wayne said, rushing behind Priya with his arms outstretched. “Fall into my arms!”

Priya’s eyes slipped shut as she tilted back-

-and abruptly pitched face-first onto the floor.

“Season one champion, ladies and gentlemen,” Julia snarked.

As Wayne helped a woozy Priya to her feet, Chris clapped to get everyone’s attention.

“Well, now that introductions have been taken care of,” he said, “Let the McLean Manor Masquerade officially begin!”

[hamsterbellbelle]

Additional CC list for Caldera🎦:

Aquarium window || Awning || Bathroom clutter - A - B - C || Bathroom counter || Bathroom sink || Bed/blanket || Bedroom canopy || Blow dryer || Books || Box || Bucket with dipper || Candle || Closet clutter || Corner shelf/books || Cosmetic clutter || Cosmetic/bags/painting with cloth || Dining stool || Divider mirror || Fish sculpture || Folded bathrobe || Glass floor ceiling || Gold branch deco || Kitchen pot rack || Lemon bowl || Living room rug || Log crate || Magazine || Paint palette || Painting || Plants || Plate || Pool trim || Pouffe || Round rug || Shell pearl light || Shower caddy/towel || Stationary || Stove/grill || Toothbrush/toothpaste/toilet rug || Towel - A - B - C || Towels/toilet || TV || Wall line || Wallpaper - A - B || Wine glass || Wreath || 🐹             🐹             🐹             🐹             🐹 Animated record player || Branch light || Holographic computer ||