#the man in the high castle wallpaper

[immediatebreakfast]

With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the yard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great nail-studded belt, dirty sheepskin, and high boots. 

People! What a joy to see people! Not the Count, not the shadows of the Weird Sisters in the corners of the castle, but actual living people! How many weeks has Jonathan gone without seeing another person? The only company he has are the wolves, the moon, and the fractured memories which he keeps in his journal... Because I have the feeling that Jonathan doesn't trust his own mind anymore.

But oh, how cruel is fate sometimes.

Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonised entreaty, would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned away. 

Even if it's horribly cruel how the Slovak, and the Romani leader's response to Jonathan calling for help it's laughter, I can't shake the feeling that; just like how Jonathan can only call for help from his locked room, the only thing they can do is laugh.

Jonathan, the slovaks, and the romani are prisoners of Dracula in different ways. Jonathan is both the physical, and the symbolic prisoner inside the castle, the hysteric wife trapped with the yellow wallpaper. The slovaks are trapped in an economical spiral, along with being just humans against the man who has riches that spawn over centuries; even if they see Jonathan, everyone is so scared of the Count that they can't do anything. The romani are in worse, shunned by society (that keeps rejecting them to this day), and subjected to racism no matter where they go, what is their choice if they don't want to live in poverty? What choice do they have except reluctantly enter in service for a being that still sees them as subhuman, but at least pays them.

So, with Dracula looking over their shoulders, waiting for any kind of misstep, Jonathan can only cry by the window as he watches the wagons go, the slovak can only laugh, and the romani can only look away.

[leam1983]

So, which is it, short or long?

Both approaches have merit. If I'm describing a place or setting a particular tone, I'd rather take my time and not worry about spacing things out - especially when doing so is technically useless.

Consider this:

The room was richly appointed, coffered in wood and lined with plaster wainscoting, with a half-height of paisley-patterned wallpaper in a rich gooseberry tone. John counted no less than eight ferns in the drawing room and a small multitude of various knickknacks and tchotchkes, all speaking to the displaced Kentish lordling's long life and adventures. Some of them wouldn't have been looked at favorably in today's sensibilities, but any man who'd had their soul transferred to a mechanical apparatus in the eighteen-hundreds had to be excused for predating certain levels of political correctness.

I've given you some information about the place-setting and added in details as to who this room is typically used by. The whole thing makes sense as a unit. What would've made less sense is if I'd transitioned from description to dialog in the same paragraph.

[...] but any man who'd had their soul transferred to a mechanical apparatus in the eighteen-hundreds had to be excused for predating certain levels of political correctness. "Ah, dear boy," noted Archibald as he stood out of his high-backed chair, "there you are, wonderful! Now, I do hope you're thirsty, as I've need of a companion for this teapot, and am quite eager to hear of your findings..."

That's too much, by my reckoning. Descriptions or tone-setters live in their own little unit of text, and dialog goes in its own cells. Extremely short, line-per-line paragraph changes have to fit some sort of breathless tone or serve as a sort of dramatic shift in focus; and it also doesn't work for dialog in a literary sense. There's a balancing act that's needed here: I'm writing an exchange between characters in the context of a story, not a chat log.

So, ideally, after political correctness in the example above, I should've changed paragraphs and then changed again to give John's response space enough to breathe. The way I do things, line breaks and dashes to change speakers only work for really short responses; all the Yeah, maybes and I-guesses you might want to add but that don't warrant extra narrative info to be tacked onto them. Super long lists of callbacks and responses are as exhausting for me to read as overly-long paragraphs.

What matters more to me is the density of what's on offer. Set the tone all you want, for instance, but if you take ten or more pages to set a scene, you better have a handle on some JRR Tolkien-grade levels of narrative delivery, to prevent me from mentally tapping my foot and going Yeah, I get it - spooky castle or whatever. Move on, please!

I've read far too many novella drafts that really do feel like someone just slammed Concerning Hobbits, got starry-eyed and went hog-wild while worldbuilding.

Condense your info, or your reader's going to condense it for you - and you won't necessarily like their takeaway if you don't guide them.

Whole-heartedly BEGGING writers to unlearn everything schools taught you about how long a paragraph is. If theres a new subject, INCLUDING ACTIONS, theres a new paragraph. A paragraph can be a single word too btw stop making things unreadable

[castle-dominion]

castle 5x16 hunt

Part two of this plot heavy pair of episodes!

These two ppl look the same

castle chill they are also worried I RECOGNIZE HIM I WATCHED THE EPISODE IN SEASON SIX BABEY! at the MOST castle

you were THERE for her castle. you couldn't be there physically but seeing you helped her

Anwar my man!

Why zoom in like that? you should view the whole scene if u can the glitch effects lol the music noooooo were the el masris in on it or smth..?

Thats right she has TWO murders to solve, well actually the driver who killed the bodygraurd already got shot & caught but now roger henson is also killed

Especkett Kate These two are such a good pair

OH NO CASTLE HIS PASSPORT RC: I’m at the precinct with Beckett. Why? Beckett: *in the loft looking for castle*

Lol greenscreen or smth but it looks good

WHAT is with the LIGHTING rn?

KB: Look, in the state that he’s who knows what he’s capable of. But he says that he knows someone that can help. ryan narc cop

I speak french you bastards! BUT I'M FRICKING DEAF. IF HEARING FROGS CAN UNDERSTAND WHAT IS BEING SAID, THEN I WANT THAT ABILITY TOO. thank you. transcript: Merci, Colette. Et si jamais vous quittez votre petit ami – (he turns around) – Richard! Thanks collette, & if u ever quit your boyfriend ; )

The unofficial man... Yeah you don't want to get involved with this sort of person, but as a father you need to do this... Rich novelist

Two young women awaiting organ transplant? sus

THESE PEOPLE STOLE A JET???

The place where the hostage exchange took place hhhh love the angle castle don't site beside someone, they will find you weird to me how he doesn't genuflect Jaque Henri: “Vengeance is mine”, sayeth the Lord. “I will repay.” Sometimes the Lord needs a little help, huh? Castle are you not hiring him to also,, rescue (or recover) her? My man knows things, he has his sources, esp when vetting his clients JH: And then you thank God I’m not the FBI. at least THIS man genuflects oooOOOOOOOHH thre MUSIC I LOVE IT

All these wires & stuff Ah my man is blind. You know, I would have a pretty good ear if I wasn't hard of hearing & suffering from adhd's auditory processing issues. Tendu actually means held or tense, like you're tied up with ropes & can't move or you are holding your shoulders high & your body in suspension.

JH: We call him la taupe – the mole. T/M: Il est tendu, eh? JH: Pas mal, eh.

Nothing for YOU to hear. T/M: Ah, you listen with your eyes. Shh. Me: Uh yeah,,, *uses lipreading to supplement my listening* *watches my fiddle teacher's fingers* *looks around for context clues when I miss what someone said to see if I can deduce what they said* *watches mouths to see who is talking* *turns captions on for most things* *however I listen to audiobooks rather than read myself these days except for fanfic bc podfics aren't as common* Love this mole's soundboard btw I love the music over the top of this Taupe: Hear that? Us: I can hear a lot of stuff but I can't tell what you're talking about THIS MAN CAN TELL WHICH CHURCH BELLS THEY ARE? Lik e my grampa, he used to be able to tell what car smth was based on the sound of the engine Bro go to sleep TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES I love love love this, I wish wish wish my ears were better bc this is the kind of stuff I like

Good for her but my friend's daughter is missing I NEED TO CLIP THIS MOMENT WHEN SHE KICKS THE CHAIR

ryan looks at beckett almost like he's scared Ryan tech man computer

JH: Maybe. Acoustic tiles, office space, close to a rooftop. Might fit the bill. RC, standing: I’m coming. JH: No, no, no. It might not be the place. RC: I don’t care. JH: It might be the place. gives castle a long look

Reminds me of the colonoscopy camera lol How is castle not packing a gun? THIS IS THE ROOM

Castle follow Henri's lead HER HAIR HER LONG ORANGE HAIR

Why is nobody here? Oh bc they left no trace they already left (except for alexis' hair ig) lmao wallpaper like that tbh I thought it was a bullet Why is he speaking english? Also this guy has a really nice chin btw, he is very french & THE PHONE RINGS IMMEDIATELY I LOVE IT JH: Ouai? // Yeah? Phone: [?????], tout en seul, sans le pere // I can't tell, all alone, without the father

you ARE emotionally compromised... This is what you pay me for! (I think last time I watched this I thought maybe he would do exactly what he does but I was also too invested in the story I don't think I realized)

I KNOW WHO THIS IS HEHEHEH Man found his way back to the mole cave & le taupe can still hear! btw how do they split the payment from castle? Ooh today's paper, smart! A forest? Crazy

I think you can tell it is a hard drive u just need to label it with henson Ew pics of alexis creepy (What if this tech one was in on it?) But they just told henri that it was the wrong place wrong time

Woah lots of money scary forest oh dear

I feel like you SHOULD answer except don't want the ransom guys to see u on the phone

Does his phone plan still work in paris???

Safety was off already? bc my man just cocked the gun

Il est voici, comme nous convenu I value my life more than my word Valid Who are these people? Not egyptian radicals?

Attendez! Mon paiement?

Henri un-double-crossed him? Or not. Beckett then?

American accent At least castle went for his gun Yeah castle I don't trust this guy *Shoots his phone* How do I know you're the good guy? Altho ig yeah you ARE still alive Sus man: Given how you’re feeling so bad about your $200 buck phone you might want to pick up that 3 million dollar briefcase. With those gloves I'd be scared of leaving fingerprints RC: Sounds made-up Jackson Hunt: it is

Why do they have lights on her like that? Alexis took french class

WHY DOES HE HAVE ALL THESE PHOTOS MAYBE THIS IS THE GUY WHO NABBED HER IN THE FIRST PLACE-- LIKE THE PHOTOS ON THE HENSON DRIVE HOW & WHEN DID YOU GET A FRICKING COPY OF THE PHONE?

What is this guy's accent?

So dramatic I loooove it OH THIS IS HOW THE RUSSIAN JET WAS INVOLVED Volkov: It’s you. After all these years, it’s finally you. & who ARE you?

THIS IS CASTLE'S DAD? I can see the resemblance but he could be lying that is SO castle. it could totally be him appealing to castle's romantic side, the story

All these years? That's sad but valid WOAH THAT IS ACTUALLY SO SWEET HHHH that book & james bonde SOPHIA WAS RIGHT, HE DID GREASE WHEEL IN THE CIA

Oof, poor anna. that's why they chose paris Ah that makes sense

direct assault with only two of you? (Also, u want to call beckett?) all these sexy blueprints play spy shfdkjhj

Ooh undergrounds third one FROM the bottom or...? Ok castle now run

say "je suis un electricien, pour-quoi vous avez les pistolets?"

Yes they get to see each other!!! He came to get her! All the way in paris! This is the bestest episode everest! Volkov: When a man doubles his wealth, why should he give half of it away? it's ok, castle says, he KNOWS it is ok Dad's dad: Because you’ll be dead.

wdym "don't let them"? Castle just threw the guy with the gun to the ground they RAN all the way to the us embassy? Cover story? sus Probs best to keep away from contact with him after this castle, to prevent this situation again "son" hhh always sdkjfkldjf

You two SHOULD talk, for like trauma purposes Welcome home sign!

I could clip the escape if u want

CASINO ROYALE HE MADE IT OUT

are you ALLOWED to tell her?

jasdkfhasdjlfhjasdfk this was super good but also now we know castle's dad is not the inventor of whipped cream

this was a great pair of episodes. Super intense. & I spent the full hour & a half on it too

[theitalianmoviegoer]

The Man in the High Castle

[jennacolemans]

Joeliana, John Smith, Juliana Crain, and Ed McCarthy phone wallpapers, requested by Anons and @sorry-i-got-the-jams .    Like or reblog if you love them!

[clarinette99]

Beautiful definitely gonna use Ed’s wallpaper

phone wallpapers juliana crain / frank frink / ed mccarthy [½] (requested by anonymous)

[lepusrufus]

A cold day and a death wish

Aka, that time Esteria saved Daniela's ass, earning Alcina's respect. Warning for gore!

---

January 20th 1983

Romanian winters sure were frigid in the mountains, so unlike the seaside climate she had grown accustomed to during her lifetime. A lifetime of being stuck in an unwanted family who fiercely shoved their ideas down her throat from the moment she had opened her wide blue eyes into the world.

Esteria shook her head to chase away the past's blurry memories and wrapped the blanket she had taken from her bed more tightly around her shoulders. Of course, the new state her body found itself in did not aid with keeping her warm, blood circulation all but becoming progressively useless since her infection, leaving her extremities perpetually cold. You win some you lose some, she thought with a chuckle.

It was the middle of the day, not that it mattered given the gloomy skies above. Esteria preferred to keep any activities she did in the afternoons, when Lady Dimitrescu was sure to be asleep in her chambers. It was best for the both of them really, as the woman was obviously displeased with what she saw as an invasion of her home in Esteria's presence at the castle. And in all fairness, she wasn't completely in the wrong. Mother Miranda had taken a particular interest in observing the development of her infection and, when she had to go away for a few months, she had apparently shoved that task onto the Lady's shoulders. And that, of course, included Esteria staying at the castle for the time being.

The three daughters would occasionally get up and roam around at any and all hours, doing god knows what, but Lady Dimitrescu was always a woman that stuck to her routine. And besides, the daughters could be quite pleasant company at times, happy to make conversation over a cup of tea, or blood nowadays, or showing her whatever project they were working on at the moment. Sometimes it was a painting while other times it was a new torture device. At least they kept things interesting, right?

The cold marble of the main hall's floor came in contact with skin and she mentally cursed herself for not putting on any shoes, or even socks, before leaving her bedroom. This place was so damn big and had her occasionally stopping to check her surroundings and make sure she had taken the right path, even after over a month of being there, and that only prolonged her walk in the uncomfortable temperature. She just wanted a cup of water and to return to her warm bed.

She was shuffling her way past the stairwell and towards the kitchen when the deafening blast of a gun, echoing ominously through ancient hallways, made her freeze in place. It was close, much too close for comfort.

Her head turned slowly, in an effort to locate the source of the sound but a second shot made her jump in place, eyes snapping to the hall leading to the entrance. Surely no staff member was instructed to shoot something inside the castle, and the daughters seemed to prefer more archaic weapons, so to speak.

Blanket promptly forgotten and left to limply slide off her shoulders and onto the floor, quick steps were taken towards what she hoped was nothing but a misstep. Quick and deliberate, moving close to the wall and keeping to the shadows, hiding as much as possible given her rather tall frame and stark white hair. She passed by grand paintings hanging against the beautifully patterned wallpaper and maneuvered around antique vases, all with precise footsteps, like a predator stalking its prey.

Up until a third shot, this time accompanied by an enraged scream, broke the silence.

"Filthy man-thing!"

Daniela's voice reached her with an unusual high pitch to it, although the growl that came after was no less fierce. There was an odd strain to it too, something that Esteria realized must be caused by pain.

No.

She hastily reached the entrance hall, cool air from the door left wide open hitting her in the face like the world's coldest slap across her features. It made her lips twist into a snarl at the sensation.

Snarl that turned into a growl when her eyes fell upon the scene unfolding there.

Daniela, the ever so sweet youngest daughter, slumped against one of the marble pillars surrounding the portrait of her and her sisters and trying to stop her knees from buckling and giving way to what could only be immense pain. Her sickle was held tightly in one hand, knuckles turning white from the effort, while her eyes sparked like angry mismatched embers towards the man in front of her. A man, who she did not recognize, with a shotgun pointed directly at her, face contorted with anger.

Upon noticing Esteria, he took a handful of stumbling steps back, the barrel now moving between the two women frantically.

"Stay back!" She did. Esteria did not have Alcina's healing abilities and was not particularly keen on getting a bullet to the face. For now. "You wretched witches! Y- You took my wife from me. She came here for work and never came back!"

Daniela groaned for a moment, apparently gathering her strength to reply. "Maybe she doesn't want to go back." Her voice, despite coming out raspy, was sickly sweet, the same tone she used so many times before when toying with her prey, but now the dripping malice behind her words was on full display.

The hunter stomped forward, aiming for another shot, and that's when Esteria's body finally reacted, jumping forward.

Transformations were never painful, no, it felt more like a really good stretch. A stretch of bone and skin down to the very cells, that made her body tingle for a meager moment until a gangly beast with wide eyes like the deepest caverns full of water and silt took her place. The one thing that required some getting used to however, was the mild disorienting sensation that came with her normal vision being completely replaced by black and white and all the grayscale in between, forming fuzzy silhouettes that were brighter or dimmer according to heat signatures.

Long talons screeched against the smooth floor when she pounced, crashing into his body within the blink of an eye.

The shot was fired, however not at its intended target but ending up embedded somewhere in a wall behind them. It broke something priceless for sure, but no matter. There was something more important to deal with at the moment.

The man thrashed under the weight of her claws, his hands trying in vain to push or cause any form of damage. His voice mixed terror and rage in screams that all but scratched against her eardrums.

And he was an intruder.

Not in her home, no, this was not her home to begin with. But if nothing else, she respected Lady Dimitrescu deeply and her daughters had grown on her more than she would like to admit. Hurting Daniela certainly warranted punishment. And punishment she delivered.

Her mouth opened in a fraction of a second, elongated jaws forming an unnaturally wide angle and sharp fangs glistening in the low light. Without another moment of hesitation, she dipped her head, maw clamped shut around his face and those same fangs digging their way through scalp and skin and bone and everything that lay beneath. Sickening cracks, that were more felt than heard with the irking scraping of bone against bone, were accompanied by pained screeches. Esteria shook her head slightly, the movements dislodging some fragments from her mouth and tongue, and then she jerked her head back. Still shut jaws took with them a good portion of the cranium, that was promptly spat out and sent rolling on the marble floor smearing it in crimson, finally putting a stop to any sound or movement from the man.

There was no time to dwell around the corpse however, as a small whimper made its way to her ears. In a moment she was back to her normal self, although her robes were hanging rather loosely and were now soaked in blood on the front, and taking long steps towards the source of the noise.

She kneeled in front of Daniela, who was now also on the floor. "Hey. Hey darling, I'm here, what's wrong?"

One hand came to gently caress a pallid cheek, making sure to use the back of her hand to avoid her talons causing any further pain. She almost recoiled at how frigid the skin was. Frigid and cracking, feeling almost crystalline under her fingers.

Surprisingly enough, Daniela clung to her, shaky hands grabbing fistfuls of her robes and slumping forward with a couple choked sobs.

"P- please. Take me-... take me out of h- here."

Esteria did just that, scooping the girl into her arms and quickly walking down the same hallway she had come from. A few servants were starting to gather around, wide eyed, having heard the commotion and coming to check on what was going on.

"Shut that damned door," Esteria all but barked while stepping around them, although everyone quickly jumped out of her way.

She did not wait for an answer, as she started to make her way up the stairs, when her eyes landed on none other than Alcina Dimitrescu, coming down and freezing for a moment upon noticing the shaking form of her youngest daughter in her arms. The Lady's face contorted with anger, but before any accusations could be made, Esteria spoke up, voice coming in a rushed breath.

"A hunter came in. Please just-... where should I put her?"

Alcina did not answer her however, opting to bend down and take her daughter into her own arms, features immediately softening upon hearing a small whimper from Daniela caused by being shifted around. She cooed at the girl for a moment, whispering words of reassurance that were far too quiet for anyone else to hear.

She turned around, heading back up without another word, and any sensible person would take it as their cue to get lost and mind their own business. But growing up in the woods like some Peter Pan wannabe didn't make sensible people now did it. Esteria followed along, quick steps barely keeping up with the Lady's long determined strides. She followed until they reached a bedroom unfamiliar to her, though by the furniture and decorations, she could assume it was the youngest's chambers. She stepped inside and watched as she placed her daughter on a small couch placed right in front of the fireplace, soft furs covering the patterned cushions.

Not wanting to simply sit by, she helped by gathering a few extra blankets, gears finally turning in her brain, and handing them to Alcina, who by now was gently stroking red locks as Daniela all but glued herself to her mother's lap. Golden eyes snapped at her but the blankets were accepted, unfolded and quickly wrapped around the shivering girl.

Esteria couldn't help placing a hand on Daniela's shoulder and giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze, although she was unsure whether or not it was felt through the multiple layers.

She didn't look at the other woman when she spoke, eyes fixated on her hand, seemingly finding her talons of interest at the moment. "Are they… weak to the cold?"

It was barely a whisper and the reply took so long to arrive that Esteria started to think she had only imagined asking in the first place.

"Were it not for the fact that you're Mother Miranda's pet project, I would kill you for knowing that." Alcina's tone was flat, but the conviction it carried left no room for interpretation on the truthfulness of her words.

Esteria chuckled. That sure was a way to thank someone for saving her daughter.

She decided to take that as her cue to leave, raising slowly and making her way to the door left ajar. A mental note to change her robes and take a bath before returning to bed was also made, the sticky sensation on her skin quite unpleasant. Before she could get a hold on the door handle and exit the room however, the Lady's voice called out for her, uncharacteristic tenderness making its way where sharp pointy edges were mere moments ago.

"Thank you. I'm glad you were there to intervene before any real damage was done."

Esteria managed to hold back a grimace and a snort, remembering that some damage had definitely been done, although most likely to an antique decoration or painting hit by a stray bullet. Keeping her expression under control, she half turned her head, fond smile adorning her lips.

"Of course my Lady."

"Just call me Alcina."

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Worse than Death | Steddie (Steve Harrington x Vampire!Eddie Munson)

Prompt: Castle

Words: 1542

Fandom: Stranger Things

A/N: Vampires and castles hnng. It’s a very similar start to one of my other vampire AU’s but oh well. There’s sexual tension, but nothing happens.

Summary: Alone in the castle, Young Lord Steven Harrington gets a visit from a pale stranger on a dark and stormy night.

-

The Harrington Castle used to be filled with color and light and music. Parties thrown for any occasion they could think of. Portraits of a perfect family lined the walls of the staircase, telling the history of the Harringtons with their cold stares and stiff postures, along with paintings of landscapes and horses and flowers. The wallpaper was a bit much. Emerald green with dark floral patterns everywhere, faded over time like everything else in the castle.

Steve Harrington, the only child and the heir to the estate, roamed the halls alone. His parents were traveling to visit a relative in a distant country and taking what’s left of their servants with them. They never said how long they will be away. 

When the young lord was studying with tutors, he had never paid much attention to the lessons, let alone read any of the books assigned to him. Now, with nothing to do around the castle besides taking the only horse that his parents had left at the stables on the grounds of the estate, he had also resorted to reading those books. That was how desperate he was.

One night, it seemed as if the heavens were angry as a sudden thunderstorm rolled in over his estate. A part of him wondered if his parents had somehow angered someone and fled to escape their wrath and leaving him to deal with it. This would not have been unheard of when it came to them.

He had been checking the windows, making sure they were all shut tightly. It was another thing that his parents left him to deal with. The castle was in need of maintenance and many servants had left due to the working conditions. If the windows were broken, then it was the stables, it was the kitchen, the old carriages, and even the gardens overrun by weeds and invasive plants.

Steve heard a window shutter slam open, letting the cold air and rain in. He ran over, grabbing the two wooden shutters tightly. Before he could shut them, there was a figure below in front of the castle just standing there. The thunder snapped him out of his trance and he closed the window firmly before pacing down the stairs to the front doors.

As he approached the doors, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He couldn’t tell if it was the electrical charge in the air due to the storm or something else entirely. There were three firm knocks, prompting him to rush over and open them.

The most beautiful man he had ever seen was standing there, long dark locks soaked along with his white blouse, with the first two buttons undone and exposing his collarbone, and brown trousers that cling onto him like a second skin. His big round eyes blinked at Steve expectantly, staring intently as if casting a spell on him. Lightning struck across the sky behind him, but Steve’s mind was not clear enough to tell if it made him look angelic or demonic.

“Oh, you must be freezing to death,” Steve said, snapping out of yet another trance, opening the door wider without a second thought. “Come warm up by the fire while I find something for you to dry off with.”

The pale stranger smiled. “Thank you, my lord,” he said smoothly.

Steve led him over to the nearest large fireplace, stoking it with a pick, before rushing out to get towels and a dry set of clothing. The stranger’s brown eyes followed him as he left before turning his attention to the room. It was lined with ceiling high bookcases and portraits of horses grazing wide pastures and a painting of a scowling old man who he assumed was one of the previous lords of the estate.

The stranger was pulling off his blouse as Steve walked in, the soaked article of clothing landing with a wet slap. Steve paused, his eyes tracing the strange inked patterns imprinted on his pale skin. He spun around as the stranger moved to untie his trousers. He heard the trousers drop, too stunned to turn back around. He didn’t even hear the stranger approach until he felt his breath tickling the back of his neck. A pale sturdy arm reached around and grabbed the towel and bundle of clothing from Steve whose hand was frozen in place.

“Thank you,” the stranger said close to his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“I… I never asked your name,” Steve managed to choke out.

“Edward Munson, my lord.”

“Harrington. Lord Steven Harrington.”

Edward hummed, his cold nose brushing the side of his neck before pulling back. Steve could feel his body vibrating with anticipation, hearing Edward dry himself down and pulling on his spare clothes. A finger ran down his spine before both hands took a hold of his waist.

“Tell me, Lord Harrington, are you the only one here?” Edward asked, his thumbs moving in hypnotizing circles.

“Yes, I am the only one here,” Steve found himself admitting, his brain feeling fuzzy as his senses were being filled with Edward Munson.

“Hm, all alone.” 

Something in Steve twisted as Edward said this. Yes, growing up in this castle, he had the servants, the nannies, the tutors, the cousins that occasionally visited, but inside he always felt lonely. It was suffocating being trapped in this massive castle where ghosts made good use of the space more than the living. After a moment, he finally regained control over his limbs, using it to turn in his spot to face Edward.

“My lord,” Edward began.

“Steve. Please, call me Steve,” he almost pleaded.

“Steve.” 

His name rolled off his tongue as if it was a prayer, sending a pleasant shiver through him. Not many call him by that name. Nannies and servants who knew him since he was a young boy would call him that in private, but never in front of his parents and the rest of the family. It felt different having this handsome stranger say it. Like it was their own little secret, someone who was not associated with his family.

“Steve Harrington,” Edward melodiously, his lips curling into a wide smile as he maintained eye contact with him. He bared his teeth, revealing two abnormally long and sharp canines reflecting the light from the fireplace. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

Steve preened under this sudden praise, leaning into his touch as Edward caressed his cheek. He didn’t know what had gotten into him that would cause such improper behavior. He knew that if his parents were here, throwing a fit would be an understatement and they would speed up his arranged marriage. Worse than death, he always thought.

“Is it?” Edward asked, startling Steve from his musings. He hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud. “Worse than death?”

“Well, to be trapped in a marriage with someone you do not love, to be forced to carry out duties that only serve the families’ reputation and not the individual’s happiness. It all sounds like a prison. When I was young, I was foolish to believe that I had a choice to marry someone I loved and travel the world together.”

“To say it is worse than death, though. Do you not fear death?”

“Everyone does,” Steve said, frowning.

“Life is short and death is forever. Forever grows boring… when you’re alone.” There was a strange look on Edward’s face that Steve could not decipher. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared, replaced with a curious glint in his eyes. “Tell me, my dear, have you ever been in love?”

“Once,” he admitted, “But it was not to be. I am glad it did not work out, in a way. It would have been a shame to have such a precious friend in my life, only to ruin it by bestowing unhappiness onto them and taking their free will. We loved differently. Some flowers cannot grow in the same soil, I think. What about you?”

Edward shook his head, his curly dark hair brushing against his broad shoulders. “No, never.” He stepped closer, as if there were any space left between them. “But I would like to.”

Steve inhaled sharply, feeling his heart pounding against his ribcage like a wild animal desperate to escape its confinements. In a way, so was he. This man could very well be his first step of gaining that freedom. He leaned forward, their lips brushing softly until Edward pulled away. Steve felt the air sucked out of his lungs.

“I do think it is time for bed. You look awfully exhausted,” Edward said.

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Steve found himself saying, his body feeling heavy as he swayed in place. 

Before he could help it, his eyes closed and he felt his body helplessly falling to the ground. The exhaustion was so overwhelming that he didn’t think that there would be anything that could wake him beyond what his body deems as an apt rest.

That is, until he felt a sharp pain on his neck as if he was stabbed by two needles. He gasped awake, eyes locking onto those hypnotizing round eyes that belonged to none other than Edward Munson.

[cloudycrystalkpop]

SMOKY | Heaven Above

Blind! Prince! Mingi x [unstated skin deformity] fem! Reader

words: 3k+

warnings: childhood trauma, smut

au: crown royal au | moodboard 

series masterlist: SMOKY

~

You lay in bed, just a bit away from the edge of the king sized mattress. Tonight was your wedding night, dressed in a silk slip that left little of your figure to the imagination, you looked to the other end of the bed, where your husband lay.

The boy was curled in a ball, his large frame made incredibly small and just a breath away from falling off the edge of his bed.

His body twitched and shook every now and again, you could only assume it was tears.

You couldn't blame him, in the madness of the last month youd cried yourself a sea of saltwater, watching as your future slipped away like sand from your fingers.

"... Mingi?" you spoke as softly as you could to the other end of the dark bed. The man jumped at the sound of his name.

"... Y-yes?" his voice shook in his throat, laced with fear. This caused you to frown.

"I know youre upset but, would you like to talk about it?" you offered gently. He stiffened at your words.

After a long minute of silence, and no movement from the other end of the bed, you assumed that perhaps he had fallen asleep, turning back to gaze up at the canopy.

"... Im sorry." the voice was so quiet you thought you might have imagined it. "Im sorry for everything. Im sorry youre stuck with someone... Someone like me."

"Someone... Like you? Marrying a stranger isnt something i resent you for." you tried to comfort him.

"No-well, yes but... You didnt have a choice..."

"Neither did you." you turned to face him, watching the outline of his back.

"... Mother says I should have run away and died in the woods." you felt shock fall on your chest at his confession. "Mother says im an embarrassment, that i shouldnt have been born. All ill ever be is a burden... And im sorry... Sorry that it falls to you know, and when im nothing more than a stranger... "

You felt a piece of your heart break at his words, the sniffles in his voice and the shaking of his shoulders now falling into place.

"Mingi, you are my husband. Which, means we are meant to be a team. I... Understand all of this is frightening, but, will you please give me a chance? So we can be... Not strangers anymore?"

After a long pause, the man rolled over, now facing you. You saw the stains on his cheeks reflected in the moonlight peeking in from the silk curtains.

Upon instinct, you reached out to tuck the hair away from his eyes, but you hesitated.

"... May i touch you?" you asked.

Mingi nodded his head, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow.

He flinched only slightly as you brushed his hair away from his eyes. Watching as he blinked them open, the smoky, empty irises stared back at you, tears still hidden in the corners.

"Mingi, I think... We can prove your mother wrong. With practice, you wont be a burden on anyone," you placed a hand on his cheek, watching his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

"With time, i think you can be a good king." the boys body racked in sobs once more as you pulled him close.

You slept that night, with your husband wrapped up in your arms. Tomorrow, is your coronation. You are to be the crown princess, and the sleeping man in your arms, the prince.

~

Mingi disliked walking with a cane. it was loud and he too often found himself still tripping on his own two feet. at home he knew the halls by heart, navigating them even when tired like any other resident. but in this new strange place, he had to keep one hand pressed against the wallpaper, feeling his way to build his map of this castle. the castle that was now his new prison.

he had been assigned a guard as his guide, a charming young man who gently guided the prince, Mingi’s left hand resting on his shoulder, his right hands fingertips brushing the walls.

you trailed behind the pair, watching curiously. Mingi’s head rested bent, his chin almost touching his chest. his resting state seems to always involve making himself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

the guard’s playful voice chimed in, interrupting your studying of your husband.

“I must say, I really expected you to deny the request for me to join you today, Your Highness.” he smiled over his shoulder, clearly speaking to you.

“oh? and why is that?” you asked.

“well, you have that knight of yours~ he speaks so fondly of you, and I almost never see you two apart. I was almost frightened id make him jealous.” the man giggled.

“hmm, Seonghwa has been loyal to me since I was a teenager. I trust him very much as I'm sure you've seen.” you nod. “may I ask your name sir...?”

“Hongjoong!” he smiles over his shoulder, bowing his head.

“...are...we in the main hall?” a quiet voice speaks. Mingi’s hand fell from running along the wall, instead laying limp at his side.

“ah, yes! it would seem we have arrived!” Hongjoong chimed.

~

the coronation was, a frightening experience. you stood at the head of the hallway, almost envying Mingi for not having to look the countless royals in the eye. see the seething and loathing, and plots for your murder, just to take a crown you never even wanted to begin with.

you placed your hand on your husbands bent arm, and it was then you realized, he was shaking. it was customary that the now crown prince lead his princess out of the hall, but Mingi still had only half learned the layout of this castle. never mind the panic he was hiding under the circlet on his head.

“Mingi,” you spoke, not even a whisper. you felt his arm flex under your hand. “match my footsteps, and lets get out of here.” he let the smallest nod, and the two of you set off.

you held your head high, eyes forward, not even bothering to return the stares from the court. you would be queen, weather you liked it or not, and now was not the time to show weakness. now was the time to prove that you were unshakeable. your “unroyal appearance” be damned.

~

when you arrived back at your bedroom, Mingi asked if he could have a moment alone. the poor man was close to tears once more, arms wrapped around his body as he shrunk into a chair, curling in on himself once again.

a part of you wanted to go and pull the shaking man into your arms just as you had done the night before. cooing soft words into his hair. but, you didn't want to invade his space, so instead you ventured out, closing the door behind you.

“my Lady!” a new voice called from down the hallway. you turned to see a head of dirty blonde hair, as a court member walked up to you. you braced yourself, turning to face the man head on. “my Lady, I don't mean to intrude, but I wanted to introduce myself. I am Duke Kang Yeosang, of the west valley.” he kneeled before you, head bowed low.

you blinked in surprise. a duke? on his knees in an introduction?

“you needn't be so formal, Duke Kang. there is no guard here to pierce your breast for sneezing at the wrong time.”

the man let out a hearty laugh, raising to his feet.

“ah, I see you dread such social conventions as well. and please My Lady, just Yeosang.” he smiled. the man before you was incredibly handsome, his speaking voice a gentle but deep baritone. he then took your hand, placing a kiss to the back of it, bending in a low bow with his eyes closed as his lips lingered just a moment on your skin.

your heart beat echoed in your head as the warmth of his mouth on your bare skin. swallowing your blush down, you gently pulled your hand away from his touch. his eyes opened, staring up at you through his lashes.

“I am sorry my Lady, have I made you uncomfortable?” his brows furrowed in a frown, before the edge of a sword meets his neck.

“step away from the princess please.” a growl like voice calls from behind the Duke.

“Seonghwa! this man means no harm, leave him alone.” you glare to the man with the sword.

“if that is true perhaps you should answer his question Princess-”

“no. no, he did not make me uncomfortable. he simply took me by surprise.” you stated, staring down the man with the sword. he sighed, but sheathed his blade nonetheless.

“you should speak to your future Queen with more respect.” Yeosang stated.

“you shouldn't touch people without their consent.” countered Seonghwa.

a sigh fell from your lips. so this is a new dynamic you are going to have to deal with.

~

as the days bled into weeks, you found yourself within the company of the young Duke often, your guard dog never far behind. the pair could never get along, Seonghwa seeming to think every time Yeosang breathed, it was a threat to your safety.

you’ve spent countless hours in the library, Yeosang at your side, coaching you through politics, philosophies, and ideologies. his eyes sparked every time, he as well fit for the part of a Duke.

you’d be lying to say that the closeness with the young man didn't stir something within you. his curious eyes, his intelligent speech, the way he guided you.

more than just a flutter in your stomach, Yeosang’s long thin fingers dancing across the pages, the small dart of his tongue to his lips before speaking. this man sired feelings in you you had ignored since your girlhood.

days curled up in the library, hiding away from prying eyes, reading the strangest erotic poems you could find. most so ridiculous they made you snicker. but others... that was the same warmth you felt when Yeosang grabbed you by the wrist to keep you from knocking off your water goblet.

“my Lady, you must be careful! you could have stained your dress.” he placed your hand back in your lap.

“nonsense, water will dry. it leaves no stains anyway.” you huffed. Yeosang let out that hearty laugh once again.

~

Seonghwa complained about the Duke while escorting you back to your quarters. you simply laughed and rolled your eyes at his childishness.

“princess, please promise me you will call me if that... that mockingbird, ever lays his hands on you.” you laughed once more at his words.

‘mockingbird’ for his deep and ‘droning’ voice Seonghwa hated so much.

“you are not my father Seonghwa. you needn’t be so protective over such things.” you teased. “or are you perhaps, jealous?”

Seonghwa’s cheeks tinted pink as he looked down. “...you have not called on me for such... help, in a long time.” he admitted.

ah, that explains his borderline possessiveness.

“...Seonghwa, I am a married woman.” you stated.

“I know that! but you are not married to that Duke-” you cut him off with a sharp turn on your heel.

“enough.” Seonghwa fell silent at your stern tone. “watch your tongue, for you speak above your rank and I have little interest in hearing it.”

he clenched his jaw, but did not speak further.

“I have no further need for you tonight. you are dismissed.”

“as you wish, my princess.” he bowed low, but he never dropped his eye contact with you. Seonghwa begged you silently, begged for the affection you used to wrap yourself in. Seonghwa was a loyal knight, one who would carry out any request you had of him, be it sinful or murderous.

but you had little interest in making an adulteress out of yourself tonight.

you turned your back to the man, and entered your room.

it took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, but once you had settled into the darkness, you could see the figure of your husband sitting on the bed, head in his hand.

“Mingi? are you alright?” you quickly rushed to his side of the bed, kneeling before him.

“y-yes, I'm alright, I'm sorry to frighten you.” he spoke softly, raising his head from his hands. you felt a twitch of pain in your chest at the puffiness around his eyes.

“have you been crying, my darling?” you asked, raising to wipe the dampness from his cheeks. his breath hitched, before he sniffled. grasping at your wrists, Mingi raises his head, empty eyes level with your own.

“...will you be honest with me?” he asks.

“of course, Mingi you are my Husband, I have nothing to hide from you-”

“stop. do not- please... please don’t say that until I've asked you my question.” his face is pulled in pain and sorrow, cracking your heart. you fall to your knees once again, placing your hands in his lap, and leading your head against one of his bent knees.

“what is your question, my prince?”

“is it true you have slept with the Duke?” his voice is small as tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“no. I have never had any form of physical intimacy with Duke Kang. the man kissed the back of my hand when we first met, never have we done more.” your words were true, and you saw relief flood Mingi’s chest.

“...thank you... thank you thank you thank you...” he let out a hiccup just as you cupped his cheek.

“who told you such an awful rumor?” you questioned, raising to your feet.

“i... I overheard some of the guards speaking about it.” he admitted. “people forget... I am blind, not def.” you nearly jumped to ask who he had heard saying such things, but thought better of it for the moment.

“and people are fools for such a thing.” you lifted Mingi’s head gently, before placing yourself on his lap. “and they are bigger fools for gossiping about something with no evidence.” gently, you lay Mingi’s head to rest on your collar.

the man melted at your touch, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your chest.

“...you smell... like honey...” he mumbled, voice far away and almost intoxicated.

chuckling you petting his hair, “perhaps you are hungry, my darling prince.” Mingi let out a whine at your words. quickly pulling your hand away you raised his head again, thinking you had caused him pain from the sound.

his eyes were glazed over, cheeks pink, and breath panting in his chest. ah, not pain, pleasure.

“Mingi... have you ever slept with a woman before?” you purr. the man swallows hard.

“no. you think... any woman would want to crawl into bed with me.” he sighs. you tisk, grabbing a fist full of his hair and pulling his head back.

Mingi lets out a squeak of surprise, that quickly turns into a high pitched moan.

“you are the fool now, little prince. I understand you may have not had the privilege of seeing yourself in the mirror, but” you lean down so your lips graze the shell of his ear. “you are one of the most attractive men I have ever laid eyes on.” you feel Mingi shiver beneath you.

grabbing his jaw tightly, you twist his head, turning it away from you. “I do not care about your blindness Mingi, if I hear such negative self speech from you again, it will earn you a punishment.” he whines once more, before you begin peppering his open neck with kitten kisses.

“p-pl-please-” he whines, hands fisted in your dress, chest rattling with every breath he takes.

“please what? my darling prince~” you coo softly, hands now scratching through his hair.

“p-please... please... use me... I need you...” his voice cracks, barely speaking each word. you coo, cupping the mans cheeks.

“we have been married for almost a month, my prince, and yet we have yet to consecrate our marriage~” you tease, tracing your fingers down his throat.

~

Mingi may be blind, but it takes little time for him to map out your whole body.

his head thrown back against the pillows, neck on full display for you. one of his large hands with a bruising grip on your hip, the other’s fingers tangled with yours above his head. you coo softly to the man as he gasps in pleasure, your free hand bracing yourself on his chest.

you press your forehead to his, panting from the energy it takes to keep bouncing on him. you are thankful he never asked if you had experience in sex, for you worried he might be saddened at the truth.

yet even still, the mere... size of Mingi had your eyes rolling back in your head when you first sunk down on him.

you heard his voice hitch in his throat, hand pulling more on your hip.

“..I-i-ahh-” you could feel him pulse within you. shushing him, you leaned over to place more kisses over his throat.

“its alright, little prince, let it go. will you cum for me?” you cooed softly.

right at your command, Mingi came, spilling himself within you. his voice cried out your name, shoulders shaking as he squeezed your hand.

you softly cooed as you helped him ride out his orgasm, petting his hair and running your hands over his torso. his body finally stilled, and you felt him begin to go soft within you.

your thighs burned slightly as you lifted yourself off of his lap, feeling his cum drip and pool out of you. Mingi whined at the loss of warmth, hands pulled at your hips.

“I-i’m sorry, you didn't...” his face still burned pink, hair a mess on the pillows as he finally began to catch his breath.

“its alright Mingi, you can make it up to me another night.” you chuckled. He swallowed, but nodded.

after leaving to the attached bathroom to clean yourself up and change into your night clothes, you returned to the bed to find Mingi had managed to change the blanket the two of you had soiled. you smiled, noting not to underestimate the man in the future.

“can we... can we do that more?” Mingi mumbled as you crawled into bed beside him.

“of course~” you cooed, stroking his cheek. he sighed in contentment, mumbling to himself.

“what have I done to deserve you...” he wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you against his body. “...I am no good for a husband... and probably worse choice for a king... but, for you..” he blinked his eyes open, somehow managing to stare at you. “for you... I'll be whatever you want me to be.”

“is that so? you’ll do anything I ask?” you cooed.

“yes. yes, I promise. you... you own me, mind, body, whatever you want from me... take it.” he begged, eyes hazy once more.

“lets not worry about such things now, little prince.” pulling the man against you, Mingi quickly fell asleep against your chest.

“you own me, mind body, whatever you want from me... take it.”

“oh sweet boy, you should be more careful with your words. you’ve already got me falling in love with you.”

[thetorchwoodarchive]

[Image Description: a banner for the Across the Bay Crossover Fics You Didn’t See Coming fest, featuring beach signs on a tropical island, reading “Cardiff by the Sea”, the name of the fest, “authors”, “torchwood” (partially obscured), and “one shots” (partially obscured), and a warning sign where Myfanwy chases a swimmer]

ACROSS THE BAY: CROSSOVER FICS YOU DIDN’T SEE COMING MASTERPOST

Thank you everyone for submitting your crossover and fusion fic  recommendations. Below are all submissions and some of our favorites! 

Is it Insensitive for Me to Say by aliciajazmin (EstherJohnTosh | complete | 2441 | T)

Toshiko Sato and Esther Drummond absolutely will make fun of their boyfriend for deciding to attend an audition, while also attending said audition with him. 

Crossover With: The Outer Worlds 

Golden Apples and Norse Gods (Or How Ianto Got His Groove Back) by blackkat (JackIanto | complete | 1592 | G)

Ianto finds himself back from the dead and, apparently, in the position to double-cross a power-crazed Norse god intent on conquering the Earth by taking out a team of superheroes. Must be a Tuesday.

Crossover With: Avengers/MCU

The Magic of Torchwood by Bella the Strange (JackIanto, IantoJohn, JackOther, Non-Torchwood Ships | wip |  546,512 | T)

The Torchwood team have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Set between Adam and Reset. Rated T because of Jack Harkness, swearing, mature themes, slash etc… it’s Torchwood!

Crossover With: Harry Potter

Welcome to Torchwood by Jackdaw818 (Gen | complete | 1601 | T)

A strange creature behind the Ralphs, a break-in at the Museum of Forbidden Technologies, and visitors in Night Vale. Overall, a slightly unordinary day for Cecil Gershwin Palmer

Crossover With: Welcome to Night Vale

Torchwait for iiiiit by lady-demacabre (Gen | complete | 3k | K+)

When Shawn and Gus are called in on a case for an eccentric collector of alien objects, they get more than what they bargained for. One shot, Psych oriented.

Crossover With: Psych

Theme and Variations by nemo_baker (JackIanto, GwenRhys, OwenKatie | 5817 | T)

Time Agent Jack Harkness is sent back in time to solve the mystery of a mysterious train bombing. The problem is, he only has eight minutes to do it.

Written for Reel Torchwood screening 8 on Livejournal. Movie Prompt: Source Code (2011)

Crossover With: Source Code 

Day Tripper by Croquemboucheballpit (Gement) (JackBessie the Third Doctor’s Car, Bessie the Third Doctor’s CarLightening McQueen (past) | complete | 2360 | M)

Bessie’s like any other companion: far from home, more than she appears, and always up for an adventure.

And Jack Harkness really will seduce anything that moves.

Crossover With: Pixar’s Cars 

An American Volunteer by That_one_kid (SteveBucky, BuckyJackSteve | Complete | 4395 | T)

What if Captain Jack Harkness met Steve & Bucky during the war? What if he ran into them again, present day?

AKA

Captain Jack Harkness and his mission to seduce the two gorgeous, capable soldiers who keep running into him.

Crossover With: Captain America/MCU

Statement #0041708 - Future Sight by Jackdaw816 (Gen | complete | 1690 | T)

Statement of Lisa Hallett regarding a peculiar mirror found at a car boot sale

Crossover With: The Magnus Archives

(Un)Welcome Aboard by Jaune_Chat (Jack | Complete | 4,154 | T)

To make ends meet, Mal listens to a suggestion from Inara than he rent out the other shuttle. She has the perfect candidate, a charming Companion named Jack…

Crossover With: Firefly 

Death and the Definitely-Not-A Maiden by Odsbodkins (JackIanto | Complete | 3,6K | PG-13)

When Jack dies, Death is there to meet him. Every time. Written in 2008 for the Doctor Who Crossover Ficathon. Takes in Torchwood to end S2, Doctor Who to end S3, Discworld to Soul Music.

Crossover With: Discworld 

Remarkable by snowwhiteliar ( JackIanto, IantoLisa | Complete | 20.971 | PG-13)

Summary: Once upon a time, in a small village in a distant province of a peaceful kingdom, there lived a boy called Ianto

Crossover With: Fairy Tales 

Got That Friday Feeling Again by NancyBrown (OwenOther, JackIanto, GwenRhys, GwenOwen | Complete | 18.3K | R)

HELP HELP HELP HELP

I AM TRAPPED IN A TIME BUBBLE

The magic marker all over the nice chintz wallpaper bled and smeared as Owen wrote in increasingly desperate lettering across the walls. Ls and Ps dragged down, wiggly at the end or drawn out in slashed strokes.

He ignored the pounding on the door frame. He’d shoved the wardrobe in front, which always kept Jack out for twenty three and a half minutes. He ignored the sweat and tears and snot dripping down his face, down his mouth. He ignored the high-pitched singing from his own throat, “If you want my future, forget my past,” chanted over and over.

HELP

Crossover With: Groundhog Day

Back, and Back, and Back a Little More (Future Optional) (JackIanto, JennyVastra | Complete |  32591 | M)

Accidentally shot into the past by a time-travelling car, Ianto has to fix his own mistakes or he won't have a future to go back to.

Crossover With: Back to the Future 

Truth, Justice by NancyBrown (SupermanOwen | complete | 414 | M)

The green shit does not work. Warnings: dubcon (AMTDI)

Crossover With: Justice League Unlimited/DCAU/Superman 

Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodies, or, A Humourous Interlude Between Epics by  copperbadge (Gen | complete | 749 | T)

Ianto neglected to introduce himself as he informed the senior staff that Atlantis was now under the jurisdiction of Torchwood, whatever Torchwood is.

Crossover With: Stargate Atlantis 

Never Have I Ever by  st_aurafina (JackIanto, JackDoctor (past/implied), PepperTony (implied) | complete | 1714 | T)

Written for the prompt Ianto, Donna and Pepper end up at a secretaries'/assistants' conference and have a conversation about their bosses.

Crossover With: Ironman/MCU

Beware the Sparkles by elisi (JackIanto, JackEdwardBella | complete | 4793 | T)

It's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after. Oh and Jack has sex with sparkly vampires.

Crossover With: Twilight 

The Death Note Discovery by KaibaGirl007 (JackIanto | complete | 18,992 | T)

“You’ve clearly just got a notebook belonging to some geek, a rather sick geek I’ll give you that, who likes to keep note of people’s deaths.” - Will the team resist the urge to use the Death Note or will one of them give into temptation? 

Crossover With: Death Note 

A Confluence of Personalities by  galaxysoup (JackIanto | complete | 4839 | T)

Conner Kent’s body might be dead, but his soul has apparently decided to take the scenic route.

Crossover With: DC Comics/Young Justice Comics 

Imposters Among Us by  gwendolyncooper (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 9117 | M)

The Torchwood team (+Rhys) are out for a night of fun when they end up on a spaceship with no power, no info, and no crew. Known only as THE SKELD, the team tries to fix the ship and figure out what happened to its previous occupants.

But something out there is killing them.

Something that may be someone they know.

Crossover With: Among Us 

Traitors (Among Us) by princessoftheworlds (JackIanto | complete | 440 | G)

In a happy future, the team plays Among Us, and Ianto suffers.

Crossover With: Among US 

Tagline: I saw the VIDEO. Got the CALL? What Next??? by  BricklingGhost (TeamGwenee) (JackIanto, JackSamara | complete | 2424 | Not Rated)

'Tagline: I saw the VIDEO. Got the CALL? What Next???

Bollocks. That’s just a myth. Some git showing off and claiming to be the one person alive who Samara doesn’t bump off. He’ll be boasting that he’s been chosen to kill Voldemort next.'

When another unsuspecting victim falls foul of the cursed tape, he is pointed towards Captain Jack Harkness as his only hope for salvation.

Crossover With: The Ring

(My God, He Just) Came and Went by  Brokenpitchpipe (SteveBucky | complete | 1591 | M)

It starts on a cold, snowy September night in 1916, on the day Winifred Barnes walks to Doris Lindow’s house to see her new telephone and catches the eye of a handsome young man on the other side of the street. He tips his hat as she sees him, and she flushes scarlet and nods in return.

And nine months later, a little baby boy screams his way into the world.

But that’s not when it starts. Not really.

Crossover With: Captain America/MCU

Beast Inside by Flamingbluepanda (JackIanto, OwenTosh, GwenRhys | complete | 26934 | M)

"Argue with anything else, but don’t argue with your own nature.” - Phillip Pullman

Inside us all, there is an animal that expresses our soul. How would the world change were those animals outside?

Crossover With: His Dark Materials

Rifts and Robots by Paycheckgurl (JackIanto | complete | 3021 | G)

Jack and Ianto’s date at the movies is interrupted by two robots with no theater etiquette.

Crossover With: Mystery Science Theater 3000

The Jack and Ianto Show by Paycheckgurl (JackIanto | WIP | 7392 | T)

Jack and Ianto are a regular couple, living a quiet life, and trying to fit into the quaint Village of West Castle. Sure they're keeping the secret that Jack is an immortal time traveler from the future, with a fantastical machine called a vortex manipulator that can manipulate time and space around them, but they have much more pressing concerns. Such as strict bosses and nosy neighbors. Everything is perfect, a dream come true.

And Jack is going to keep it that way.

Please Stand By...

Crossover With: WandaVision 

Mutually Assured Uncooperation by  princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, OwenTosh, MarthaMickey, FitzSimmons, LincolnDaisy (past) | complete | 31547 | T)

Aliens, time-travelling, resurrections. These are all experiences familiar to not just one but two top-secret organizations that have a hard time keeping a low-profile. Figures that they would encounter each other eventually.

Or: the five times that SHIELD and Torchwood had an encounter that neither were pleased with, and the one time they had to work together when two of their own were taken.

Or: There's Kree running amok in Cardiff, including a murdered one, and Torchwood is on the case, but so is SHIELD. Also, don't forget the memory-manipulating aliens there too!

Crossover With: Agents of Shield/MCU

all i know is (infatuations) by  princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, JackJohn,  OwenTosh, LisaIanto | complete | 439 | T)

Seventh-year Slytherin Ianto Jones handles a break up, getting a boyfriend, terrible emotional misunderstandings with his best friend Jack Harkness, being miserable, and reconciliation. (Not precisely in that order.)

Crossover With: Harry Potter

[ayzrules-art]

╍ the desperation of dying stars .

starfall . alejandro’s moving castle au version 10939403294 with @morningstar1399 + @artless-whimsy ! 

homestead prompt week fall 2021 . excerpt below for the ‘rot & purity’  & earth tones prompt from @homesteadchronicles fall prompts , shoutout to red for another cool af pairing! 

positivity prom wk 8 . for me, it’s usually the other way around! written stuff & ideas inspire creations - but a big part in inspiring writing as a whole for me is ~aesthetics~ so it’s almost full circle? aesthetic pics inspire writing which inspires creations using those aes pics haha. this was definitely one of those instances; i’ve been trying to play up a lot of contrasts between the descriptions of the natural world & the i guess...stark truth? of what’s going on in terms of a war so i definitely had that in mind when putting the graphics together!

[ROT.]

i. Genevieve didn’t understand why she was still alive.

ii. (Her master had said - she’d seen - what the enemy did. To people like her. She remembered when her master brought Klaus back, after the oldest apprentice she knew had been captured. What remained of him.)

iii. (The smell had been overwhelming: a spill of entrails. A bloom of rot. A scream of ash. And what had been left of his flesh had been- 

-it was like he’d been crushed from the inside out. Like even gravity had turned on him. Like a sun had exploded in slow motion in that space scraped against his sternum and rasped beyond his heart, until his skin had boiled and blistered and sloughed right off his bones.)

iv. (Like his body had been some monstrously overripe fruit, soft and mottled and scorched over in blood and viscera, and something had burst inside him as his soul wept out of the remains - the way that pus ooze-slithered out of a cut-open corpse.)

v. The golden-haired man who had brought her back was a wizard, so he knew what she was. What she could do. And she could not - would not - be fooled by-

-by how she was completely unguarded. By how there was a frilly sofa pushed against the far wall, covered in a mussed, obviously-slept-upon pile of fluffy blankets and cream puff-pillows. By how the roses blossoming over the wallpaper were the same shade of pink as the stupid satin robe this wizard had put her in, or how there were two cups of tea on the bedside table: one that laced the air with wafts of chamomile and citrus, and another that whisper-floated with sugar and honey-milk.

vi. She would not be fooled by the clean bandages, or the dissipating ache in her ribs, or - or- 

-or by the way his touch felt like spun silk, and how his words tasted like mercy.

[PURITY.]

i. The airship bucked, swerving in midair. 

ii. The mage - whose face Alejandro could not see from this distance - blasted a crash of pure, blinding light toward Chris. It seared at Alejandro’s winter-forged irises like sunlight. Purer than sunlight, more concentrated. As if sunlight had been sharpened and shrilled off glass until it smoldered when it came in contact with living things.

iii. It was - familiar. 

(That was not a good thing.)

iv. Alejandro plunged toward the tumbling airship and met the light with frost, a blizzard’s worth of it, stormed over in fractaled capillaries of ice. Chris leapt out of the way, over the railing, his parachute billowing up and out, and the mage-

-twisted away, jolted back like he’d been burned. Skidded across the deck, all the way to the edge, dangling over the edge. Scrabbled for purchase against the railing-

-missed.

Alejandro was fast. 

Not fast enough.

 i. Violet rivers of smoke. Blossoms of smother-slithering sweetness, and a heat he could taste.

ii. It was Chris who found him with the dead apprentice.

i. Alejandro caught the mage’s body in his winter-clawed talons like a bird-of-prey snapping up a fish that had leapt too high.

A fish that had leapt for the sun: silver-burnt scales and the ricocheting shine of daylight, and blood like freshwater pearls raked scarlet.

ii. The dragon’s moon-shimmering wings swooped into his shoulder blades. The spines jutted out of his back like icicles melded themselves into his backbone.

As soon as Alejandro had hands again, he tried to stop the bleeding.

i. The apprentice’s torso was veined in ash. His flesh had been-

-devoured, was the only word Alejandro had for it. Charred and gilded and blackened in something like flame; something purer, something sharper.

ii. There was blood and ice and ash. And his eyes: two feverish-bright moons under a brilliant blue sky. 

iii. The sun swept lily-tender fingers across the murmuring grass in a gold-veiled caress, like it was waving goodbye.

[sabraeal]

The Most Perverse Creature in the World, Chapter 11

[Read on AO3]

You had been concerned this evening-- no, that was too mild a description to contain how you waited outside the castle gate, alone and shrouded beneath the anonymity of your black lacquer. It had been anxiety that plagued you, every inch of skin alive and shivering with your nerves. You trusted Obi implicitly-- he had given you no reason to not these past weeks. Despite the reputation that recommended him for this business--whatever it was-- his behavior at the bawd house reminded you less of an unrepentant rake and more of a small boy made to sit and do sums in the summer.

But even so, your ladies had placed their trust in you. They had little choice; a woman of ill repute would be laughed out of the council, branded a greedy whore, but you--

Well, you were a widow above reproach. A countess in your own right, no matter what scandal brought you the title. Where their words would sink like oil in water, yours would rise as air, right into the upper echelons of the court, perhaps even into the king’s ears themselves. That didn’t mean that they’d listen to them, but yours at least had opportunity, whereas theirs--

Theirs would be laughed at, ridiculed for daring to speak above their station. You held their hopes in your hands, and to ask them to trust a new man, sight unseen, vetted only by the prince’s messenger felt like a favor too far.

It was good then, that as large as this Sir Lowen might be, he had all the gentleness of a princess from the pages of a storybook; the sort that might see animals eating out of his cupped palms, should he offer them. The instant he squeezed into your carriage, an apologetic dark shadow, your fears had eased, steady with the knowledge that the girls would be like kittens in his hands.

Your instincts were correct; hardly a breath has passed since he entered the boudoir, and already your ladies are eating out of them. Or perhaps, more accurately, trying to entice him to eat out of theirs.

Tsubaki may have spoken first, but it’s Himawari who stands closest. She uses every inch of leverage it gives her as she saunters closer, raking Sir Lowen with a speculative gaze that leaves no doubt as to what she’s measuring.

“Sorry, petal,” Himawari purrs, placing a finger right on his sternum. “But I’ll be handling this one.”

“That’s not fair,” Tsubaki whines. “Kikyo, tell her that’s not fair.”

“I...” Kikyo’s mouth works, and she tears her gaze off the prince’s aide with a flush. “I don’t think milady brought him here for any of that business.”

“Aw, come on now.” Himawari’s wide mouth breaks out into a wider smile, the sort canaries might see before they flew to the great coop in the sky. “It’d be a pity to waste milady’s coin.”

If skin could burn then Sir Lowen would be a bonfire. “P-please, ladies, I’m not here for anything like that!”

“I changed my mind.” Himawari turns a hard, thoughtful look on him. “I’d let this one handle me.”

“Well,” Obi drawls, having entirely too much fun, “now there’s some high praise.”

Sir Lowen shoots him a dubious glare. “Is it?”

“Well, none of them have ever offered to handle me on milady’s dime,” Obi informs him, mouth twitching at the corner. “You must have a certain...I don’t know what.”

“A third leg?” Tsubaki offers, quickly shushed by Kikyo.

“Please,” Himawari snorts. “Milady couldn’t pay me enough to put up with you.”

Obi presses a hand to his chest, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I’m a very generous--”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she informs him. “You say you want to be handled, but there’s not a pair here you’d trust to do it. You couldn’t take a direction if it was dipped in gold and had your name carved in it.”

At once, the shy maiden melts away from Sir Lowen, replaced with a grin so satisfied and familiar you wonder which face it came from first-- Obi, or this man.

“Why, Obi,” he says, deceptively friendly. “I didn’t know you were taking me to a palm reader.”

Obi huffs, chin tilting up and arms folding tight across his chest. “I don’t think she’s interested in your palms, mister.”

Himawari’s brow tics, speculative. “Depends on where he plans on putting them.”

“I wasn’t--” Sir Lowen’s high ground turns to quicksand beneath his feet-- “I only meant--”

“If you are all quite finished bothering Sir Lowen,” you inform them, ignoring Himawari’s gleeful ‘hardly’-- “we have very little time left if we do not wish to squander the opportunity his name has afforded us.”

Kikyo bounces to her feet, leaving an empty space on the bed. “Ah, right. Sir Lowen, if you wouldn’t mind...”

He coughs, the red on his skin appearing uniquely painful. “I couldn’t...not...ah...”

“Oh!” Her fingers flicker in the air, all nerves. “Ah, then, perhaps this chair? If that would suit?”

“It would,” he allows graciously, the tension in his shoulders finally deflating. “I’ll just...stay here for the evening. I guess.”

“Don’t feel like you have to, sir,” Tsubaki purrs, rolling onto her back. “There’s plenty of room here on the bed.”

“There certainly will be, when I kick you off of it,” Himawari replied, leaping over to tweak the girl’s cheek. “No room for little girls while the adults are, hmm, talking.”

“The chair is fine!” he yelps, availing himself of it pointedly. “There! Hardly...hardly any different than a night in the palace!”

Obi’s lips give a dangerous twitch. “Well, I’m sure these ladies could change that if you only--”

“Obi.” You may not have had any child of your body, but you have raised a boy just the same; you know the precise octave in which one may raise their voice and insinuate trouble. He jolts at the sound of it, eyes rounding to innocence. “If you would...”

“Ah, right.” His shoulders hunch as he slinks toward you, a cat scolded but entirely unrepentant. “Well, mister, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Sir Lowen’s head snaps up, eyes wide and white as he catches the open door. “Obi! You can’t--”

A large hand presses to your spine, scurrying you through it. Obi leans back, head poking through the gap. “Enjoy yourselves, ladies.”

“Obi--!” The door snicks shut behind him.

You frown, glancing at the door behind him. “Are you sure you two are friends?”

“The most bosom companions.” His teeth flash white in the hall’s dim. “Now let’s go see to your entertainment for the evening, my lady.”

You have never had reason to stray long in the brothel’s halls; Obi usually sees to it that your trip involves only the briefest stint through the back stairs, quickly and quietly depositing you in a room within moments of your arrival. So as your eyes adjust to the bare light, you cannot help but stare.

“Stripes?” Your fingers rise to trace the paper. It’s hard to make out their color in the dim, but you squint anyway, shuffling close enough for your slippers to brush the wainscoting. “Green stripes?”

“Well, not everything can be hand-painted cocks and balls.”

You nearly laugh, only tamping down when you see how his eyes have bulged, how stiffly he’s standing before you. Obi hadn’t meant to let that gem slip from his lips.

“Of course not,” you say, deceptively mild. Behind your veil, Obi can’t see your lips twitch. “I’d expect there to be quite a few cunts as well.”

You may restrain your laugh, but Obi doesn’t, a wheeze bursting from his lips. “My lady...”

It’s not until his shoulders ease, body hanging with its usual boneless grace, that you realize how tense he’s been. After that little scene in Tsubaki’s chamber, you half expected him to be prancing through the halls, giddy as a schoolboy he hung yet another of his bosom companions out to twist in the wind. But instead he’s...nervous.

“Obi.” His name hoists itself through the air with the heft of a feather, but he flinches nonetheless. “Is something wrong?”

His mouth opens, but closes just as quick, mouth curving in a rueful grin. “I wonder...”

You nearly call out to him again, his name right at the edge of your lips, but Obi’s voice startles you instead. “Come on, my lady, it’s this way.”

The door he stops at must be the one-- who else would have delicate violets painted in clusters along the jamb?-- and he hesitates once more, hand poised just above the knotless wood.

Gold eyes cast you one last long look, but you cannot read the message in it. There is too much regret, too much pity, too much of everything, and you would ask, you would take your gloved hand and hold him back, but--

You’re too late. His knuckles fall, a sharp rap, and suddenly he’s the Obi you expected to see once more, grin spread too wide on his angular face, the shadows clinging to him as if he might disappear if you took your eyes from him.

“Custom’s here,” he calls out gruffly, the perfect imitation of one of the brothel’s bouncers. Quieter, he turns to you, door creaking open as he says, “Good luck, my lady.”

You shore yourself up, becoming the implacable widow behind a facade of bombazine. “Let’s hope I don’t need it.”

This is not what you expect from a prostitute’s boudoir.

Gauzy rose curtains flutter between whitewashed posts, stirred by the door’s closing. They match the ones over the windows, a massive bank of glass settled over a seat meant to sit two, buried in pink striped cushions. The knobs on the vanity gleam golden, matching the subtly shimmering vines on the wallpaper, interrupted only by sprays of violets and roses.

It’s a child’s room; the very same you might see for a beloved daughter among your set. Save for the flowers, it could quite practically have been your own before you left it for your marriage bed.

Your hands clench where they hang knitted before you. Perhaps that is...part of the fantasy. Just as Himawari’s room is done in dark woods and deep hues to match the tastes of her clients, this might be much the same. A girl who catered to the illicitness of making love in a lover’s childhood room-- or, you cannot help but think, one that might be bound to do a man’s bidding, like a child might.

“Oh sir.” A pale shadow moves behind the curtain, as delicate as the voice that  slips through the gauze. It’s a soft one, high-pitched and sweet, a part played to the hilt. “I’ve been so excited to meet you.”

You startle, heels bumping back into the door. You’d braced for confrontation, not seduction; even if this Sumire has never once seen a glimpse of Sir Lowen, there is no conceivable way that she could mistake a window in her weeds as the prince’s foremost aide. But thin as these curtains are, she can see just as much of you as you can see her-- nothing above a vague impression of color and shape.

It is not to last. Slender fingers slide through the seams, pushing the cloth aside. “I do hope you’ll take care of--”

A sweet face peers out between the curtains, chestnut hair pinned back and curled just like a little girl’s-- because that’s what she is. By her size, her proportions-- if she’s had her courses, she can count them but months, not years. Fourteen, at the most. At the least--

Your mind refuses to speculate. How can it, when all that fills it is an angry buzz, as harsh as the cicadas in summer. You had thought Tsubaki young, but this, this...

Her full mouth crumples into a child’s pout. “You aren’t Sir Lowen at all.”

And a good thing, too. Gentle as that man may be, you doubt he would take this with any sort of subtlety. “No. You may call me Countess Bederin.”

Those large eyes go wide, rounding until you can see white around the iris. “B-bederin?”

Your mouth curls. “I see my reputation precedes me. I suspect the girls have spoken about me.”

The girl-- Sumire, the madam’s favorite flower, sniffs, her coltish limbs folding over her. “They don’t need to tell me anything. I know all about you.”

It has been years since you’ve had a child in your home, but you recognize the prideful hook of that mouth. Less they don’t need to tell me anything, then, and more they wouldn’t tell me anything, even if I asked.

She settles back on her heels, eyeing you askance. “You’re the widow that comes around here to talk about, ah...?”

“Taxes, mostly,” you admit. “Working conditions as well. May I have a seat?”

With all the primness and pretension of a lord’s daughter, Sumire draws her spine straight, seating herself at the edge of the bed with ankles crossed. She would look every inch a girl born to it if it weren’t for her sullen pout-- or her negligee, one strap slowly slipping down her shoulder. “If you must.”

“I don’t,” you assure her. You’re not so old that standing for the duration of this conversation would harm you. “I would prefer to be invited, rather than impose.”

Her eyes widen before she drops them down, giving a begrudging nod. “Fine then. Over there. But you should know I don’t have any complaints.”

Her hand juts out; you follow its line to an overstuffed chair tucked in a corner. It’s pink as well, though not striped, its velvet worn bald in places. Your nurse had a similar one-- no, you had a similar one in your old room, a big wing-backed monument you’d climbed as a small thing, right into her lap until you got too big for it, then up the back itself. That is, until you’d fallen from the top and knocked the wind clean out of your chest. You’d taken your stories from the floor, after that, leaning your head against her knee as her finger stroked through your hair.

Your jaw sets as you sink into its cushioned depths. This furniture might share a shape, but you doubt Sumire has experienced the same sweet memories.

“Of course,” you manage through your teeth, “but that is valuable information as well. I am looking for as complete a picture as I can create when I make my recommendation to His Majesty.”

It’s an overstatement of your power to be sure-- the only time His Majesty would hear your opinions would be shortly before they were torn to shreds by the teeth of the council-- but it has the desired effect. Sumire’s small chest puffs, chin tilting up, eyes sparkling. You’ve made her important. No, you’ve made her words important.

“I should tell the madam you’re here,” she says, words crisp, threat idle. “So she can throw you right out for...for...ah...sedition.”

That would require the brothel to be a country and the madam its head of state-- a metaphor that might work if it did not require you to also live within it as well. Still, it was a poor point to quibble with a child, not when a girl like her could never afford to spurn a lady who has a king’s ear. At least, not when she could dream of putting herself in his bed. This was all a bit of theater, a way for her to cast the illusion of an equal field.

It is ground you can afford to cede. “You might. Or you might allow me to have your ear first, before you decide. The choice is yours.”

Sumire’s small feet still against the footboard, her body stiff and still with a hungry kind of wariness. You doubt she has ever been given such a choice before, paltry as it is.

“Very well.” Her voice takes on the clipped cadence of the upper crust; an affectation to your ear, but a good one. She’s been trained, at least, the streets scrubbed clean from her vowels. “Though there’s not a thing you could offer me that the madam won’t give if I ask.”

Besides a childhood, you don’t say.

“I’m not here to make any offer,” you tell her, as gentle as you are able. “Only to be a listening ear.”

Her head cocks, a sparrow offered seeds from a strange hand. “What do you mean?”

You stifle a smile; even if she cannot see it through the veil, she’ll hear it in your voice. Still-- she’s taken the bait, even if she hasn’t hopped up into your fingers. “My purpose is not to propose, but to listen. There is a proposal among the lords that would require all those engaging in acts considered...superfluous to the point of procreation for money to pay a certain extra consideration to the crown.”

Sumire blinks. “What’s that all mean?”

“They want to tax you for every act of sexual congress that does not involve, ah--” you flounder for the words; she may be a professional, but she is also a child, and oh, Obi might have teased you for asking, but he’d certainly have ideas-- “the insertion of a man’s member into your, hm...”

Secret garden, your nurse would have said, but that seems too pale, too flowery--

“Cunt?” she offers, so innocent, as if there were no other word.

“Yes.” Were the madam to stand before you now, you could choke the very life from her and feel no guilt. “Quite.”

Her small face rumples, wrinkled up in thought. “So if I let a john take me on hands and knees, would that cost extra too? Or only if he’s got his cock outside my--”

“Ah!” It had been too much to hear this from Tsubaki’s mouth, but an actual child’s is far, far worse. “Yes. I am afraid that anything that is not with a man top and a woman beneath--”

“But I am--”

“-- And, ah, facing him,” you add, hurriedly. “Any of it would be considered a...lewd act, subject to the tax.”

Sumire doesn’t speak, not at first; instead she merely sits with the knowledge, shadows rolling across her face in intervals.

“Well,” she decides, finally. “The madam handles all that for me. So I need not worry about any of this business.”

Frustration could grind your teeth to stubs, but you take in a breath, let it out. She would hardly be the first woman to place her trust in fiscal matters where it did not belong. Too many of your own acquaintance would say the same of their accounts; what use was it to balance books or be money-minded when their fathers, their brothers, their husbands all took care of such things. As long as there was enough credit to draw at the modiste, a woman needed no notion of how it came to be.

That had not been the education your father gave you-- you and your brothers alike learned to keep ledgers. It had been your cramped hand that wrote in Bederin’s, yours that tallied columns that no longer came to sums you could account for.

You cannot blame a woman for wanting to keep herself innocent of the things men might do, when they only amounted to numbers in the end.

“May I ask,” you begin, sliding your pencil from its place in your notebook’s binding. “What is the percentage the madam takes from your earnings?”

Sumire stares. “What do you mean?”

“The madam takes a cut of your earnings, does she not?” Your fingers tighten painfully around your pencil; it takes effort to ease it. “Part of your keep. For room and board and her private business. Do you know how much it is?”

She was always a child, but suddenly Sumire seems quite small indeed. “No, the madam...handles all my money.”

The lead pauses on your page. “Do you see any of it?”

“I...” Her brow furrows, doubt seeping into the shadows of her face. “She gives me pocket money. From my accounts. She says she puts it all away for me until I’m older.”

You have known plenty of young ladies with the same story. Your father had been of the old school where a woman took care of a manor’s accounts while its lord saw to its improvement-- but that philosophy was unpopular among men of the court. A good, obedient wife never handled any of their allowance; they merely took what their lord husband gave them for pin-money and never questioned its amount. That is, of course, until their creditors came. Even a title could only protect so far.

“Do you know the amount she takes from the other girls?” you ask, knowing full well the answer. “Perhaps we can extrapolate from there. Make an estimate,” you clarify, seeing confusion cloud her face.

“No,” she sniffs. “They don’t tell me anything. They’re jealous.”

There is some truth to that perhaps; Tsubaki certainly acts as though they are rivals for a mother’s love even if she hates the parent in question, and Himawari has made no secret that she doesn’t appreciate the pomp and circumstance around the search for Sumire’s custom. But still, it’s not the whole of it, though to say so would certainly fall upon deaf ears.

“You know,” you hum, setting your pencil back in its binding. “We want to have a larger meeting. One where the girls voice all their ideas. Where we can begin to see what needs should be met, should I bring a counter proposal before the council.”

Her mouth curves into a frown. “The madam won’t like that. She won’t let you do it.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, an anxious tattoo that rattles in your ears as you say, “That’s why we don’t plan to tell her.”

Sumire’s face takes on a petulant cast. “What if I did? Then you all couldn’t. Madam would like that.”

“You could,” you admit. “But if you came to it, perhaps you might know better what the madam keeps for you.”

From you, you mean, but you doubt she’s ready for that conversation. Not right now, when the idea of betrayal is so new.

The temptation is clear on her face, but curiosity shutters tight behind pride. “No one would want me there. They don’t like me.”

“I would want you there.” You set aside your notebook, letting nothing come between you but your veil. “I think you have important things to contribute.”

Her eyes widen, but only for a moment. The next she shakes her head, tossing her curls proudly. “I could still tell the madam, even if I go.”

“I trust you.” You want to at least, but she’s so young, and the madam is her world. Her protector and abuser both.

“The others won’t.”

“That may be,” you agree, “but it only takes one to convince others. I’ll be the first.”

Sumire eyes you warily, both dubious and hopeful, and you wish there was some way you could prove it, some way you could give her the assurance every child deserves. You drop your eyes to your lap, veil pooling on your hands--

And you do. Your fingers trace the lace edge, and it’s with an exaggerated motion that you lift it, the breeze from the widow caressing your bare cheeks.

Sumire’s jaw falls slack. “Why...” It closes as she leans closer, surprise etched in every plane of her face. “You aren’t ugly at all, miss.”

That’s not quite the reaction you expected. “Ah...thank you. I suppose.”

She hesitates, then gives you a quick, pained nod. “I’ll come. But I don’t promise I’ll keep quiet after.”

“I could expect no less,” you murmur, veiling your smile once more. “We all have to do what’s best, don’t we?”

You leave the room more troubled than you entered, but lighter somehow still.

“Did what needs doing?” Obi asks, levering himself out of the shadows.

“Not yet.” Your mouth stretches into a determined line. “But I’ll see it’s done.”

[writing-red]

The Red Bottle | 2

Draco Malfoy x Reader 

Summary: It’s their sixth year, Draco and the reader are placed in an arranged marriage by their pureblood families, expected to follow through they navigate their feelings for each other amongst the many other social pressures at Hogwarts.

Warnings: PARENTAL ABUSE! (verbal & physical) murder, substance abuse/underage drinking, and cussing. I am serious. These themes are heavy-handed, don’t read something that’s going to hurt you, okay?

Word Count: 4.1k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Ever since the letters arrived, your life felt different, and going on as if everything hadn’t changed in a stroke of your mothers’ quill was difficult.

Of course, you and Draco had nearly every class together, and he was acting so differently when you were around. He wasn’t your best friend, but he also wasn’t insulting you or purposely making you trip in the halls. Of course, the two of you didn’t know how to act around one another, resulting in plenty of awkward interactions. It was only September, Winter Holiday wasn’t for months, and summer was much further, but the idea of it was looming.

“Alright, class, please find your new seats,” Slughorn announced as the sixth years piled into his class.

Professor Slughorn had a knack for playing matchmaker for his student before he retired, and he certainly didn’t plan on giving up his habit now that he was back. So, of course, when he noticed Draco’s feelings for Y/n, he got to it.

“Bloody hell,” you muttered underneath your breath when you realized who your partner would be for the foreseeable future. “Morning, Malfoy,” you said when you sat down. Neither of you wanted anyone knowing, so you had agreed to keep up appearances for the time being.

“Good morning, Y/l/n,” he said, not bothering to look at you.

It still stung a bit, you admit. Around your third year, you’d had a bit of a crush on the platinum-haired boy, and you hoped that maybe he would start treating you like a human being. But, it was clear you were overestimating the Slytherin Prince’s capacity for kindness. Despite that, something sparked in the pit of your stomach every time you spoke, but you just chalked it up to nerves and fear.

On the other hand, Draco had fancied you since your second year, a feeling that had only grown since then. But, he couldn’t let you know that, not now, not with everything going on. He could put you in harm’s way. If something happened to you, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Draco would just have to push those feelings down till he carried out the Dark Lords plan, and until this was all over. Love was a weakness, and he wouldn’t allow feelings for you to interfere with his duty to the Dark Lord.

But, Professor Slughorn interrupted your thoughts.

“Today, we shall be brewing amortenia, the love potion we reviewed last class. As we know, many potions require skill as well as patience, and amortenia is no exception. It will take roughly nine class periods, so settle in and try to be kind to your partners. The recipe is on the board and on page 27 of your books. Begin.”

Amortenia, of course, this class really couldn’t get any worse. It was as if the universe wanted to remind you that you were destined to a loveless marriage your selfish parents forced you into. Eventually, the hour-long period ended, you and Malfoy getting along decently enough to start your potion off on the right foot. 

The second Slughorn dismissed the class, you found your friends, and all of you hurried out to the Quidditch Pitch for try-outs where you and Hermione happily resigned yourselves to watching since neither of you are much of quidditch players. You watched Hermione nervously observing Ron and McLaggen, and you eyed her as she quietly sent a confundus charm McLaggen’s way. Being the good friend, you are you didn’t plan on letting her live that down anytime soon. As hard as everything was at the moment, being around the people you love never failed to help you feel a bit more normal.

You spent all your time with them, studying, eating, walking to classes. It wasn’t abnormal, but suddenly you were thoroughly intentional about who you were around and what you were doing. Even if it was something as simple as walking to the bathroom between classes, you were always sure to have a friend by your side.

-

Despite only having been at school for a week, tension was high around the castle. Everybody needed the chance to let loose a bit.

It’s a well-known fact at Hogwarts that Gryffindor throws the best parties. Everyone years five and up are invited regardless of house. If there’s one thing that can bond bold Gyrffindors and prideful Slytherin, its taking shots of firewhiskey side by side. No one ever snitches because if they were there, it means they were partaking. It was one of the few parties on-campus members of every house attend.

With the first week of classes over and the weekend here, it was the perfect time for a party. Over many years students crafted spots around campus faculty didn’t know about hidden student lounges behind paintings with a password and rooms stocked for parties with couches and bottles of alcohol that would just appear. They would move every year so that if students returned as professors, they would not be found.

“You’re coming to the party tomorrow, no excuse will get you out of it, and I will not take no for an answer,” you said to Hermione on your way the last class of your day.

“But what if we get caught?” She said.

“They’ll give us detention, they won’t kick out all of the fifth, sixth, and seventh years. Anyways they won’t catch us; that’s the point of the rotating location.”

“I have a paper to do.”

“You are the smartest person I know. You’ll finish it in the morning. You know what? I’ll do it with you, and if I don’t both finish, you don’t have to go,” you had a lengthy history of procrastinating on essays. They always took you far longer than they needed to.

“Deal,” Hermione said, underestimating how badly you wanted her at that party. “So how’s that potions project with Malfoy going?”

“Shit, don’t remind me,” you groaned. “Let’s just not talk about Malfoy this weekend.”

-

“Mate, you’ve got to get laid tomorrow night, ever since we’ve gotten back to school, it’s like you’re a different man,” Blaise said.

“I’m not tense. I’m just no longer interested in school-boy antics,” Draco bit back. None of the boys around him could understand half of what he was going through.

“Boys, take a shot every time Malfoy makes a bullshit excuse for his shitty attitude,” Nott said and chuckled, earning a glare from Draco.

“It’s Hogwarts, not a tavern. I don’t have to be in a damn good mood all of the time,” Malfoy responded bitterly.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to be a git all of the time. We just want you to destress a little mate, it’s not a bad thing,” Blaise said, leaning back in the plush armchair.

“Just go to the bloody party Draco, it’s not going to kill you,” Theo added.

“Fine,” Draco said under his breath. “Now, let’s get back to studying?”

-

“The effects of muggle philosophy have had an impact on the development of spells that is unmatched by other influences. The opportunity for these philosophers to have collaborated with witches and wizards would have simply increased the advantages which we already benefit from today.”

“In all of our years of school, you have never written an essay that quickly,” Hermione, astonished, said as you read her your concluding sentences.

“I had some motivation, now let’s go get ready! C’mon, it’s your very first Hogwarts party!”

“You are the absolute worst Y/n,” she groaned, as she started putting her essay and writing tools back in her bag.

“And you love me, so you’re going to have to work that one out,” you responded with a terribly overexaggerated wink. “Now come on! Maybe we’ll get Ron to stop being so daft and possibly ask you out,” You dragged your blushing friend out of the common room and up to your dormitory to get ready for the highly anticipated event.

-

There was something about how free you felt at these parties that had you coming back for more every time. Maybe it was the alcohol, perhaps the too-loud music and having to yell to speak, the mingling of sweat, old furniture, and cigarettes, or all of the above. Whatever it was, you loved it. 

You wore your favorite ensemble with a signature deep red clinging to your lips. Although, your pride and joy of the night was Hermione Granger in a tight red dress, somewhat tamed and defined curls, and just a tad bit of makeup. Your best friend is beautiful, you just loved the opportunity to dress her up.

You and Hermione stepped into the cozy room wrapped in ornate red wallpaper about forty minutes after the party’s official start, which had her nervous until you convinced her that was the way things were done, and she had to let you take the lead here. This was your area of expertise, not hers. You walked in and instantly found two fresh drinks, handing her one and offering a toast.

“To your very first Hogwarts party,” you said with a wide smile.

“You make me nervous, Y/n,” she responded, peering into the cup with fear in her eyes.

“That goes away with a few drinks, I promise,” With that, both of you threw back the concoctions. You took it without a second thought. Meanwhile, Hermione started coughing, not yet used to the punishments of hard alcohol.

While you and Hermione made your way through the party, with fresh drinks in hand, to find Harry and Ron, Draco and his crew entered. Draco was wearing an oversized black button-down with the sleeves rolled up his alabaster arms tucked into slick black pants that fit him perfectly. He sauntered in with Blaise, Theodore, Crabbe, and Goyle behind him. As always, he commanded the attention in the room; everyone knew the Slytherin Prince had arrived.

“Hey, your husband just walked in,” Ron whispered to you, a little too loudly for your liking.

“Ron. Shut your bloody mouth right now,” you said through your teeth. He was drunk enough to not care, you weren’t. “I’ll tear you to pieces.”

“Ooh, maybe you should have been a Slytherin, you’re soo scary,” he said and chuckled at his horrible joke.

“Ron, you’re acting like a git, shut up,” Hermione said, jumping to your defense.

“Harry, who’re you staring at?” You asked, in an attempt to change the subject off of you and Malfoy.

“I’m watching the door to see if Ginny shows,” he said quietly to you. His infatuation with Ginny was still a sore subject with Ron.

“I’ll let you know if I see her,” you responded. 

“Thanks,” Harry said and smiled, noticing the lull in the conversation he pipped up. “Why don’t I go get us some more drinks? Y/n and Hermione need to get on my and Ron’s level.” 

“Sounds good, Potter,” you quipped as he walked towards the bar.

Across the room, Draco Malfoy watched you with a close eye. The instinct to protect you hadn’t yet faded, and it was currently manifesting through stalking you at parties. Blaise noticed his friend’s gaze on you, but he let his friend be. Maybe this would be his opportunity to find out what’s been occupying Malfoy’s brain.

It wasn’t long until Harry returned to your spot with four bottles and no cups in sight.

“That’s it, Harry, it's official, you’re insane,” Hermione said, quickly putting two and two together.

“Oh, just take the bottle, Hermione! You don’t have to drink the whole thing,” he said and handed her a bright red bottle of fire whiskey.

He handed you the same then passed an open beer to Ron, considering he was already pretty drunk. You graciously accepted the bottle and took a swig, the whiskey burning, but it didn't bother you as you were rather used to it at this point.

“Are you going to drink all of that?” Dracos' highly judgemental voice came from behind your spot on the couch.

“Excuse me?” You asked and turned around to see him looming over you. “Did you come here just to judge me? This is a party, you know, drinking is kind of the point. And, why are my drinking habits any of your business?” You questioned, a slur slowly starting to take over your voice.

“You know exactly why it is my business,” he said as if each word was causing him terrible pain.

You handed off the bottle to Harry, stood, and spun around to face Draco. Instead of making you clumsy,  whiskey grants you grace. You were not a sloppy drunk. You placed a hand on Draco’s chest and leaned in close enough for the interaction to be intimate. You were drunk enough now, and the man in front of you was far too sober.

“I am not your wife; in fact, I am not yet your fiancée. We are to be married, we aren’t engaged. And that does not give you the right to control me, Malfoy,” you said, sneering as you uttered his surname. “Now let me live my life before I am subject to you for the rest of it,” you were seething, not once breaking eye contact with him as you took out the anger you had towards your parents on him.

He responded by grabbing your chin rather roughly, “Watch the way you speak to me.”

You slapped his hand away, “Don’t bloody touch me like that.” 

“I’ll touch you in whatever way I want,” he said, just as angry as you. The two of you held your staring contest before he stormed away from you towards wherever alcohol was.

To put it lightly, you were livid. How dare he treat you like some object he could throw around. Tears welled up in your eyes, and all you could think was that you wanted to hurt him back the way he had hurt you.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Harry asked. 

“Give me back the whiskey, please,” you responded.

Harry complied, passing the flaming red bottle your way. If there was one thing, childhood trauma taught you, it was how to drink.

You drowned yourself in the bottle, finishing it off to your friend's shock. “I am perfectly fine,” you said, putting the bottle down and wiping the water away from your eyes. “Ron, Hermione, if you don’t mind, Harry and I are going to go on a walk.”

The suggestion in your voice wasn’t evident to anyone but Harry, who knew exactly what you were getting at. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to snog at parties when each of you was drunk enough. It never got in the way of your friendship, and it wasn’t romantic in the least. It was just something the two of you do on nights where either one wants the chance to forget.

It wasn’t long until you found a spare corner, and the rest of the fire whiskey did its job. Ginny out of his mind, Harry made quick work of pushing you up against the wall and placing his lips on yours. One didn’t need passion to be a good kisser. You reached up your hand and gripped his hair in an attempt to pull him closer to you. The closer he was, the further away Draco would be, right? And Harry obliged, kissing you harder and wrapping his arms around your waist. But, this time it wasn’t working, you couldn’t get the thought of Draco’s hands on you out of your head. Even his scent was lingering, he was infuriating. You continued to try and push the notion of Draco's lips on yours by letting Harry move from your lips to your neck.

Not far away, Draco watched the Chosen One snog his betrothed, jealousy tightening its grip on his heart. It hurt more than he could care to admit. You had some power over him he didn’t know existed before this moment, and he knew that it was dangerous, that caring about you was dangerous. But at this moment, all he wanted was for you to get away from Harry Potter.

“Mate, what is going on?” Blaise asked, breaking Draco from his trance, and handing him a drink.

Draco took the drink and let out a breath. “My parents have decided that Y/l/n and I will be married this summer. We both found out Monday.”

“Didn’t I just see her in a corner snogging Potter?” He asked, his voice rigid.

Draco took a sip from the mystery cup and nodded. 

“That’s right disrespectful, and it’s clearly bothering you, go bloody do something about it,” Blaise reasoned.

“I don’t know. I think I may have brought it on,” Blaise could feel Dracos tension, and he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“It was her decision to pull him into a corner, now get her out of it,” he advised, and Draco nodded, you shouldn’t be going around kissing other guys, particularly not Harry Potter.

“Thanks, Blaise,” he said and set his drink down on a nearby surface before heading over to your little corner.

Harry’s lips were back on yours, there was likely a mark on your neck, but that wasn’t anywhere near your thoughts. No, even with Harry’s tongue in your mouth, your mind was still on Draco fucking Malfoy.

“I hope I’m not bothering the two of you, but I’m going to need a word with Y/n,” Draco said, causing you to pull off of Harry and turn towards Draco. Despite his evident anger, he had a sense of decorum about him.

“Draco, darling, I’m busy, can’t you tell?” You teased in response.

“I’m sure you and Potter can spare a moment for me,” he said tightly.

But you ignored his anger and turned to Harry, who was disheveled, confused, and disappointed by the loss of contact. “Love, would you mind if I stepped away with Mr. Malfoy here for a moment?” You asked sarcastically, not expecting an answer.

“I mean-”

“Just come with me,” Draco said, interrupting Harry, not caring one bit what he had to say. Again tightly grabbing your wrist, as he pulled you out of the party and out into the hall.

“We just have to stop meeting like this handsome,” you said, placing a hand on his chest, softer than you had earlier.

“You’re drunk,” he said, distaste for your inebriated behavior clear as he pushed you off of him.

“Awe, you’re handsome when you’re mean,” you said, a playful pout on your lips.

“Shut it, Y/n, listen to me. I need you to take this seriously, are you listening?” He asked hotly.

“How could I ignore words coming out of pretty lips like yours, love?” You asked, an enticing drawl to your voice, pushing him off the edge.

He wanted so badly to push you up against the wall and reclaim your lips. He knew the words out of your mouth were just drunken prattle, and you didn’t mean a lick of it, but he couldn’t help, but he couldn’t keep the butterflies from flooding his stomach every time you flirted with him or called him love. But, it wasn’t real, it couldn’t have been, why else would you have just been up against a wall with Harry? Merlin, Draco hated how badly he loved you.

“Y/n, listen!” He had started shouting, causing you to draw back into yourself and sink into the wall. “You said it yourself, whether we like it or not, we’re getting married this summer. This winter, you’ll be at my house with my family planning our wedding. If you decide you don’t want to comply, they’ll kill you. So you’re going to listen to me and do as I say. Your bloody life depends on it.”

You just nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. In the state you were in, you couldn’t help but see your own father in Draco at that moment. Survival instincts told you to comply.

“We are going to start dating, we’ll be nice to each other in class, eat together, go on dates, study, and keep up appearances as our parents requested. That being said, you’re not to go around snogging other boys, especially not Harry Potter, and I won’t be snogging girls in corners at parties.” You could sense the bitterness in his voice. “The second you broke the seal on that letter, you confirmed your fate. No matter how much you ignore it, there’s no escaping it, so stop trying, and bloody accept it.”

“Draco I-”

“Why do you assume that marrying me is a death sentence?” He wasn’t done. He was deeply hurt by your words and actions over the course of the last week. You made his heart twist, but to you right now, he was just angry. “I’m not as awful as you and your friends constantly make me out to be.”

“All you’ve ever done is hurt me, Draco,” you said, any air of drunken playfulness gone now, tears were threatening to spill out of your eyes. The alcohol was making it impossible to gather your thoughts. “Since we got here, calling me bloodtraitor, every time you got a chance to, you would remind me of how my parents thought of me and what they do to me. All that shit you pulled for all those years, making me feel inferior. You always confirmed that I deserved the abuse, the terrors I faced at home. And now all of a sudden, we’re supposed to get married, and you care in your weird twisted way?” You could not hide the hurt as it streamed down your face and the confusion that laced your voice. “You can’t do that to me!”  

Draco broke inside, watching you hurt because of him. But he didn’t know how to tell you that he cared and that he wanted so badly to love you, but he didn’t understand how. “That doesn’t change our family’s choice. Learn how to live with it because, as of tomorrow morning, you are my girlfriend, I put that hickey there, not Potter, and I don’t care how nasty your hangover is, you’ll wake up, get dressed and look presentable, and you’ll go on a date with me to Hogsmede tomorrow. Do you understand?” There was no room in his voice for disagreement. He sounded livid.

The tear that slipped down your cheek as you nodded broke his heart. It hadn’t even been a week, and all he’d done was hurt you. You were right. He was a monster.

“I understand,” you said, and he knew you wouldn’t forget this tomorrow morning, so with that, he stormed off.

The second he turned the corner, you slid down to the floor, you were sobbing, and you couldn’t breathe. He was right. It wouldn’t be the wedding that would change your life, it had been the letter. You were his, and that wasn’t going to change. No matter what, you were stuck. The panic attack just got worse as you sat there, unable to move. But, apparently, you were there long enough for someone to realize you were gone because, at some point, Ron came out to find you in your predicament. He didn’t say anything, he just picked you up and carried you to the Gryffindor common room. He set you down on a couch near the fireplace and sat on the floor next to you as your sobbing shifted to silent tears, and bit by bit, your breathing started to return to normal.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asked sweetly, no matter how much Ron joked and teased, he cared.

But you just shook your head no, and when he walked away, you assumed he was going to bed, but he returned with a large shirt, shorts, and a glass of water.

“Y/n, I don’t think you can make it up to your room, please put these on and drink this.”

You nodded and did as he told the common room was empty, so all it took was him turning around to give you the privacy to change.

“Do you want me to stay here with you tonight?” he asked gently. It was obvious you didn’t want to talk, and it was clear that Malfoy had caused this, but he didn’t want to leave you alone.

You just nodded, so he grabbed a couple of pillows from around the room and two blankets. After placing one on you, he lay down on the ground next to you and fell asleep.

Part 3 - The Milky Tea

Tag list - @whatawildone @herequeerandstressed @lordfxxker @pillowjj @pointlesscoconut @lovelylangdonx @fire-in-her-veinz @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog

[jrueships]

I’m aware that this was not the point of the kawhi and pg retiring together post but pg calling kawhi honey!!!!! Omg!!! I’m in love with nicknames so this was so cute 😭. And Luka having them for Dennis in the redacted post !! CUTE “honey” 🥲 “kitten” 😳 “SWEETHEART”!!!! Ahsjsksj- *explodes* anyway do any of your other ships have nicknames for each other 🤔

GOOOOD bruh this is SUCH a good ask literally like. im SO sorry it took me so long to finally answer it but I've been looking at this and trying to figure out how to do it justice FOREEEVER it was just That good 2 me. IM SO GLAD U THOUGHT THAT WAS CUTE!!! I LOVE ships where the couples give each other nicknames I DUNNO they hit DIFFERENT!! The way yall be reading my tags 😭 !! IS NICE 🤩🤩‼‼ BUT YEA!!!! LETS GET RIGHT 2 IT!!!

Marcus Smart+Giannis: OKAY so I think that they BOTH kinda like??? Secretly Pride themselves on being GREAT at nicknames lol. Giannis's "khash money and big money" (Khris STILL calls jrue big money its so funny. The bucks love giannis so much and honestly?? Who doesnt??? ((Harden))) I think giannis uses nicknames more tho?? Because marcus wants to be cool and not look so sappy for giannis but sometimes it slips 🥰 ANYWAYS THOOO i think giannis calls marcus like "SMARTIES!!!!" or "MY SWEET!!!" or something endearing old grandparents call each other And like. They run to each other and giannis sweeps him up in his long arms and they spin around laughing all cheesy like that!!! Or sometimes giannis will call him, the very loving, "mahkus shart" or "fart" and then try excusing it on having a relapse on the English language even tho they both know Damn well he's just being a little shit. But when giannis and Markus are cuddling in bed together during the sleepy hours of trying to drift into dreamland, giannis probably calls marcus like.. "stars", or somethin. Kisses his freckles and his acne scars. Marcus probably calls Giannis "gianny!!" On the downlow or "hey, deer" or "beanpole" LMAO. Sometimes "prancer" or "big man" But for the public he does his 'GRANT.' tone but with "GIANNIS." instead to get his attention

Trae + John collins: I think they stick to their usual stupid nicknames like. Trae is IceTrae and john is The Baptist. Trae probably makes jokes about wanting John to wash his feet when they're high together. Trae calls John his "girlfriend" his "wifey" his "bae" you know whatever typical fuckboys use to make their tiktok gfs feel special! John is probably like "dude, im a guy." but can't help but feel his heart beating at the nicknames anyways because he is WEEK and STOOPID!!!! BUT OF COURSE they use the typical bros and dudes and mans!! John probably has to call trae "big man" or "chief" LMFAO. Trae literally does Not have this kinda energy but despite that... he probably really Really wants to be called d*ddy IM SORRY IM JUST TELLIN THE FACTS OKAY. ANYWAYS

Draymond+Swaggy P: swaggy p will sometimes not acknowledge dray if he does not call him swaggy p*nis at least Once a month. Nick could be hanging off a cliff on the verge of falling and Draymond would extend his hand out saying "NICK!! GRAB MY HAND!!!" And nick would just cross his arms and be like "refer to me with my Full Name, Draymond." and then plummet to the void. Draymond does Not call swaggy p swaggy p*nis tho, and will be actually really glad that he gets a moment of silence from Nick's deranged fuckboyness. Nick never wins the silent games with dray. He probably ends up trying to tug on his hoodie or vandalize dray's things to try and get his attention again. ANYWAYS nick tries to get away with calling dray anything really cheesy that he THINKS is hot. Like "hello my gorgeous hobgoblin" or "hey butterfly bae 🥰🥰" and dray tells him to shut up but he secretly enjoys them LMAO. Dray probably just calls nick "swaggy" or "nick". Bitch in the bedroomlolANYWAYS

Pat bev+Lou will: yes, I snuck them in here SHUDDUP my game MY rules!!! I think pat would be like... committing a crime .. kicking a fire hydrant and turning over cars or whatever, but then he'll hear lou call him "Patti !" and he'll suddenly stop and snuggle into his lap or somethin LMAO. Idk... I love.. the grandpas 🥰🥰 crazy man who has soft spot for destruction, crime, and lou will

Jeff teague+LeBron: LISTENLISTENLUS- OKAY. LISTEN. I love their relationship in like a FUNNY sense like.... bron really sweeped teague SO many times it's FUNNY. I like to think about them as the like... D-classed villain, who can only rob small children, declaring the strongest hero Ever as his arch nemesis... and the superhero not seeing them as a threat at ALL. LIKE WHEN TEAGUE SHOVED BRON ONCE and bron just got back up without a care LMAO. I think Teague stays up all night dreaming about one day finally like BEATING beating LeBron.. and when they meet on court he's like "your castle will be MINE as will be your CROWN and your CAVS, 'kiNg bRoN' " and LeBron just laughs, pats him on the back, and says, "okay Jeff lol" and then blows his team out by 50 points . AnNYWAYS yea i think teague comes up with a Lot of not pg13 nicknames for bron and bron just calls him Jeff

Robin +Kris Dunn: kris probably calls Robin "old man" and "twiggy" and "birdnest brain" and a thousand other teasing words, and he smirks up at him expecting a reaction, but Robin just laughs and calls him "peanut" and kris goes home and claws off the wallpaper to his bathroom walls

Myles+ Victor oladipo: myles is a nerd so he loves when vic calls him "myles Morales" because IT'S CLEVER. and hes a geek. Victor gets called Viccy or just Oladipo ! Sometimes thingamajig !!!

Keldon+Anthony Edwards: I JUST THINK THEIR PERSONALITIES WOULD BE GOOD TOGETJER anyways I think keldon would call him "eddy!!!" While Ant prefers to call keldon like "my shawty boo Thang 🥰🥰" LMAO

Russ and kd are the classic "only call each other by the last names until something serious comes up". like maybe they pass each other in the hall. Russ with his classic head down and beady eyes to the floor stance. They don't look at each other as they exchange a cold "Westbrook." "DURANT . " but then when conversations get heated or they start talking things over... Durant finally calls Russell "Russ.." and westbrook calls him "kd." Again .....

Fultz/Fox: they go by fultz and fox!!! Sometimes "Feds" and "Fox"!! I think because Fox is a weeb he calls Markelle the "vegeta" to his goku. The sasuke to his naruto etcetc!! While fultz smiles and thinks about gay astrology/ poetic analogies like " de'aaron.. the sun to my moon. The flame to my hearth. The key to my heart". and feigns petting Fox's past goku hair LMAO

demar/kyle: deebo calls Kyle Fat Ass. it's very romantic

[king-kira]

Valiant || Chap. 2 - The Accolade

Pairing: Eren/Fem!Reader

Genre/AU: Medieval AU, Royalty AU

Warnings: None

Words: 1,710

Available on: Ao3 & Quotev

Summary -> [Name] [Last], the only princess in a kingdom teetering on the brink of war. It's only a matter of time before danger rears its ugly head, so her father decides to assign her a personal knight, much to her dismay.

<- Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ->

Note: Happy reading! :)

All knights were to adhere to the code of conduct, especially chivalry. During the Accolade, a ceremony in which squires enter knighthood, knights swear to defend the weak and uphold virtues such as compassion, loyalty, generosity, and truthfulness until the day they die. Of course, the oath they swore made them sound like the kindest bunch in the kingdom. They weren't. Most became power-hungry and obsessed with the idea of climbing the ranks. The Knights Legion, or the Legion of Honour, if you will, was filled with lazy drunkards and corrupted souls. You had watched many knights change over the years. They start off young and naive, but the world changes them. Your father didn't care much for that. As long as they were strong and hid their true nature from the public eye, they were as good of knights as any. You just hoped that his ignorance wouldn't come back to bite him.

You stood adjacent to your father on the altar. He unsheathed his sword when several squires and knights entered the room. Usually, the Accolade would take place after a battle, when the squires had proven their strength and loyalty to the kingdom, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You watched in silence as, one by one, each squire kneeled before the king and swore the oath. The king would then dub each squire a knight with the tap of his sword on their shoulders. It was a repetitive ceremony, and you weren't quite sure why your father had insisted you be present. You guessed that it was because one of the knights would become your personal knight.

It came down to the last couple of knights, and for some reason, you were a bit disappointed that you hadn't seen the boy from the courtyard. He was a squire, was he not? He was training with the others yesterday. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the doors opened, revealing the boy you had been thinking about, behind him was a shorter man you recognized as Sir Ackerman. Speak of the devil, and he doth appear, you supposed. After a pregnant pause, the ceremony resumed, and the boy quietly shuffled closer to the altar.

The ceremony came to an end, and the newly dubbed knights filtered out of the room. "Sir Jaeger, stay here a moment," your father called out, returning his sword to its scabbard. You hesitated to leave the room, were you meant to stay? Your father, perceptive as always, turned to you.

"You as well, [Name]," he motioned for you to step down from the altar alongside him. Sir Jaeger nervously approached and kneeled in front of your father.

"Your highness," he addressed your father.

"I believe both Sir Ackerman and the instructor discussed this matter with you?" the king asked, to which Sir Jaeger only nodded. "Right, [Name], Sir Jaeger will be your personal knight. He must protect you and only you, no matter the cost." your father sure had a way of putting things grimly, you could feel your hands become clammy, and you couldn't imagine how nervous the knight kneeling before you was feeling. Unsure of what to say, you nodded, fiddling with a frilly piece of fabric that lined your dress. Your father gave you a look that you could only describe as stern before leaving the room.

Now it was just you and a stranger, a stranger that has to follow you around everywhere you go in case of the rare occurrence that you are attacked within your own home. You couldn't blame him, though; you doubted he wanted to follow you around every day.

"Ther- there's no reason to bow any longer," you stuttered, eyeing him as he kneeled. He hastily stood to his feet as if following a command. You felt your heart pang at the thought. He didn't seem to speak much. Is this how it's going to be? Was he going to remain silent and follow your every command? You supposed that's what a personal knight was meant to do, but it was a bit saddening to think about. You tried not to let your disappointment show, but he seemed like the perceptive type. When he spoke, it confirmed your suspicions.

"What's wrong, princess?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I- uh, I just got lost in thought," you explained with hesitation. "You need to need to get your gear from the armoury, don't you?" you asked upon further examination of the boy. He was clad in a pair of boots, trousers, and a green tunic. He nodded in response.

"Why don't you go receive your gear while I head to the library?" you suggested as you began to walk. Sir Jaeger followed a few steps behind you.

"I don't believe I'm allowed to leave your side during my shift, princess," he replied. Part of you wished he had forgotten the oath he had sworn minutes ago, it was a foolish wish, but you were a foolish girl wishing for a crumb of freedom.

"I wouldn't tell anyone," you stated simply as if you were bartering for an item or service of some sort.

"Uh, my apologies, but I don't fancy getting scolded my first day on the job," he let out an awkward chuckle.

"Well, you can't go without your armour. I suppose we'll just have to head over to the armoury together."

________

One thing not many people knew about the castle was its many secret passages. They were once used as escape routes if when castle came under siege. The kingdom has been at peace with neighbouring nations for decades until now, so your father had them sealed up when you were little, but not before you found out about the one in your bedroom. You hadn't unsealed it in years because you never needed to, but now that you had a personal knight waiting outside your door, you finally had a reason. You didn't consider yourself very mischievous, but your father brought it upon himself. You doubted the castle would be attacked anytime soon. The neighbouring nation would more than likely attack a fort on the outskirts first. It's with these thoughts in your mind that you decide to push aside your dresser as quietly as possible and peel back the floral wallpaper that covered a hatch. Crouching down, you opened the hatch and entered the small crawlspace. Further down was a more spacious tunnel that led to a staircase.

You kept one hand on the stone brick wall to guide yourself through the darkness. The stench of mould and mildew was pungent, and out of the corner of your eye, you see something scurry across the floor. Yeah, no one had been down here in years, and you had half the mind to turn around and go back to sleep. Alas, you proceeded down the stairs, careful not to trip. Finally, you reached the end of the narrow passage. You pushed a rickety wooden door open and lantern light filtered out the darkness.

The passage led to the underground dungeons. You hadn't been down here often but recognized it by the iron doors that lined the hallway. Your eyes scanned the area. Odd, there weren't any guards present. You guessed it was your lucky day.

__________

Alone, at last, you sat down at your usual spot by the courtyard. You reached for your book and opened it to the page where you had left off on. The usual sound of swords clashing was no longer present. You supposed it was because most of the squires were knighted yesterday.

"You're quite the troublemaker, aren't you?" a voice startled you, causing your body to jolt. You whipped your head around and came face to face, or rather face to helm, with Sir Jaeger. You eyed his armour. It was different from most low-ranking knights, more intricate, and if you had to guess, crafted from a stronger metal. Though, you suppose he wasn't low-ranking since he was assigned to protect you. Thinking about it now, why was he assigned to you? He was a squire only yesterday. You expected someone more experienced. Perhaps, his swordsmanship was just that excellent.

"If you keep this up, you'll get me in trouble," he said, breaking your train of thought. You took a moment to watch as he sat down beside you before speaking up. "You wouldn't get in trouble. I'd just tell my father that it was my fault," you said, shaking your head and turning your attention back to the book on your lap.

"Not sure that's how it works, princess," he murmured.

"How'd you find me anyway?" you decided to change the topic.

"Well, it was getting late, so I decided to check on you only to find that you weren't even there, and there was an open hatch in the wall," he explained. "I went through the passage, and I figured I'd check the courtyard since I've seen you here often," he finished. You gave a curt nod, letting the conversation lapse.

"What're you reading?" the boy inquired after a long pause. He leaned closer to take a peek at your book. You slammed it shut, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. "Love in Turmoil? Didn't take you for the romantic type," he laughed, and you huffed, giving him a shove.

"Yeah, so what?" you snapped back.

"Nothing wrong with it," the turquoise eyed boy raised his hands in defence.

"Right," you said, rolling your eyes.

"Look, uh- I know you're not too fond of the whole personal knight thing. I'm sorry, but once this whole 'on the brink of war' thing passes, things will go back to normal," he attempted to reassure you, and you began to feel a bit bad. You shouldn't be giving him such a hard time, but there's so much frustration boiling within you that has nowhere to go. You exhale and turn to face him.

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I just..." You paused to think of the right words. A wistful sigh slipped past your lips, and you turned your gaze heavenward. You watched as two birds soared across the sky, and that's when it happened. In an instant, the world around you began to crumble.

[stuck-in-this-mortal-form]

Children Of The Prophecy - pt. 4

Tw: mild Swearing, mild suffocating, stealing?

Summary: Jesse and her father visit a church

Next Masterlist

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Jesse followed the man through the castle's gloomy hallways. The ceiling was high, and so far away, she could barely make out its blurry outline.

The hallway in itself was about five meters wide and reminded her of a maze in its seemingly never-ending eternity. 

Every few meters, there seemed to be yet another tunnel-like corridor, branching out from the main one like a horribly tall tree.

The man was silent, unnaturally so, but then again, every single thing about him seemed strange and, for a lack of a better word, artificial. Jesse had already figured out that he wasn't human, but presumably demonic in nature. Despite being a demonology student, she couldn't figure out what exactly he was. Possibly an Upiór?

"Hey uh," Jesse picked up her pace, noticing she had stayed behind "what are you, exactly?"

If the man was surprised by how straightforward she was, he didn't show it. He didn't even turn around to look at her.

"The name's A'graeth" he said flatly, as if he was waiting for her to ask "Welcome to my castle"

There was something eerily familiar to the man, like he was an old friend of Jesse's. She, however, doubted that.

They finally stopped in front of a huge mahogany door with a golden handle. A'graeth unceremoniously opened it and entered the room. Jesse followed.

It looked like a nursery. The walls were covered in some nice, flower print wallpaper, with a giant window on the wall in front of them. Silky red curtains framed it nicely, cascading down à la  waterfall of blood. In front of the window was a rug, and on top of it stood a crib with a mobile hanging above it. It was made of five little birds, and some feathers. It looked handmade.

It was a pleasant surprise, considering she expected either a torture chamber or a dungeon.

"Come" he said, his voice still monotone

There was a rocking horse on the left, and some shelves on the right, which Jesse deemed unimportant.

She headed straight for the crib, and without hesitation slid her hand across its wooden frame. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes again she saw three people in the room with her. 

A man, dressed in a black dress shirt tucked into leather pants,  with a burgundy-ish camisole from the earlier mentioned material. He had knee-high boots, and a belt with a sword attached to it. His shoulders were covered by a dark cape that reached his ankles. His hair was black, shoulder length, and wavy, his eyes — dark, like the sky before a storm.

Next to him was a woman, with hair that reached her waist in a majestic cascade of fiery red curls. Her skin was the color of honey, and covered in hundreds of freckles. A tiara made of thin wire and pearls sat on the top of her head. 

Her small frame was encased in the emerald green silk dress she wore. It was floor length, with an off-shoulder neckline. Her arms were covered by see-through bell sleeves. Her slim neck was decorated by a delicate gold choker. She—just like the man—had a cape, but hers was made of gold-white fur.

She was holding something in her arms, and after a while Jesse realized it was a small child, probably a few months old, swaddled in a blanket made of a fabric in a similar color to her dress.

The woman was looking at the little child lovingly with her furiously green eyes, and humming quietly.

The man leaned over her shoulder, and, putting his arms around her, whispered: "She's beautiful, love" 

The woman smiled, keeping her eyes fixed on the  infant. "Yes, she is," she said "Our lī jen" 

The woman approached the crib, and gently placed the child in it, covering her with another blanket.

She turned to the man, still smiling 

"Hello?" Said Jesse, unsure if she wanted someone to answer her

The man abruptly turned his head in her direction, his face full of something she couldn't quite place. It was unsettling. 

For a second the whole room seemed to flicker out of existence. Then it reappeared for a short second, only to disappear yet again.

Jesse jumped, looking around, startled.

Everything was consumed by darkness so thick you could slice it with a knife. Jesse however did not have that privilege.

She turned around, scanning her surroundings. Soon she realized she could see a faint red glow, coming from a figure standing still. She slowly approached it, making sure to be as quiet as possible.

After further investigation the figure turned out to be the black-haired man. He was staring at her, his eyes suddenly looking empty, like he had no soul.

And that's when she realized who he was. A'graeth. Does that mean he had a family? She thought, What happened to them?

She felt a shiver creep up her spine. None of the people earlier seemed  to notice her, and the whole thing appeared to be just a projection of some sort. Up until A'graeth turned to her, looking as if he knew she was there, staring at them.

She stopped, dead in her tracks. This didn't seem like a good idea anymore. Not like she had any others.

Luckily—or, more likely, unluckily—for her, A'graeth reached out with his hand, and placed it on her forearm.

She felt the world disappear, all she could sense was cold, and the fact the air around her seemed to shake. 

It all lasted for less than a second, and then she was back in the nursery.

This time it looked awful. 

The wallpaper was torn, the curtains lay on the floor, ripped to shreds. The crib was scorched, the wood burned down almost completely. The rocking horse was thrown haphazardly across the floor, its insides torn out and laying in a heap next to it. 

The only thing that seemed relatively untouched was the mobile above the crib. 

Jesse approached it, and took one of the birds in her hand. Sure, the feathers started melting at the edges, but the rest looked fine.

She heard a noise behind her, and turned abruptly.

In the doorway, on the stained rug, stood A'graeth.

------

Hello, welcome to the land of shitty WiFi and broken Google docs.

Anyway, my school had started and I'll have to focus more on learning cuz it's the final year and tbh I'm not really happy with it.

Taglist: @heathenwhump (ask to be added/removed)