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myfictionaldreams · 5 months

Note

I have such a specific idea for poly marauders so please bare with me .

James and Sirius were out to a fancy party and they come home early to see reader and remus having sex in the kitchen , remus has her spread on the table while he fucks her and she arches her back and sees sirius through blurry vision and calls his name, remus doesn’t notice them so he thinks shes calling her other boyfriends name “ wrong boyfriend sweetheart “ so he fucks her harder until she calls his name “ there you go love”.

You could continue this however you would like Maybe james and Sirius join them. I also love the idea that after everything when they’re showering she reassure remus and says something like “ it’s hard to think of anything else when I’m around you , you’re all consuming “ and the boys agree THATS SO CUTE.

I’m so sorry that this is long and graphic.

Say My Name // Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader

A/N: Whoever you are, anon, I thank you for giving me this request because, holy shit, it has turned me (and Remus) absolutely feral, and I have no regrets.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, fluff, werewolf troupes, feral remus lupin, dom/sub undertones, possessive sex, size difference/kink (!), praise kink, dirty talk, self-confidence issues, gentle touching/kissing, rough oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, overstimulation, table sex, manhandling, multiple orgasms, crying, body worship, anxiety attack (nearly), restraints, blindfold, begging, aftercare :)))

Words: 5.7k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

“You both look so damn handsome!” you admire dreamily with a thick lace of sarcasm as you tighten the burgundy scarf around Sirius’ neck. The mischievous glint in those twinkling grey eyes brightened as he rolled them in jest, matching the doting smirk on his full lips. “Maybe you should forgo the leather jackets more often for the waistcoats”, you say with a lustful undertone to your words as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Hmm, you think so?” he asks, dipping his height ever so slightly so that he could press his lips to yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss that still managed to pull desire in your abdomen as you leaned in for more but whined as he stood back to full height and straightened the waistcoat you loved so very much.

From behind you at the entrance to the bathroom, James was attempting to knot his bowtie when he wondered, “Are you sure you both don’t want to come with us? We each can have a plus one, which means there’s room for two. We don’t mind being fashionably late”. Glancing over your shoulder, you took in his slick attire that also caused warmth to bloom beneath your cheeks. A simple black jacket shaped perfectly for his slim waist, a crisp white shirt beneath and a matching shade of burgundy to Sirus was the colour for his tie.

The matching colours were an idea of Remus’, who was lounging across the mammoth bed, his long legs stretched out beneath him with one ankle crossed over the other. He watched James intently, the corner of his eye twitching at the messy-haired Marauder's attempts to tie his bowtie.

Remus stood and approached him, batting away James’ fingers as he began to do the job for him. You watched them fondly before answering the unanswered question. “No, it’s ok, James. Remus and I have a lovely night filled with a romantic home-cooked meal and a fancy bottle of wine. Who knows where the night may take us? Might end in some lovely… hand holding”, you say with a simple shrug to your shoulders, returning to straightening the already pristine waistcoat of Sirius.

“Oh yeah? Some strong hand-holding, Moony, is that what you’ve got planned? You might need to up your game”, Sirius jokes under his breath as he watches your fingers closely with a dipped head.

Remus snorted, smiling to himself, knowing that your night would be filled with anything but hand-holding, especially as the hours ticked closer to the following day. It was approaching the full moon, not tomorrow but the next day, but that didn’t matter as the changes were already beginning to affect Remus, and it all started with his desire for possession.

The wolf in Remus took a keen liking to you, even from all those years ago when you met the Marauders on the train to Hogwarts. It was an obsession, a need that devoured him completely to be with you. It had been described to you like a mating. Remus’ wolf thought you were his mate; therefore, as the gap between Remus’ and the wolf’s mind thinned with the full moon, the desire would take hold of Remus. There was still the deep, adoring love that he held for James and Sirius, and thankfully, this stopped him from ever deeming them a threat against your love, but others? Well, that’s where the danger lay, and therefore, it was easier for everyone if you and Remus stayed in for the night rather than have a territorial wizard with werewolf anger in a room full of people.

“Remember to please be safe out there tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and for the love of Merlin, James, please don’t drink and fly again. I’m not having another incident like last time”.

“Yes, Mum”, James grumbles sarcastically as Sirius chuckles under his breath.

“I’ll make sure that Prongs is on his best behaviour”, Sirius reasons with you as his hands come to rest around your waist, pulling you ever so gently closer.

“Good”, you say promptly, whilst curling a piece of his long hair around your fingers before reaching up to kiss his lips with a fierce press. “You look so handsome tonight,” you try to praise him as your mouths are still kissing together.

“Don’t I always?” he responds cheekily, earning a half-hearted eye-roll as he eases away, swapping places with James so that he can say goodbye to Remus and James with you.

Your fingers automatically try to tangle through James’ hair, attempting to flatten out the messy strands, but after a couple of minutes of attempts, James tugs you by your wrists. “I don’t know why you even bother; you know my hair will just stay messy. Anyway, doesn’t it add to my roguish good looks?” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as he gives you a broad grin whilst kissing each of your palms.

Your fingers cup his freshly shaved cheeks, caressing the smooth skin as you say, “I hope you have fun tonight”, whilst leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him with as much vigour as you could hear from the groans across the room with Sirius and Remus.

James sighed into the kiss, one hand matching yours by resting along your cheek and the other on your lower back as his lips pecked across your face until hovering next to your ear. “If you need us to come back, just send a note as we taught you; two flicks of your fingers and it should disappear, and we’ll come back straight away”.

Nodding your head in understanding, James kissed your cheek quickly before standing up to his full height and looking over at the other two men. “Sirius, take your tongue from Moony’s mouth; we must go!”

You tried to stifle your laughter as the two men pulled away from each other with rosy cheeks and wet lips.

Sirius and James disappeared with a flurry of green fire through the flu network installed in your shared home's kitchen. Remus turned to you with a heartwarming smile as he asked, “Shall we put some music on and start with dinner, love?”

You left it in Remus’ capable hands to find suitable music on his record player, and it ended up being a medley of David Bowie, which you were always happy to listen to. The two of you worked in unison to cook a beautiful roast dinner, moving around one another without getting in the way but making sure to remain at arm's length. Lingering touches to arms or backs, sipping slowly on the bottle of wine as Remus sang along to Bowie under his breath. You’d told him he could sing louder as you wanted to hear him, but he simply smiled and kissed your cheek, like he was embarrassed at being caught, but it was a rare day where Remus Lupin was embarrassed about anything.

The dinner was beautifully cooked, and there was enough for many more people than just you and Remus. Soon enough, you were stuffed full, thankful for deciding to wear a loose dress today with your expanded stomach. Remus was still eating as you sat and slowly digested your food, talking idly about fond memories from Hogwarts and how your work had been this week. Just anything domestically happy that the two of you could as you shifted closer in your seat so that his large scarred palm could rest on your thigh and your fingers interlock over the back of his hands.

“It’s a rare time when it gets to be just the two of us”, Remus muses, his hand squeezing your fingers and thighs as he pushes away his empty plate, his eyes solely focused on you.

“It’s been nice. As much as I love having all four of us together, sometimes it’s hard to keep up and give each of you all my attention, so when it's just one-on-one, it feels so intimate, wouldn’t you agree?”

His eyes softened as he nodded, “I definitely agree. You look so beautiful tonight, by the way. Have I told you that?”

Warmth filled your cheeks as you looked away to the glass of wine in your other hand. Even after all these years, one small compliment from Remus felt like the world, and it wasn’t the first time he had said that tonight; he’d said it every other sentence, but that didn’t hinder the giddy feeling from spreading in your chest.

“You, Mr Lupin, are a smooth talker”, you say, drinking a sip of your wine, ignoring his growing smile. Placing the glass onto the table, you shifted closer to Remus, resting a hand on his chest as you realised how much time had passed over the night. “So pudding, what would you like? I think we have some ice cream in the freezer, or if you’re lucky, James would have left us a couple of slices of his mum’s cake from yesterday”.

Remus didn’t answer immediately as you realised he was just silently watching you with the beautiful twinkle back in his eye, a curve to his lips that you itched to caress with your thumb. But then, he shifted forward in his seat so you were only mere inches from your faces touching, and the soft flop of his mousey brown hair fell into his eyes. “You’re so pretty, Remus”, you admire and then hold back a giggle as his cheeks flare with colour at your compliment.

“Pretty and scarred”, he muttered in response, cupping your wrist and bringing your fingers to his lips so he could kiss them carefully.

Your automatic response was to shout at him. It wasn’t that he had said anything remotely negative, but you knew the self-conscious thoughts that laced his words that he rarely spoke but still thought. You wanted to remind him of the hundreds of times he had ever scolded you for making negative comments about yourself or any self-doubt. Still, if you did, you knew it would ruin the positive mood for the night, so you wanted to continue with words of affirmation.

Closing the gap between each other, you kissed the tip of his nose whilst cupping both cheeks, paying specific attention to the thick pink scar that ran down from his temple, over his brow and his cheek. “I love you, scars and all”.

Remus’ tension seemed to ease from his shoulders as he breathed lightly out of his nose, his face lowering to rest on your shoulder as you held him for a moment before he began to stand and offered a hand, “What about a dance m’lady, then I’ll find you something sweet to suck on for desert”.

Ignoring the innuendo, you grinned up at him, placing your hand into his much larger palm. James and Sirius had lessons growing up from their families on how to dance for special balls they were forced to attend. You and Remus, on the other hand, were utterly clueless, but this only added to the joy and laughter as you both clumsily tried not to step on the other's toes or twirl without knocking into furniture.

You’d laughed so hard that a stitch formed in your side, causing the vivid dance to settle into a light sway. Your head rested on Remus's shoulder as his cheek pressed against the top of your head, arms around your shoulder as he lightly sang the next Bowie song.

Everything was perfect, especially as his rough fingertips danced up the nape of your neck, carefully tipping your head back so that you were now staring up into his kind eyes, his lips no longer moving along to the lyrics as he licked them carefully, moistening them before dipping his head. The kiss was as gentle as his hands now cupping your face, and you wondered for a moment if you were lightheaded from holding your breath in anticipation or from the effects of having your boyfriend kissing you.

Remus was soft, lovely and perfect as he eased away to put a gap between your mouths, but only so that he could adjust his position by keeping one hand on your jaw and the other around your waist before taking your breath away once more. Instantly, your body rose to the tips of your toes to be closer to him and firm the kiss.

The breath you’d both been holding released, noses pressing into each other's cheeks as the warm air tickled your ears. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and as you relaxed into the kiss, many things seemed to happen at once.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed midnight, and the soft Remus you’d been carefully kissing and exploring with your lips was now firmly gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you whilst simultaneously stepping towards the table as you squealed in shock, desperately gripping his shoulders for support.

Plates and glasses smashed onto the floor as Remus shoved aside the lovely table setting so that there was a firm blank canvas for you to be led on.

“Woah, Remus, just give me a minute.” You try to reason with him to at least get your bearings. Having been standing up two seconds ago, you were now led on your back with your boyfriend having become frantic with his actions. His shoulders shook with restraint, and his eyes didn’t lift from the edge of your skirt as he reached for the material. Not only this, but the brightness in his eyes had one, replaced with sinful hunger.

“Need you-” he muttered with a gruffness that hadn’t been there moments ago.

This was why you’d decided to stay in. Sometimes, Remus would curl around your body with the need to simply just breathe you in and declare that you were his; he’d become somewhat feral.

The fire in your body scorched to life as the need seeped into your core. As lovely as it had been, seeing him like this just did something to you. You wanted him just as desperately.

Frantically, you tried to help him lift up your skirt, but he was in control, pushing the material and tearing it in places with his firm grip until your legs and underwear-covered pussy were revealed. For a moment, it looked like he was going to dribble as you tried to reach for him to tell him to take a breath and compose himself, but all you were able to do audibly was scream out, head tipping back as Remus devoured you.

The Marauder hadn’t even waited for your underwear to be removed before his mouth was on you, hands not-so-gently wrapping around your thighs to push your legs apart, the slippers you’d been wearing now flying off in different directions across the kitchen. It was like he’d not eaten a single thing all night with the way his lips and jaw moved against your most sensitive of areas.

The sensation was odd with the barrier of cotton in between your cunt and his mouth. All you had was the pressure, wetness beginning to soak through from his tongue and the overwhelming heat from his mouth. Remus moved hungrily, licking and caressing with his mouth as you lay with your arms gripping onto the edge of the table above your head.

“Rem-Remus! Merlin, please don’t stop!” you begged desperately, allowing your body to succumb to his touch. You couldn’t even open your eyes without feeling dizzy with the sensations of his body all over your lower half as he pressed his tongue firmly against your throbbing clit, circling it with intention.

The hands on your thighs pushed harder, giving his face more room as a deep groan burned from his chest as he needed more. Still, as you whimpered from him to not stop, he stayed in place, stimulating your clit over and over again until your body was tensing with the pulses of desire from your cunt as your orgasm erupted.

His motions continued through the waves of pleasure, and even after, he carried on with his devouring, even as you verged on the edge of becoming overstimulated from the rough material of your panties rubbing against your delicate area. Remus needed more, and he was ready to take it.

The pressure on the back of your thighs suddenly disappears as he drapes your legs over his shoulders, giving you a better angle now to reach down and run your shaky fingers through his soft hair.

With your eyes firmly closed, you hadn’t noticed that your underwear had been torn clean from your body, only noticing when there was no barrier between what you both wanted. Your back arched from the stimulation of him sucking on your bundle of nerves, making an obscenely wet noise as your juices and his saliva caused a heavenly mess.

Your legs had begun squeezing his face as you weren’t able to control your body, but he didn’t stop; he just simply continued to eat your pretty cunt. “Please….please Remus”, you continued to beg but unsure of what as you were thoroughly warm head to toe with the effects from your last orgasm, but his playful mouth knew just the right ways to keep you at the elevated bliss.

The thickness of his tongue pressed against your throbbing hole, delving as deep as he could go before curling it and exploring the warm softness of your cunt as the tip of his nose stimulated your clit.

It was intense, primarily as his large hands now rested on your abdomen, pushing down and forcing your hips to remain against the table so that he could remain in complete control of the stimulation to your body.

Clenching relentlessly around his tongue, your body couldn’t tell if it was calming down from an orgasm or having another. The overwhelming sensation caused tears to well in your eyes as the apples of your cheeks burned with heat. Everything was too much; even the clothes covering your torso felt claustrophobic as your nipples ached to be free.

“Ah!” you babbled, unable to even say his name as more intense waves of pleasure rocked from your cunt as it pulsed around his tongue. The tears escaped down your cheeks as you tried to gasp for air, your body finally slumping in exhaustion against the table as Remus began to stand from where he’d been on his knees for you.

Each of your legs was carefully eased from his shoulders to dangle off the edge of the wooden surface, not that you could keep them up anyway, as your entire body felt as if it was made of jelly.

“Did so good for me, Love. Taste so fucking good, wanna try?” he asked from where he now looked down at you, hovering only inches away from your face as his fingers wiped away the evidence of the tears. You nod quickly, opening your eyes for a split second to see Remus’ dark eyes and swollen, wet lips before they were pressing against yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth and allowing you the vulgar opportunity to taste your own juices from his mouth.

“My pretty girl tastes so good”, he admired, staring down at you, memorising every flicker of emotions on your face. You mewled at the compliment, nuzzling your face pathetically into his palm as he cradled your face. “What do you want? I want to hear you say it”.

His tone indicated that he was teasing, which was a rare attribute for Remus as he usually just liked to do whatever he had in mind, but when he was like this, wishing to get the very most from you as his werewolf subconscious began to flicker through his thoughts.

“You, I want you. Please!” you stress whilst trying to look up at him, fingers trembling at your side with the need to touch him somehow.

The corners of Remus’ lips tilted up as he smiled down at you, “Have I ever told you how much I love to hear you beg?”

Before you could respond, you were gasping as coolness licked over your chest as he’d swiped his wand down the centre of your clothing until it was falling off of your shoulders, and your body could be free from the confines. His eyes lowered, focused on your pebbled nipples as they begged for him to be touched, but he didn’t rush to them.

Instead, Remus began the long journey of exploring the rest of your body with firm kisses and licking with the flat of his tongue. He paid special attention to your neck, as he always did this close to the full moon as his sharp teeth grazed over your pulse point, the animalistic side of his begging to bite down and mark his girl, but he restrained, knowing it would be painful for you. The last time he’d done so, he’d had a right bollocking off of James and Sirius, who prattled on about how you weren’t his chew toy, even though you had insisted that it was ok.

Moving lower, Remus worshipped your breasts. He was licking the skin around the areola before drawing your nipple and some breast tissue into his mouth, sucking with enough force that the area swelled with the rush of blood. The fire in your core intensified as you gained enough energy to lift your hands and grip his shirt.

“I need you, Remus, please stop teasing me”, you beg, but all that earned in response was an approved grunt.

“Relax, and just let me kiss you”, he sniped with desire as you wanted to sass back but found yourself melting into the table instead. Each inch of your stomach, hips, legs, arms, everywhere he could reach in this position, he praised with his mouth until he was once again hovering above your lips. “All I can think about is you”, he admitted, his tone caught between hunger and pain as his thoughts were becoming too clouded by the wolf’s desire to be close to you.

Your fingers combed through his hair as you tried to sound as calming as possible, “I know, Remus, it’s ok. I’m right here. Take me”.

A shiver ran down his spine as he finally began to unbuckle his trousers, freeing his cock between your bodies as he rested on his elbows on either side of your face so that his face could nuzzle into your neck.

You took the honours of reaching between your legs, grasping his impressively hard cock, admiring the soft skin and veins that bulged as you pulled him closer to where you needed him most.

“Tell me you’re mine”, he begged as you directed his tip to your soaked hole.

Tilting your head so that you could kiss his cheek, you implored, “I’m yours Remus - FUCK!”

All you could do was curse and cling to him as, with one powerful thrust, the majority of his cock stretched into your pussy. You could never take his entire length unless it were through anal play, but that didn’t stop him trying as the pressure became overwhelming as he nudged against your cervix.

Your thighs trembled once more as he gave you time to adjust, sighing blissfully against your neck as if he had finally found what it was that he was looking for. However, as your cunt frantically fluttered around Remus as you adjusted to the intrusion, Remus began to rut his hips in short, snapping thrusts slowly.

You groaned at the sensation and found your hips meeting his until all restraint was gone, and Remus was fucking you hard and fast.

Pushing up on his hands so that he was looking down at you, Remus fucked you hard. The table beneath you groaned just as loudly as you were as it rocked against the floor, and for a split second, you hoped it wouldn’t suddenly collapse beneath you two.

Remus suddenly moved as if hearing your thoughts, widening his stance as he stood to his full height, hands on your thighs and bringing your body to the very edge of the table. In this position, he could fuck you with quick snaps of his hips. Your back arched in this new position, pleasure pouring into your soul.

However, a noise over the sound of the fucking caught your attention as the fire flickered with green flames, and you couldn’t help but gasp, “Sirius!” as he stepped out of the fire, followed closely by James.

Remus, still with his head hunched slightly from where he was watching you intently, growled at the name used, his gaze hardening on you as he leaned back until you looked into each other's eyes. “Wrong name, Sweetheart”, he demanded lowly, fucking into you with as power as he could, causing you to cry out and tense with the pleasure. “I only want my name coming out of your mouth, do you understand?”

“Yes, Remus! I’m sorry!” you plead with him as he fucks you harder.

“There you go, Love. See, it wasn’t so difficult, was it?” As he talks, he lifts his hands and covers your eyes so you can no longer look at Sirius or James as you’re plunged into darkness.

“Don’t be too hard on her, Moony”, James teases from somewhere across the room as you hear him and Sirius shuffling around but are unable to see what they are doing.

Remus grunts but doesn’t stop with his motions, making sure that your next orgasm is just as overwhelming and powerful as the others as your cunt clung to him for dear life, attempting to milk his balls with the powerful clenches but he didn’t stop fucking you all the way through your orgasm.

Having his hand over your eyes was a disorientating position to be in, especially as he would every so often kiss your cheek or neck, savouring your soft skin before moving away so that his momentum could continue.

A hiss echoed across the room from wherever your other two boyfriends currently were, and as another whimper sounded from what you assumed was Sirius, Remus then decided it would be a good time to completely pull out of your pussy, leaving you gaping and empty.

Before you could moan, more disorientation flowed through you as his hand was removed from your face, and your body was being manhandled so that you were now being turned over on the table until your front was pressed against the wood. With a gentle kick to your ankle, Remus made room between your legs for himself and fucked into you. He was even deeper in this angle, which you didn’t think was possible as his chest pressed against your back.

His and didn’t return to your face, allowing you to look at your other lovers. Sirius was currently sitting on James’ lap, both of their fancy clothes more dishevelled from earlier as the bowtie and scarf were off and the top buttons were undone. They stared intently at you and Remus as they touched one another. James was kissing the column of Sirius’ neck whilst his hands groped at the bulge at the front of his trousers. At the same time, Sirius was grinding his hips down on James, who you assumed had a matching bulge that was rubbing against Sirius’ arse.

“You’re mine, Love. Aren’t you? My pretty girl”, Remus whispered with deep penetrations of his cock into your cunt.

“Yes! I’m yours, Remus! You’re so deep”, you proclaim with a cry as you find yourself already wanting to peak and cum over his thick dick again. However, Remus knew you just as well as you knew yourself and could feel the tightening of your soft walls and stopped all thrusting as you sobbed with the beautiful feeling washing away.

His hand eased beneath your face, holding your jaw and forcing your sight away from your boyfriend's until it was tilted to look over your shoulder at Remus. “You only get to cum after them”, he demands before nipping your ear love with a sharp tug of his teeth.

“Moony, you really are tense, aren’t you” Sirius jokes breathlessly as he moves more eagerly against James, whose hand is now fully inside of his boyfriend's trousers, wanking him off in time with the movements.

Thankfully it didn’t take them long to cum, Sirius first with his head thrown back and trousers staining a dark colour in a little puddle. James then rutted up into Sirius a few minutes later, groaning and stilling his movements. Both breathed each other in deeply, lazily kissing and holding onto one another until your sudden gasp echoed around the room as Remus continued with his fucking.

Your head moved to drop onto the table as you accepted the fucking, but Remus’ hand remained beneath, cushioning your face from the hardness of the wooden table as his lips moved to the junction between your throat and shoulder.

With each thrust, Remus repeatedly grunted the possessive word, “Mine!” until it was all you could think about. Your orgasm nearly caused you to pass out with its intensity. Juices streamed from your cunt, dripping down your thighs as waves of clenching pleasure constricted around Remus’ cock until he was forcing as much of himself as he could into you, and thick seed spurted into you. The warmth was welcomed as it soothed your pussy from the inside out as it began to trickle down your thighs, mixing with your own juices.

You were half aware of your movements, more concerned with the fact that you couldn’t control the tremble and sobs as Remus pressed himself harder over your back, making you feel grounded and safe.

“Shh. Slowly breathe in and out for me. That’s it. Slowly breathe for me again, keep going, well done”, Remus encouraged for some time as you’d been close to a panic attack with the overstimulation, close to tipping into the submissive headspace that would have taken them a lot longer to draw you out of.

“It’s just… a lot”, you say shakily, eyes closed and absorbing every warmth he was willing to give you”.

“I know, I’ve got you. I’ve always got you”, he reassured calmly.

You’re exhausted, ready to fall asleep right there on the kitchen table as you whisper, “I wanna go to sleep”.

Remus kissed your naked shoulder, “After we clean you up, ok, Love?”

As Remus begins to stand, his half-hard cock slipping out of your well-used hole with a slurp and shudder from both of you, did James finally step forward whilst readjusting his softening cock in his trousers.

Squatting down next to you, his fingers tentatively caressed your cheek while keeping an eye on Remus behind you to ensure the action wouldn’t trigger him somehow. “You alright there?” James asked softly.

“Mmhm. Just a little sleepy”, you say whilst closing your eyes at the ticklish touch on your face.

Sirius stepped forward from behind James, raising his wand and pointing it to the destroyed rest of the kitchen mess, “I’ll clean up here, you guys look after her, and I’ll join you in the bathroom”.

Remus had to carry you to the bathroom as liquid drips flooded out of you and marked the direction you had been giving Sirius more to clean up. As this house was altered for the four of you, the shower was wide enough to provide you with Remus and James plenty of room to wash together.

You attempted to stand up on your own but ended up leaning heavily on Remus as James washed the remnants of the fucking from your body was skilled, careful fingers.

“You know I didn’t mean to say the wrong name, right? I just didn’t expect to see them standing there and-” you begin to explain with Remus, worried he’d been upset by you saying Sirius’s name earlier.

However, his lips quickly cut you off with a simple peck, “I know”.

Kissing his cheek several times, you mumbled against his skin, “It’s hard to think of anything else when I’m around you. You’re all consuming, Remus”.

Against your lips, you feel the heat radiating off of him in a quick burst of rare embarrassment as he actually blushed at your words.

“She’s right, Moony. Without you, there is no us without you”, James quips in a rare statement of sincerity.

A cough from the bathroom door catches all your attention as Sirius casually leans against the door frame, cheeks round with roast potato as he joins in with the Remus praising. “There’s a reason why we all argue every night to see who gets to be spooned by the magnificent Remus Lupin”.

Three of you chuckled before you asked, “Are you eating my leftovers?”

“What?” he says with a shrug, stepping further into the room and beginning to take off his clothing at last. “The food was scarce at the party, and Moony’s roasties are always so fucking good”.

You nod in agreement before looking up at Remus once more, who looks quite proud of himself for the flow of compliments coming his way. However, as you attempted to lean up onto your tip toes again to kiss his handsome face in some way, your knees decided they were finished holding up your way as you nearly collapsed to the floor, only stopping because of his strong arms wrapping around your waist.

“As much as I appreciate this little pep talk, I think we need to get someone to bed”.

Remus lay in the centre of the bed, where he rightfully deserved to be tonight with you on top of him, face resting on his chest and legs on either side of his hips as each of your hands held his. Sirius and James joined later, deciding they needed some extra alone time in the shower together, as the dry humping hadn’t entirely filled that horny spot for either of them.

You were asleep by the time both men crept into bed, resting either side of you and Remus with arms spooning around your back as the three shared a kiss goodnight. “How was your night?” Remus asked, looking between James and Sirius. “You’re both sober, so I’m assuming no mischief?”

“Oh, Moony, like we need alcohol to cause a riot. Why do you think we’re back so early?” Sirius declares whilst flicking out the laugh and curling in closer to the warmth of bodies as Remus chuckles into the darkness.

#poly!marauders #the marauders #marauders smut #james potter x reader #james potter smut #sirius black x reader #sirius black smut #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x reader #the marauders x reader #harry potter smut #hp smut #mine*

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reallyhatethiswebsite · 3 months

Text

Creature Comforts (Raphael x F!Tav)

Tav is a working girl at Sharess' Caress, and she's Raphael's favourite.

Soft smut, bath sex, mild body worship, mild touch starved Raphael, soft(ish) Raphael, mentions of prostitution

AO3

“The devil’s asking after you,” said Mamzell, holding a metal bucket of ice and a bottle of wine for Tav to take with a sly smile. “Paid in advance.”

“Of course he is,” sighed Tav fondly. Naturally the wine was the most expensive Sharess’ Caress had to offer. Rich and dry with a lingering, burning aftertaste; just like the devil who drank it. Tav climbed the stairs to his room was the usual warm anticipation bubbling in her belly that she’d come to expect by now when she met with him. Bad business, she knew, to be fond of a client – especially one so dangerous. Yet every time he asked for her, she went to him. It would come back to bite her one day, but Tav had always been a glutton for punishment.

Pushing open the door, his room smelled like the rose petals scattered on the ground, the heat of hot bath oils, and the ever-present undercurrent of smoke and fire he could never quite hide. Tav quietly shut the door behind her. He was in the bath, with the water up to his chest as he rested his arms on the bath’s rim, his head lolled back. He was facing away from her as she entered, but she didn’t doubt he was aware of her presence.

“You started without me,” she said, feigning disappointment, though she didn’t have to try very hard. Watching him carefully undress was always an enjoyable experience. Especially when he stared her down the entire time.

“The water was simply too tempting to resist,” he hummed. His delicious voice held the thickness of indulgence that deepened its cadence and set her blood alight beneath her skin. “Fret not, darling. I haven’t done your job for you.”

Tav laughed, well aware there was no chance of that happening. He was here to be pampered. She approached the bath, setting down the ice bucket. When the bottle clinked, the devil rolled his head so he could look at her. His cheek pressed against his bicep; a stray lock of hair escaped his otherwise immaculate coif. His big brown doe eyes were as arresting as ever, even with dark circles beneath them.

“Hello, sweetling,” he said.

“Hello, Raphael,” she murmured in reply. She cupped his face, stroked his refined jaw. He leaned in to her touch. He seemed more tired than usual. Tav wondered what kinds of infernal intricacies were going on to drain him so, then decided she’d rather not know. He wouldn’t tell her even if she asked. She wouldn’t ask; an unspoken rule. “Drink?”

“Please.”

Her fingertips dragged slowly across his chin as she walked away to fetch glasses. Raphael popped the cork and poured them both a generous amount of burgundy coloured, fruity scented wine. He took a deep draught. Tav watched the bob of his throat when he swallowed, supping on small sips herself. She liked the wine, but too much made her head spin. She needed to keep it clear around this devil. She put her glass down and sat on the bath’s rim, close to him. The silence was comfortable, charged. She knew this dance; they had performed it many times already. The water was incredibly hot when she dipped one hand in, to the point of discomfort, but that was alright. A puddle in her palm, she coasted it over one broad shoulder of his, liking the way droplets scattered down his tawny skin. She kneaded his muscle, memorising his soft exhale.

“Shall I wash your hair first?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Raphael handed her a small clay jug. She filled it with steaming murky water. “Close your eyes,” she said, waiting until he obeyed her, keeping his drink at safe distance, then she gently tipped the water over his head and neck. His hair darkened as it saturated; quite a fetching look, Tav thought. “Soap?”

“Mm.” He offered a block of dark red and umber that smelled of cherries and pepper. He always brought his own things from the Hells, something Tav privately found amusing. They were clearly pricey, better than even the highest quality luxuries that Sharess’ Caress offered. Of course Raphael would settle for no less, her Hell prince. The soap slid like liquid silk in Tav’s hands as she wet it and began to lather up the devil’s soft hair. He felt good beneath her hands; good to spoil. She coaxed tension from his temples, gently scratching her nails across his scalp in the way she knew he liked.

“Long day?” She asked.

“More prudent to say long month, I think,” he responded lazily.

“Ah. That’s a sentiment I definitely understand.” Using the jug again, she rinsed the soap from his head. “I finished the book you lent me, by the way.”

“What did you think of it? I’m curious. What’s the phrase? ‘Copper for your thoughts’?”

“A whole copper? Generous.” Raphael’s chuckle was barely more than a rumble. Tav nudged him to lean forward so she could start soaping his neck and shoulder blades. She was not ignorant to the way he pressed into her touch. “I liked the story, but I found it hard to feel sympathetic for the Count of Darkness the way the author probably wanted me to.”

The devil perked up, as he tended to do when discussions turned philosophical. “And why is that, little dove?”

Tav’s slippery fingertips trailed into the divots of his spine. “Difficult to root for someone who kidnaps and seduces a married woman because he feels like he’s entitled to her, with his only excuse being she may or may not be a reincarnation of his dead wife. No matter how charming he is.”

Raphael’s response was impassioned. “Is he not entitled to her? What of his passion, his love? His broken, lonely heart? Centuries of isolation he endured, his beloved so viciously stolen away from him, only to discover he may have a second chance at life with her again…why should he not reach for her?”

“She was already married, for a start. She loved her husband.”

The devil tutted. “None could know her or love her as the Count could.”

“Of course you’d say that. Poor Mr Harker would probably beg to differ.” Tav was more amused than anything. Raphael was responding exactly as she knew he would. “Well…I suppose the Count did have a nice castle. Real estate is in shambles these days, so Mina could have definitely done worse in that regard.”

“How pragmatic of you,” Raphael drawled. Tav laughed as she finished washing his back.

“I’m a simple whore in a chaotic world. It’s taught me to be pragmatic.” She stood and observed him for a moment. Wet, glistening tawny skin, honey-brown eyes smouldering, sharp jaw set. He was devastatingly beautiful.

“Have you no care for romance, Tav?” He asked, voice airy despite the weight behind his question. He drained the last of his wine and set his glass aside.

“I think you and I hold different definitions of romance.” They weren’t talking about the book anymore. She decided the conversation was over. “Shall I wash your front now?”

He didn’t answer for several seconds, expression unreadable. Tav wondered if he’d press the issue or not; he didn’t, perhaps too content or lethargic. “That depends. Are you going to join me?”

“Hm…” Tav pursed her lips, pretending to consider it. “I’m not sure. The perfume I’m wearing right now is quite expensive, you know.”

“I’ll buy you a dozen bottles, sweet dove,” he promised.

She had no doubt he meant it. She smiled, sliding out of her clothes. They fell into a pile at her feet. Raphael devoured her with his gaze as she stepped into the bath, opposite him. His eyes consumed one length of long, lithe leg at a time as she made herself comfortable, stretching out so her legs were either side of his hips, the soles of her feet resting against porcelain. The places where their bodies touched burned hotter than the water. He watched her in loaded silence as she settled, staring blatantly at the dusky peaks of her nipples and the pretty warm flush travelling across her cheeks, neck and chest. No one made her feel wanted quite like him.

Soap in hand again, she pulled his left leg across her lap, rubbing lather into his knee, shin, and the heavy defined muscle of his calf. Had she not felt the way he relaxed like melted butter, his deep sigh would have given away how much he was enjoying her touch. When he bent that leg so she could rub his ankle and foot, she caught a glimpse of another growing sign of his enjoyment amidst the sloshing soapy water. The sound he made when she pushed her thumbs into the arch of his foot made butterflies burst to life in her belly. He didn’t look away from her the entire time, eyes half-lidded. He wanted her to know what she was doing to him. What he was allowing her to do.

His other leg received the same treatment, but instead of moving to his gloriously thick thighs, Tav splayed her hands out on Raphael’s belly and slowly slid them up, ghosting the grooves of his abs and the trail of hair that disappeared below the water, then his sternum, resting her fingertips there for a second to feel the strong thumping of his heart. She circled his pecs; flicked her thumbs over his pebbled nipples. He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Ah…”

Unable to resist, Tav swallowed his gentle vocalisation with a kiss. He tasted of wine and smoke. His thin yet plush lips were like hot velvet against her mouth as he fiercely returned her kiss, coaxing her tongue out so he could suck on it. This time it was she who groaned, fingers curled, nails digging small crescents into his flesh. He brought her closer with one hand between her shoulder blades, his other squeezing her hip tight enough that she was sure she’d have finger-shaped bruises. Water spilled over the bath’s lip and onto the floor; the only sound besides the sticky smacks of their sloppy kisses. Like that, Tav could feel the entirety of his hard cock pressed between their stomachs. She wriggled a soapy hand down and squeezed it, tugging from root to tip. She bit at his mouth, greedily feasting on his gasp.

“Are you ready for me?” She whispered into the humid cavern behind his teeth.

“Always,” he growled.

With practised familiarity, Tav guided the head of Raphael’s drooling cock to her folds, swollen and slick despite the water. She teased them both, just a little, grinding against him enough so that his glans bumped her clit and felt the enticing heat of her entrance. She liked to see his pupils expand and eclipse the sweet brown of his irises like black holes before she sank onto him completely. He rested his forehead on hers as she worked him inside, grunting when he was fully sheathed. She gripped his biceps, he her hips, and they stared at each other; then she moved. Rolling her hips slow, lazy, enjoying the feeling of fullness and the way his cock nudged sensitive spots along her inner walls. His rutting was equally lazy, and it didn’t take long for them to find an easy rhythm. Her breasts slid over his soap-slick chest, jolting her entire body each time her nipples brushed his. It was good.

Raphael licked the seam of her lips, dotted scorching kisses across her chin, her jaw, the spot where her pulse thundered. She tilted her head and sighed when he sucked a mark there, that precious vulnerable place. “Be mine, Tav,” he purred darkly into her ear. Goosebumps erupted on her skin. “I would give you everything you wanted, every claim and castle, any luxury in life you desired. All you have to do is agree to be mine.”

“You can’t tempt me with contracts, Raphael,” sighed Tav, breathless as the pace and strength of his thrusts increased, changed to fit his mood. They were making a mess of the bath water now. “You know that.”

“Then what can I tempt you with?” An edge of frustration lingered in his voice. It showed itself in the rough way he swiped at her clit with two fingers, making her cry out and arch her back.

“Something…mmm, something you’re not ready to offer me.” In retaliation she leaned forward and bit his nipple. The overwhelming floral musk of soap in her mouth was worth the spitting curse he released, worth the flash of claws she felt digging into her flesh.

“Stubborn creature. You have yet to tell me what that means,” snarled her devil, fighting to regain control.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Their coupling grew frantic, a chasing of release, using each other’s bodies to find it. With Raphael ruthlessly fingering the stretch of her cunt around his cock, prodding the wired nub of her clit when he felt the urge, it was Tav who reached her climax first. The throbbing coil in her womb unfurled; she let her head fall back, mouth open, groaning out his name. He watched her ride her orgasm intently, the harsh clench of his teeth and wild desperation in his eyes giving away that he’d been waiting for her. For this. The fluttering squeeze of her walls milking his cock and the almost-reverent way her lips shaped the syllables of his name were too much; Raphael emptied deep inside her in spurts, jerky thrusts, and a strangled staccato groan. His rapture made for a truly handsome picture Faerun’s greatest artists could only dream of painting.

They basked in the afterglow for a while. Tav washed the lingering suds from him; he watched as she washed herself, cleaned his seed from her sex, his only contribution to the endeavour a hungry, possessive look of debauched satisfaction. She would smell like cherries for hours. Eventually he climbed out of the bath as Tav reclined, finally letting herself to finish her drink. He dried and dressed himself meticulously, off to go where devils went and do what devils did. Prim and orderly about his appearance despite the messy way he’d fucked her not long ago. Aloof and back to business despite the way he’d been so pliable beneath her hands. Tav was very fond of him indeed.

“Do you want your book back?” She asked him when he’d tightened his cufflinks.

“Keep it,” he replied, more refreshed and put together than he’d been when she arrived. “Perhaps one day you will read it again and your viewpoint will change.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed.

Raphael smiled at her then, just a small quirk of his lips, ambition and determination sparkling in his pretty, disarming eyes. She may have won this battle, but the war was far from over. “Ta-ta for now, little dove.”

He clicked his fingers and disappeared in a burst of fire and infernal magic. He’d be back soon; despite everything, Tav looked forward to it.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #nsft #smut #fanfic

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ecstacy-appleofmyeye · 3 months

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cabin 12//dionysus children headcanons

a/n: the hcs will be edited and updated as i come up with more of them

warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking weed

dionysus kids get the least elegant and most humiliating claiming ever.

they show up at camp and mr d's already claimed them, before trying to trick them into bringing him wine. when chiron comes in and stops them, mr d sends them away to their cabin.

it definitely feels weird knowing that their dad is a few meters away from them, when all their friends complain that they've never even seen their godly parents.

their hair is a burgundy/bronge colour, usually curly. for some their eyes seem purple in certain lighting, but they're most green or brown.

not very athletic. they prefer ditching training and just laying around, either at the strawberry fields or in the woods with the satyrs.

they like collecting grape vines and making ropes with them. for no particular reason, they just do it to keep their hands busy when they're bored.

a lot of dionysus kids have bipolar or bpd.

these kids can use mania better than others, tho it came with the expense of their own health.

they like hanging out with the demeter cabin at the strawberry fields.

they love junk food.

they also can't keep their cabin clean to save their lives. on inspection days they just shove everything under or in their closet and call it a day. the next day it's worse.

dionysus kids either love or hate drinking wine. some find it the best alcoholic beverage and others think it's disgusting (but they drink other stuff).

a common misconception is that dionysus kids are irresponsible alcoholics when in reality they rarely drink. but when they do drink, they consume gallons of alcohol.

some get easily drunk and the rest of their siblings tease them for it.

some of the older siblings smoke weed with demeter kids.

they all have weird hobbies or small collections (one of the reasons why their cabin is always so clustered)

(another reason is that they're lazy as fuck and can't bother cleaning up if it's gonna get dirty again anyway)

at the back of their cabin is a watermelon garden. it's been there for decades, though no one knows who started it, and they keep it for the sake of keeping it.

dionysus kids are very good with woodworking and some with carpentry. im sure there's at least one shelf dedicated to their works.

they are very proud ppl. not like ares kids, or to the point of being arrogant and self-centred.

they're the second cabin with the most queer kids (I think that dionysus was said to be the protector of trans and intersex kids).

dionysus kids are those weird kids at the playground that would look at you straight into your soul and eat dirt or sand without breaking eye contact.

they often get compared to foxes and crows.

their motto is (along with apollo kids) go big or go home.

they never go home (i dont even think they have one)

always prepared for every holiday. and i mean every holiday.

they had a pet snake they named Snoodle but they got found out and they had to leave it out in wild 😔

it's still roaming in the forest and it became a (sort of) cryptid.

#the-tower's-archive #percy jackson #dionysus cabin #dionysus cabin headcanons #cabin headcanons

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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Hi Jackie! I was really inspired by your last fic and was hoping to make some art for it, so I had a few questions if that’s cool 👀 I was wondering what zivo looks like to you + what the aliens species as a whole look like, and what lances dress looks like/colour!!💙

oh my GOD i would love that so much. please please please i can’t wait to see it.

for sivo:

- i didn’t actually plan him too much tbh. he’s elderly, maybe 65-70, and he’s very kind-looking. lots of wrinkles and smile lines.

- he knows how to DRESS. and his dress is very like. eric from the animated little mermaid (and maybe the live action? i’m not sure i haven’t had the chance to see it!)?? only with a black coat instead of a white maybe (but it’s honestly up to you):

- in terms of like physical features, i honestly didn’t think too much into it. the kind of guy who knows what he’s doing and knows when to step back. whomever that looks like to you

now for lance’s dress, i have an idea for THAT you best believe.

dress style/cut:

- it’s in kind of a dark, wine-red (NOT burgundy).

his hair is curly and his eyes are brown obvi

- he is — gasp — wearing a gold ring on his fourth finger, small hoop earrings, but any other jewellery is up to you tbh

anything else is rly ur prerogative!! i’m super pumped to see this and also i am so grateful for an excuse to talk about the dress. in case anyone was wondering, if i talk about outfits in literally any of my fics i am begging for you to ask me about them <333

#i have had this pic saved.#for so long.#also the dress is from gowneyedgirl on instagram and you should totally check her out!!!!#ask #longpost #?

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starlitsilvereyes · 1 year

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Help Me Hold Onto You

Written for @microficmay’s Prompts: Shatter (Day 6), Fate (Day 8), & Tangible (Day 27); also inspired by The Archer by Taylor Swift | Rating: T | Warnings: Offscreen One Night Stand, Angst, Pining, Unhappy Ending | Read on Ao3

The air is salty and smells like the sea as Draco peers over the balcony, watching children laugh and play along the cobblestone street. His skin sweats from perspiration as the sun splashes everything golden–summers in the South of France always remind him of the distant memory of tanned skin against his, soft lips against his neck, and calloused hands on his hips.

He is certain that if he closed his eyes for long enough, he'd be able to feel him again, even just for a moment, even just for a glimpse of time.

So he doesn't.

By the time he nearly finishes his iced coffee, the man on his bed has woken up. Draco didn't dare look as the man collected his clothes from the floor–this is the first time Draco's let anyone sleep in his bed until the afternoon. It was the same pattern every weekend: Draco would find a man at the bar, and after a few drinks he'd take them home. They'd usually be gone by the morning, and Draco would go back to sleep until the other side of the bed is cold all over again and the sunlight seeps through his bedroom window.

The man cleared his throat, and Draco finally took that as his cue to face him.

"Good afternoon." Draco greets. "Fancy a cup?"

The man shakes his head–the tightly curled strands going in every direction because of the humidity. "I'm good, thanks. I had a great time last night."

Draco gives him a tight smile, looking away as he tightens the ribbon of his robes. He strides across his apartment towards the front door, avoiding conversation with the man who looks just a tad bit too much like him.

"Look, I rarely do this, but–I was wondering if you'd like to see each other again." The man looks too confident–too sure that Draco would say yes.

"I'm actually not looking for anything serious," Draco replies, clutching the handle of the door so tightly that his palm has started sweating. "I had a good time, though. Thank you."

"Are you sure? Because I wouldn't–"

"Yes, I am quite sure," Draco says, a little more firmly this time. "Do you mind?"

"Right." The man mumbles, a defeated look flashing across his face as he walks out the door. Draco watches him walk away, down the hall, and watches him again at the balcony until he was too far away for Draco to see.

Draco's heart aches just a little–not because of the man whose name he can't even decipher but because of the memories flashing across his mind every time he closes his eyes.

It's been seven years, yet Draco remains looking for him in strangers' eyes and would turn his head around at the whiff of cigarette smoke and mint toothpaste.

He shakes his head and tries not to blink too much as he looks at the ocean in the near distance, deciding he'd go for a swim for the afternoon just to clear his head.

The sand is warm beneath Draco's feet, the sun of the golden hour just warm enough for his skin that's been longing for his touch. The water is cool against his body, washing away the marks of the man from last night.

Draco swims until the sun kisses the horizon, and the sky is a vast painting splashed with oranges, purples, and pinks. This side of the beach remains deserted aside from a young mother chasing her child in the far distance. The child's laughter echoes in the air, and a melancholic smile plays upon Draco's lips as he remembers his–their dream of having children of their own.

It was perhaps the last time Draco has dreamt of anything more than surviving the War.

Dinner is quiet and a little lonely (if Draco admits it) as dusk settles and engulfs the once colourful sunset now replaced with the faint twinkle of stars. The white wine tastes of citrus against his tongue as his nose fills with the scent of freshly cut grass. At the last sip of his drink, a flash of dark burgundy hair appears in his line of sight.

Draco's breath catches in his throat, coughing as the last bit of wine goes down the wrong pipe.

The man turns around and the air shifts between them, engulfing time as silver eyes meet forest green. Draco mirrors Harry's expression, lips hung open slightly in surprise. Draco can hear his own heartbeat ringing in his ears and he has to blink a little too many times and grasp the empty wineglass in his hand to ground himself.

With little thought, Draco pushes his chair back and stands up, wineglass still in hand and eyes never leaving Harry's.

There are so many things Draco wants to say–too many conversations they both left unsaid that it almost feels too much. Like the world is dissolving around Draco and all that's left of it will be Harry.

Draco dares to take a step closer–Harry doesn't move but Draco can't bring himself to care. All that matters is that Harry's here–in the same place as him, so close and tangible and real–after years of longing.

And just like all of what's left of Draco's dreams, his entire world shatters when another man–blond and lean and too tall for Harry–wraps his hands around Harry's waist and kisses his temple.

Harry's smile never reaches his eyes, but he takes his gaze away from Draco to look at the man. Draco's chest aches at the sight of them, even when the man lets go of Harry to disappear to the other side of the restaurant. The sickening familiarity of everything that is Harry piles up in Draco's throat and suddenly, Draco's dizzy with anxiousness and nauseous with fear.

He puts down the wineglass on the table before he could break it and leaves some cash on his plate, not bothering to count it.

Draco tries to walk as fast as he can past Harry, avoiding any form of eye contact, but a calloused hand wraps around his wrist all too quickly and suddenly, Draco's trapped and entranced by the sight of Harry's face illuminated by the golden light emitting from the fairy lights that hung at the door of the small restaurant.

"Draco." His name sounds like poetry and sin against Harry's tongue, like Harry shouldn't be saying it at all, not when Harry is with another man.

Harry doesn't let go of Draco's wrist even when Draco turns to face him. "Potter." Draco echoes.

"I–" Harry licks his lips and scans Draco's face and a flicker of false hope in Draco's mind tells him that maybe Harry has been looking and longing for him too. "How are you?"

The sickening feeling of familiarity creeps within Draco. Harry must've noticed, because a crestfallen expression flashes across his face, mirroring Draco's own.

"I'm…" Draco stutters. How is he? No one has asked him that in a very, very long time, the question almost feels impossible to answer. Who has he become since he lost Harry?

Before Draco can finish his answer, the bloke Harry's with is back–the warmth in his expression in the juxtaposition of Draco's and Harry's.

"They've got a table for us at the–" The blond stops and glances at Harry's hand still holding Draco's wrist.

Harry lets go.

The ghost of his touch almost burns Draco, and he has to fight the urge to clutch his wrist to his chest, to desperately hold on to what's left of the warmth Harry's skin left on his.

"Arden," Harry says, startled. "This is–"

"Draco Malfoy." Draco holds his hand out against his will. "Harry's… old friend." The word lover is at the tip of Draco's tongue. He wants to say it, wants to scream it into the world and out of the void until his lungs hurt. The only thing that's stopping him is the sight of Arden arm wrapping around Harry’s waist.

Arden shakes his hand once. His hands are soft and bony. "Arden Luxe. Harry's fiancé."

Draco's heart breaks a little more. He forces his gaze upon Harry at the same time Harry looks away.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Draco. But it seems Harry and I must head to our dinner reservation," Arden says, as though to interrupt Draco from looking at Harry. Draco doesn't let him.

He keeps looking at Harry, waiting, searching for a sign that this must be a sick joke and that he's never stopped loving Draco after all these years. But Harry looks everywhere–at the sky, at his feet, at Arden–but Draco.

At the risk of breaking down in front of the newly engaged couple, Draco turns around without a word. But before he can walk away, Harry once again reaches for his hand.

Draco catches his breath, a glimmer of hope blazing within him.

"Goodbye, Draco," Harry mumbles, shattering Draco’s heart even more before looking away and letting go of his hand once again.

Draco remains frozen in time, watching as Harry walks away with his new lover, hand in hand as though Harry has never once searched for Draco's hand in strangers as did Draco.

The poets say one might love the right person at the wrong time. Draco doesn’t really know what to believe–but he knows Harry all too well and Harry knows him all too well once upon a time, on the brink of the war and the edge of life and death, Harry wasn't always the wrong person.

Draco never could have imagined accepting his fate, but as the first raindrop touches his cheek, he realises he will have to accept being Harry's old friend—even if it is all a lie—despite the fact that they were never friends but rather constant enemies and occasionally lovers.

So, on the walk home, Draco keeps convincing himself that he and Harry never happened. That it was too good to be true, and that it was merely a dream of his. That way, he won't have to live with the guilt of knowing Harry once loved him too.

☕

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huntershowl · 13 days

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GET TO KNOW THE MUN.

what's your phone wallpaper: its like a moody dark academia library

last song you listened to: the wanting comes in waves/repaid by the decemberists <3 it's on the playlist for seph's main antag.

currenly reading: the traitor baru cormorant

last movie: ummm i think it was a really shitty lifetime movie called Amish Stud

what are you wearing right now?: workout shorts and a cuteass lil crop top. hair bow. pearl headband.

how tall are you?: 5'9!

piercings / tattoos?: two tattoos: a spiderlily on my ankle for seph, and a stylized rendering of hellhound (skull, smoky hair) on my right shoulder blade

glasses / contacts: mostly contacts, but glasses if i run out.

last thing you ate?: ice cream!! caramel w/ hot fudge and banana slices =w=

favourite colour: sage green, stormy blue-gray, phthalo green, creamy offwhite, cool-toned dark red (wine, burgundy, pomegranate)

current obsession: points at the muse on this blog. fuckin creature and her antagonist have haunted my every waking thought

do you have a crush right now?: im always crushing on my partner of 5 years 💖

favourite fictional character: ooh. elizabeth bioshock (go figure), mizu blueeyesamurai (go figure x2), sophie howlsmovingcastle, ashitaka princessmononoke, palamedes lockedtomb, shadow americangods, bakugo & todoroki myhero, ravus finalfantasy, ignis finalfantasy, noctis finalfantasy, kozlowski ameliaproject, ummmmmmmm god idk this is a solid list tho

last place you travelled: out to CA where my ma lives

tagged by: thiefed from @innerwar tagging: (POINTING DIRECTLY INTO THE SCREEN) also @tewwor

#>> out.#>> dash games.

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elvensixpm · 28 days

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[Evander and Acacia] — Meeting At Ry'finch Manor

In which Evander is drowning in preparations for his Empire's Founding Day, and in his exhaustion, proposes a ridiculous offer to Acacia Merrowe.

3,168 words

The red sun bleeds into the coming night, painting the skies a smattering of blues and soft pinks. As the day fades, the usual everyday commotion goes along with it. Even the usual debauchery in Ry’finch port has mellowed, both sailors, citizen and pirate alike choosing to settle in for the night.

Things are quiet in the Ry'finch manor. All its servants have been dismissed for the day— excused to rest in preparation for the Empire's founding day celebration.

Evander Knight does not rest. Well— he wants to. It's just that a certain irritating pirate captain has been holding him up.

A red-haired woman sits languidly on a plush armchair, lazily rolling a silver coin between her claw-like fingers. The collar of her billowy shirt is unbuttoned, her neck decorated with precious rows of jewelled necklaces and stringed pearls. She makes no effort to be cordial, choosing to prop her legs up on the wooden table.

Evander sits opposite her, his eyes shut as if he were asleep. His ponytail is loosened slightly, allowing his white hair to spill over his shoulders. The days leading up to Winterne founding day always exhausted him.

Both of them had lapsed into this comfortable silence a while back, after several hours of heated arguments. Firstly it was about the captain and her crew disrupting the public with their business marketing stunts, then about a rumour that she was aiding in the Seiphan revolution— then when they had nothing else to argue about, the pair started bickering about their personal grievances towards each other. By the end of their quarrelling, both parties were exhausted, and the tea Evander prepared had already gone cold.

"I think I've overstayed my visit, Evander." Acacia smiles, flicking the coin in his direction. His eyes flutter open as it clinks against the teacup saucer.

She stands up and brushes the non-existent dust off her trousers. "Unless you can make an offer sweet enough to make me stay, I'll be taking my leave now."

Evander thinks about it for a bit. He isn't going to allow her to leave without coming to an agreement. "What do you need?" He asks slowly as he stands— gloved hand brushing against the table.

She eyes him closely, then shrugs. Evander knows she was in no way lacking monetarily, if he were to offer her money and jewels, she would surely laugh in his face.

She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed as she waits for his response.

"Perhaps I don't need anything," she laughs. Evander shivers, her laugh never failed to make him tremble. "Maybe I just like how you are such a threat to me."

She stepped closer, blocking his escape from the nearest exit. "But, I do need something from you." Her hand brushes against his fingers ever so slightly, and he breathes in slowly as she pushes him down— and he sits again; looking up at Acacia as she grins down at him. Toying with him.

What was stopping him from arresting her now? What force was strong enough to hold him back from unsheathing his sword and holding the blade against her neck?

Evander did not falter against her cold, grey gaze. Eyes the same colour as steel, masking her incorrigible and turbulent nature. He did, however, fail to suppress a shudder as she traced the signet ring on his finger.

"Maybe need isn't the right word," she whispers, rolling the ring around in her palm. Wait, when did she—

"I'm a pirate. I steal. I don't need anything when bare necessities can just be stolen." She lifts his hand up and puts the ring back onto his finger. Her fingers are long and slender, with sharp fingernails painted a deep burgundy.

"I want something from you."

She tilts her head, brushing away the wine-red strands that fall on her face. A knowing smile is etched on her painted lips.

"The question is, oh dear Evander," she drawls. "What could I possibly want from you?"

Silence. Evander felt that his face was very hot, and his breathing was too loud. He couldn't think of an answer in a situation like this, so he decided to blurt out the very first thing that came to mind.

"Do you want me?"

His voice was quiet as he said that, a whisper almost. It was meant to be a statement uttered under his breath, confidential to him and his pathetic heart only. It should have never escaped the confines of his own mind— but it did.

It did, and he was terrified of the consequences it would bring.

Acacia blinks, and it was like the mounting tension suddenly blipped out of existence from the sheer ridiculousness of his offer. If he were to look closely, he would've seen how close she was to snorting.

He wants to bury his head in his hands and laugh. Why were those the first words he could think of? If Evander wasn't already disoriented by Acacia's question, his mind was certainly puzzled by those words that just came out of his own traitorous mouth.

No. He had to salvage whatever little pride he had left.

"I mean— do you want me..." he stammers. "— to take you out to the capital?"

Oh my god. If he could, he would've taken Acacia's pistol out of her holster and shot himself in the head.

"So," she starts. "You want to take me out to the capital. On a date?" A smile tugs on her lips as she savours the horrified look on his face.

"No! No, no no— I meant take you out at the capital." He makes a slicing motion with his finger to his neck, then buries his face in his hands, letting out an exasperated groan. "... I would not be against a date with you."

Acacia's face contorts for a second like she was about to burst out into laughter, but then she looks to the side, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

Evander shakes his head, his cheeks a pleasant shade of pink. It stood out, especially against his pale skin and ivory hair— she was quite fond of him when he was flustered. "My words came out wrong. Apologies."

She snorts, finally unable to contain her amusement any longer. "Don't try and cover it up now!" She tilts her head back and laughs, choking back her tears.

"I'm not good at bargaining."

Acacia waves him off, sliding back into the chair opposite him and crossing one leg above the other.

"Hm, that statement is a bit debatable, don't you think?" She fishes out a small piece of paper from her pocket and slides it over to him. "I'll entertain you... For now."

"You accept my offer?" Evander asks, mouth agape. He quickly folds the paper and tucks it away neatly in his pocket. He'd have to assign more work to his aides, then. "Of the erm— date, of course. We can hold off on your execution for a bit."

Acacia giggles. "You've got a real honeyed tongue, Evander." She leans in close, so close in fact he could breathe in the scent of her clean soap and the lingering smell of the ocean on her skin. Up close, her eyes were even more striking— pure steel; like angry storm clouds. "You know what could sweeten the deal even more?"

"Tell me," he said quickly. For some reason unknown to him, his heart beat faster than usual.

"A kiss." Her fingers trace his, and he intertwines them together without much thought. Her voice was low and calm, yet there is a hint of softness to its usual edge. "To seal the deal. May I?"

Evander had never heard of using kisses as a means to close an agreement before— maybe it was a local thing, but he nodded anyway. "You — you may."

His eyes flutter shut, and his breathing slows in anticipation. Acacia moves several strands of his white hair and tucks them neatly behind his ear. When she leans down, he gently steadies her with his left hand, careful not to let it stray any further than strictly necessary.

Acacia Merrowe cannot deny how striking he looked in the light; the golden rays bouncing off reminded him of the marble statues she'd seen in her travels. She tilts his chin upwards, amused when he stills at her touch. She took note of the small, unnoticeable details of his face as she swipes her thumb delicately across his jaw.

She places a kiss on his cheek, right on the corner of his lips. The touch was soft— tender almost, but enough to leave Evander's skin shivering in its wake. A faint red stain is all that is left when she pulls away.

Evander's eyes shoot open almost instantly, the darks of his green eyes dilated and full of treacherous emotion— blown open so wide that they are more black than green. He is mostly bewildered— puzzled at the fact she'd kissed him and he'd let it happen. Another part of him felt oddly pleased, and he suppressed the urge to voice that thought.

If he did, what would she do? Kiss him again? Surely not.

He snaps himself back to reality. "R—Right," he coughs, letting go of Acacia's waist— his entire body feels like it is alight with fever; he feels too warm. She settles back into the chair opposite him and watches as he adjusts his cravat, loosening it slightly so she can see the bare patch of unmarred skin beneath it. "So, that's it for the seal? You don't need a stamp... Or an official letter?"

"As dutiful as you are, Evander, writing a report to your superiors on how you offered yourself to me is a bit extreme, isn't it?" She seems enthralled at the idea, but waves it off. "Maybe next time," she says wistfully.

"Right," Evander says, biting down on his tongue. They wouldn't let him live that down if he told them. He leans in close, dropping his voice down to a whisper. "We'll just keep it our little secret, then." He smiles mischievously, bringing a finger up to his lips.

Him smiling was enough to catch Acacia by surprise— Evander hardly ever smiled, and if he did, it would be because he was irritated or being sarcastic. This was neither of those things, and it made him look more boyish and carefree.

It was a nice look on him.

"I'll see myself out now." She grins, fishing out a handkerchief from her pockets and throwing it on his lap. "Make sure to wipe that off you, lest your co-workers think you were fraternising with the enemy." She winks. "Or don't. I'd hardly mind."

Evander rises from his seat, stuffing the handkerchief into his breast pocket. He takes her tricorn hat from off the rack and offers her his arm. "I'll escort you out."

"Charming, but there's no need." She dismisses him with a flick of her wrist, but takes the hat from him. "You almost fell asleep a while back— if I hadn't known you were exhausted from founding day preparations, I would've thought you found me boring and taken great offence."

"Rest," she says sternly, patting him on the shoulder. "Or I'll knock you out and tuck you in myself."

Evander ignored the blatant threat towards his life, but made a mental note to add 'threatening regicide' to Acacia's list of crimes.

"Thank you for your cooperation today, Acacia." He utters her name slowly, savouring the way the foreign syllables rolled on his tongue. He escorts her to the door; bowing his head when they reach the wooden arch. "Have a good night."

He pauses, and the warm glow of his office fireplace flickers in his eyes. His voice is soft and tender; a glimpse of the man Acacia hardly ever sees. "If you need me— I'll be here. Just knock on the door."

She raised an eyebrow. "Not going home to spend the holidays with your family?" She'd always thought him to be a family oriented fellow— what with the picture of his three young sons in the locket he carries on a chain.

He shakes his head, face fitted with an unreadable expression as he stares down at the wooden floor. "I—... no, I can not. I am… too busy."

For a second, his seemingly collected demeanour wavers and his green eyes fill with a type of sorrow she'd never seen before. Sadness looked… unfavourable on him.

She punches his shoulder lightly as she steps across the threshold. "Listen," she orders sternly, pulling his cravat down so he stands face-to-face with her. "When you finish with your tasks, come find me."

He tenses at the sudden action, but relaxed when he realised she wasn't going to harm him. "What for?" He asks, a slight pink to his cheeks as he noticed how close they were. She eases the grip on his cravat.

A wicked grin replaces her previous look. She tips her hat. "Reasons that may or may not be self-indulgent for us both." Her voice is teasing and light. She pinches his cheek when he frowns. "What? You'll get some fun out of it, too!"

The definition of fun for her would probably be running his pockets dry, but he nods anyway.

"Things still need to be sorted out— it'll probably take a while." He glances disappointedly at the stack of papers on his desk. Evander wanted a break, but he couldn't afford to keep dallying his tasks to entertain Acacia. He sighs. "I'll see what I can do." He said finally, clasping his hands together.

The pair stood in comfortable silence for a while. Acacia opened her mouth to speak, but as if on cue, a draft blew towards them, and she shivered. When he noticed this, he unbuttoned his suit coat and draped it around her shoulders, tugging it snugly at the front so that it wouldn't slip off.

It looked strange, the contrast between her and the uniform coat.

"If I'd known how comfortable this was, I'd have stolen it from you sooner." She mumbles, eyes widening as she traced the gold embellishments on the sleeves. He knew Acacia loved shiny things— there was always a twinkle in her eyes whenever she spotted a piece of finery. It was a tiny crack in her usual persona, and served to remind Evander that she too had other interests besides tormenting him.

"It gets colder at night." He clasps the top buttons together, his fingers brushing slightly against the skin of her neck. "You can return it the next time we meet."

He hopes she would return it; it is his favourite jacket after all. Then again, it didn't look half bad on her.

She nods, then glances up at the dark sky— her mouth opening slightly into a small ‘o’. "Look at that. I didn't notice how much time had gone by." She twists a stray lock of hair around her finger. "What a shame. I'd accompany you for the night if I could— but alas, I have my crew to attend to."

Her voice was low and honey-like, her words carefully selected so he could interpret it however he wished. Her gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips before looking away.

"You should go." Evander was no fool. This was a business meeting— nothing more, he reminded himself. His heart throbs at that notion, but it was the undeniable truth.

Acacia frowns slightly, but then snickers. "Aww, don't go missing me already now," she laughs, tossing her wine-red hair over her shoulders. "How will you cope when we finally raise our blades against each other?"

She turns her back towards him and steps out the door, giving him no time to answer her question. Which was good, because he wouldn't have had a good enough answer anyway. He watches as she extends a hand towards the sky.

A singular snowflake lands gently in her palm, melting away before she can crush it with her hand. She looks up towards the sky. For a second, she looked truly at rest, as if the snow had appeased her unrelenting nature.

The first snow of Ry'finch was always a sight to behold. It was a sign that things were going to change for the better.

"Happy founding day, Evander." Her lips curl upwards, and she is back to normal in an instant. She gives him a final wave and walks away from him— heels crunching beneath fresh snow. "Don't forget about our date," she said. "Goodnight!"

He didn't return her farewell, only giving her a small wave in response.

Evander looks towards the falling snow for a long while, his fingers lingering over the spot where Acacia had kissed him. He couldn't help but smile, allowing himself a small moment of selfishness.

"Goodnight, Acacia," he says finally, voice barely a whisper. "Happy Founding day."

The pirate captain had long left him by that point. He found that his cheeks were rosy, both from the warmth that bloomed in his chest and the coming frost.

He retreats back to his office, too tired to return to his room— it felt much warmer here now, anyways.

He settles down on the sofa opposite his desk and pokes at the charcoal in the fireplace. He lays his head down and pulls his threadbare office blanket to his chest, watching as the flames flicker and dance among the embers.

He closes his eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking him. Evander Knight drifts off to sleep, the buzz of his mind finally quieting down.

He dreams of wine-red hair, falling snow, and hushed, secretive promises.

It is a good dream.

Bonus:

Daylight bounds through the windows.

Evander Knight wakes up on his office floor, dress shirt crumpled and missing his jacket. He blinks slowly. How long has he been out for?

The embers of the fireplace have long extinguished— and the window behind his desk is frosted. It must have snowed heavily last night, for he could feel the frigid temperature seeping into his bones.

He shivers, pulling himself up from the sofa. His back aches painfully, forcing him to sit down and recollect himself. His eyes trail towards the two porcelain cups on the table— immediately, his mind is brought back to last night's events.

Acacia Merrowe.

He could still feel her touch on his skin, the smell of the sea on her person. He remembers the way he allowed her to caress him and—

"I should clean up," he says under his breath, giving himself a pinch on the cheek. He needed something to distract himself.

His hands move to clean the table first. He adjusts the lace doily and moves the half-empty pot of sugar back to its original spot, then reaches out to pick up the two teacups. His hand freezes, his eyebrows furrowing as he examines the two items.

Something is missing.

"Ah," he says, slumping back onto the sofa. He holds his head in his hands, laughing in disbelief. "She has stolen my teacup saucers."

The next day, Evander Knight finds himself down with fever. Whether this is due to overworking or his sorrow over the missing saucers is unknown.

#evander and acacia #writers on tumblr #oc lore #elevensixpm oc #original character #creative writing #writing #they're in love your honor

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plothooksinc · 5 months

Note

Latest ask game~ 26, 28, 32?

26. fave colour and why?

I say burgundy, but when I look that up online it's not quite right. My favourite colour is every shade in this spectrum:

Which is wine red. I like it for a lot of reasons! I'm partial to dark colours, it's a shade of red that sets off my own lighter red hair beautifully, it feels rich and liquid and smooth and just makes me feel, idk, luxurious. After that, your guess is as good as mine.

28. do you collect anything?

EMPTY COKE ZERO BOTTLES, APPARENTLY. /cleans off her desk

I did collect comics for a long time, but that's an expensive habit. I don't even collect TMNT comics anymore, I'm too tired and disorganised, but I'll read them online and I still have the entirety of the Mirage and Archie runs, so that probably counts!

32. how many tabs do you have open right now?

Nine! It's pretty under control. It'd be less if I hadn't gone looking for the colour palette above, lmao.

Thank you! <3

questions I think would be fun to be asked

#ask meme

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rosesandcloves · 2 years

Text

Unwanted Years

Part 9: Brothers and Betrayal

Warnings: Smut, swearing, dom!Elijah, bondage if you squint, Esther(cause honestly she is a trigger)

She pulled up to Rousseau's at 9 pm locked the car and went inside. A sweet blonde girl was serving tonight. She sat down on a bar stool near the door and ordered a large glass of '34 Chateaux Cheval Blank. Veera wondered what her life would have been like if she was normal like her. She wouldn't be able to afford this wine but maybe she would have picked a better husband.

At that moment the bell rang and the door opened. In walked a tall man in a suit with silver cufflinks with an ornate crest. He had perfectly polished black dress shoes and a deep red tie the colour of blood. His hands straightening the cuffs of his jacket were spotted with blood.

Veera looked up and met his gaze. "Elijah," she said to signal to him that she was there. He walked over to her and put a hand on her arm. She stood up and hugged him. A human show of affection when you meet a friend for a drink. They didn't want to draw suspicion. New Orleans was full of suspicious people.

He tucked her hair behind her ear and whispered, "Meet me in the cellar in five minutes, I will pretend I'm going to the bathroom, have some of your wine and then excuse yourself." She sat down. Her spine-tingling. She can't remember the last time Klaus held her that delicately.

"Right, I've come straight from the office so I'm going to nip to the bathroom and wash up. Get all this ink off my hands." He smiled at the barmaid and then left, leaving her there with the barmaid and her wine.

"Hot date." Said the barmaid, wiping down the counter.

"Oh no," Veera blushed. "He's my husband's brother." She clasped the stem of the wine glass between thumb and forefinger and looked down into the burgundy abyss.

"And your husband is fine with his brother holding his wife like that?" Veera looked at her, with a warning glance.

"Okay, okay none of my business," the blonde woman said putting her hands up in mock surrender.

Veera took a long sip of her wine, then excused herself and walked down to the cellar to meet Elijah. Her skin tingled on her hip where he held her. She shook it off as just a cramp from driving but she knew that wasn't true.

"Veera," Elijah turned when she walked through the wooden door into the cellar and latched it behind her.

"We need to talk about my brother."

Elijah told her everything. She was sent by their mother Esther to destroy the family. Divide the siblings so she could take them out one by one. Elijah found out about his mother's plan through a witch, the very one who cast the spell that bound her to the brothers. The magic used in the spell drew on the magic of the original doppelgangers and meant that all of the brothers had the destiny to be with her. Niklaus was told by a witch that the only way to break the spell was to turn Veera and have her drink the blood of the witch who cast the original spell to complete her transition.

"But when you did not drink," Elijah trailed off.

That was why she had never seen any of the brother's faces before her wedding day. Niklaus always said they were out of state. They had phone calls and texts and letters but they never saw one another.

"That was that look," Veera stared into the distance, and then back to Elijah's chestnut eyes.

She saw a softness in his expression. She caught his eyes darting quickly to her lips and back again.

They both slowly moved towards each other and then he grabbed her, one hand in the small of her back and the other underneath her thigh holding her leg up and pulling her close to him. He pushed her up against the wall of bottles. On impact, a few of them fell and smashed onto the stone floor. Their lips collided in a hungry kiss. Her breath hitched as he pressed himself against her. Her dress had ridden up around her waist, failing to conceal her modesty. Suddenly Elijah stopped and moved away from her.

"This is wrong!" he said looking at the ground his head on his brow. He looked up at her glowing jade eyes that sparkled in the low light of the cellar. "You are married to Niklaus."

She pulled her dress down to cover her thighs again. She walked over to him and placed a hand on the side of his face. Millimetres between them. "I am a widow Elijah. No one would begrudge either of us if I find solace in the strong arms of my dead husband's brother." Veera looked up at him with innocent doe eyes. She leaned in and kissed him softly. He grabbed her around the waist and whooshed outside. Elijah held open the passenger door to his Porsche Panamera as Veera got in. He shut the door and walked around the front of the car and got in. Veera watched the way he moved, biting her lip.

As they drove, he had one hand on the wheel and one hand on her left thigh. Looked over at her every so often. She gazed at him while he drove. The tensing of his muscles when he changed gear, the sharpness of his jaw when he was concentrating, she found his allure fascinating.

They arrived at the compound in darkness. He opened the door for her and lead her inside. As soon as they were through the gates he pushed her up against the wall, holding both of her hands above her head. She melted into him. His dominance exciting even though she felt totally safe. She knew his actions were to please, not to hurt and scar. He peppered her neck with kissed and then met her lips, greeting her with a deep kiss. She held his face between her hands as they kissed, his stubble prickling the nerves in her hands. It felt electric. he moved her to the table and laid her down on the mahogany. He stood at the end of the table. He removed his tie and used it to tie her wrists together above her head. "May I?" He questioned playing with the hem of her dress. She nodded in response and sat up. He pulled the dress over her head and removed her underwear. He unbuttoned his pants but did not remove them, his attention shifting back to her. He kissed up her body starting at her thighs. He pushed his thigh between her legs, providing her with some much needed friction. When he got to her face he gripped her neck tightly as he kissed her. "You have no idea how long I have wanted to do this." He whispered in her ear and with that he thrust into her without warning. He gave her a moment to adjust and then started slamming into her at a steady pace. She could sense his impatience. He was her much needed sanctuary from the darkness of this world. Before long the compound was filled with Veera's strangled moans as Elijah fucked her senseless, making her his.

Elijah helped Veera redress, her legs shaking. Once she was decent, he sat her on the table placing a soft kiss on her lips. Her legs swung as she watched him get dressed holding his tie for him, running the silk through her fingers. Elijah was just buttoning his shirt when they were interrupted by the large oak doors to the dining hall opening.

"What the fuck have you done?!" an alarmed voice said in a breathy voice.

"Rebekah," Elijah rushed after his sister as she stormed off.

Veera was left sitting there, the midnight draft nipping at her bare legs. In the other room the siblings were arguing.

"How could you do this to Nik? Elijah, this is his wife. His one chance for salvation. The one person that stood a chance in saving him and yet you decided to sign her death sentence with your cock. Do you have any idea what this means for our family? The peace that we fought so long for is no more. " Veera could hear the clacking of stilettos against the wooden floor as Rebekah paced the halls.

"Rebekah I care for her. If you stop for a moment you might realise that I am not the womanizer out of your brothers. I would not have done this if I didn't think I could keep her safe. Niklaus is dead he is daggered in a box, by his wife's own hand I might add. She is a widow. I have refrained from acting upon my feelings for the girl while she was married to our brother but I will not sacrifice my happiness for a brother that has done nothing but deny you of yours." Elijah reasoned with his sister.

"If you really care about her like you say you do then why did you let her marry our brother. You of all people should know that a relationship is not over just because someone is dead." With that Veera heard her walk away and out of the compound. Slamming the door on her way out.

#daddy klaus #klaus mikealson smut #tvd klaus #klausmikealson #klaus mikaleson imagine #daddy elijah #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson x reader #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah Mikaelson

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is-she-suffering · 3 months

Text

8 April 2000 -Telegraph Magazine

Disturbed and disturbing, Katie Jane Garside fronted the band Daisy Chainsaw, prophesied the end of the world - and then disappeared. Seven years later she’s back, ready to shock again.

QUEEN ADREENA were on stage for only half an hour or so. The audience at London’s Hammersmith Palais had come to see Bush and the collected youths did not know what to make of this support act. It’s lead singer, Katie Jane Garside, is thin, provocative and confrontational. She has uncut Miss Havisham hair and wears pervy Victorian underwear. Twisting and squirming in the dark, often screaming, often prostrate, often turning her back to the audience, she is a performance artist rather than some chart-lipsticked Everywoman. Sexual in a very weird way, she looks as if she is lap-dancing in a gas-chamber. The blokes stare in disbelief. They shuffle about. Then, as the mike goes between her legs, they jump up and down.

Backstage afterwards the band squash into one of those huddles of Marlboro Lights and flushed analysis. There is a sign saying that CCTV is in operation and anyone taking drugs will be handed over to the police immediately. Orson, the bass guitarist, is wearing a long burgundy evening dress and complaining that his shoulder hurts because he fell off his horse. In Surrey. Very rock'n'roll. An individual wearing a jacket which looks as if it was made out of Wombles turns out to be Katie Jane’s boyfriend. She points to a huge man wearing black lipstick.

“That’s Billy Freedom,” she says. “He’s one of the weirdest people I have ever met.”

The lead guitarist, Crispin Gray, turns up. All eye-shadowed and Glam, Gray is from Islington and both his parents were West End actors. He understands theatre and has worn make-up for years, though not so much when he was signing on because he couldn’t face the hassle in the dole office.

“Quite a lot of girls seem to be attracted to the band and I’m sure it is because of Katie rather than me,” he says modestly. “Most guitar bands are still fronted by tough rock chicks trying to beat men at their own game, but Katie is not trying to be tough and I think girls like that.”

Katie Jane, ripped stocking, long lace bloomers, shoes that she has dyed herself, drinks quite a lot of red wine from the bottle and agrees that yes, she has come a long way since the days that she drilled babies’ heads

She used to shave her head. In 1992 she went around as Daisy Chainsaw, a short-lived, explosive act distinguished by the dramatic theatre of self-battery. In seizure to a megaphonic fuzz of electric guitar, she sang I Feel Insane and other loud angry songs coloured by dervish dancing and props - a doll, red paint, stained wedding dresses, wigs and dead flowers.

Those who went to see her perform in Deptford pubs described a grimy child-woman convulsing to ‘grandcore punk riffs’, and quoted scenes of fury. “I hit Crispin and he beats the shit out of me,” she said at the time. “Once he smashed me against a wall and I played a gig with blood running down my face.”

Daisy Chainsaw were managed by an ex-punk named Jason and they did pretty much as they pleased, turning down Glastonbury, Top of the Pops and advances from Madonna’s label, Maverick. “I think Katie is psychotic,” the bassist once said. “She lives through her emotions rather than her brain.”

She was accused of manufacturing her madness in order to merchandise pain, a useful pop trick subsequently deployed by Alanis Morissette et al. But Alanis is acceptable: she likes lipstick, takes a bath and conforms to the dreadful truth that a haircut can make you happy. Katie Jane is more unfathomable than this; she has no labels.

Pressed to explain herself she came up with a range of disparate theories founded on a basic witchy eccentricity that deviated into an offbeat belief system. She took on everything from white magic to David Icke, the former spokesman of the Green Party who announced that he was the Son of God.

“People can laugh,” she said at the time. “But I always realised the insignificance of role-playing and he gave me the courage to stand up for my convictions.”

In essence, she wanted to break down conditioning and communicate some of the terror and disillusion that we all feel. She enacted ugly sadness. Most of all, though, she was a fatalist. She did not think about where she would be when she was 30 because, she said in 1992, the world was due to end in 1998.

Daisy Chainsaw were not commercial and in 1993 they split up. The world did not end and now Katie is 30. She went away for five years, had a nervous breakdown, and now she’s back.

“I had worked really hard for a long time and given too much away. When I look back, Daisy Chainsaw represented a bottleneck of desperation and that is why it came out in such violence.”

The climate is different now. In 1992 the queens of the scene were L7, Babes in Toyland and Courtney Love’s Hole. They were linked by defiant unprettiness, crashing guitars and a Riot Grrrl wildness. But the backdrop was middle-class. Some of them had been high-school cheerleaders; Courtney Love arrived from suburban America.

The contradictions between the rockstar on stage and the real person who created the image caused insoluble tension, and one which arguably destroyed this genre. L7 disappeared; Hole simply sold out. There are no wild women now. No one dares to be odd or to flout the diktats of traditional beauty because they know it won’t get them on magazine covers. That is why Katie Jane is important. She is difficult to manipulate and difficult to package and thus encourages healthy deviance from the universal definitions of 'normality’.

In 1992, Katie Jane signed on, drove her 'patchwork’ Mini on a ley line from Cornwall to Norfolk, recorded the wind on DAT, mucked about with a musician from Test Department (a cutting-edge industrial band), stayed in a haunted house, did some group therapy, had visions, nearly went mad, but avoided prescription drugs.

“The doctor told me that, emotionally, some people have a football pitch and some people have a rocky landscape. I chose to stay with the rocky landscape. It was what I was born with.”

You have to trust nature, she believes. “I don’t think psychotherapy works. It simply creates a new set of crutches.”

She laughs and tells a story about the afternoon she was sitting in the hollow of a tree and all these blue tits flew around her in a huge flock. Very strange things have always happened to her. “I do hear voices,” she admits. “But it’s not a regular thing.”

Her life is full of entities and strange synchronicity. There is a Zulu warrior that watches out for her - “I have seen his face,” she says. She could be psychic or she could simply be someone who looks at a lot of different ideas, feels everything and understands empathy.

One day, a year or so ago, she was walking down a street in Belsize Park and ran into Crispin Gray. They had not seen or spoken to each other since the Daisy Chainsaw days. He had tried to run the band without her and it had not worked. They needed a singer. “It did not end properly,” he says. “And I knew it wasn’t over.”

Katie Jane re-entered the music business in her own inimitable way. One meeting with a record company executive was staged on Hampstead Heath.

“There is a beautiful undergrowth bit,” she says. “My friend Louise led him to this clearing. Then we stood there and did a cappella. I said nothing and he gave me a big lump of money.”

So now they are back with a manager, an agent and a public relations company. Their name, Queen Adreena, arose from Katie’s dream about a warrior queen. Later, looking in a book by Annie Sprinkle (a porn star/performance artist) she noticed that 'Queen Adrena’ was the name of a legendary Californian dominatrix.

There is a new album, Taxidermy, and a CD-ROM of their new songs played to complement a black and white film made by Martina Hoogland-Ivanow, a 25-year-old photographer/director.

Katie Jane Garside grew up in Salisbury, the child of an army background. When she was 12 her father announced that the family were going to live on a 33ft yacht. The sailed around the world for four years. As teenage girls, Katie Jane and her younger sister, Mel, saw deserted islands, ate meals out of tins and disappeared into the realms of imagination.

Finally, they ended up near Poole where Katie attended a rough state school. She was beaten up for many things, but mostly because she had very small bosoms, a memory which transmuted (as these things do) to become a part of her work.

At 17 she arrived in London, penniless but determined. Then she met Crispin Gray when she answered an advertisement in a music paper, and her professional life, from then on, was about working with him.

The voyage around the world had left her feeling different and displaced. She was left with a love of the ocean, and indeed all places that allow a person to be alone. She is still displaced. When you ask her where she lives she says she doesn’t really know. She has lived in a lot of places. She wanders around in her thrift-store chic, with a battered brown leather suitcase containing all her possessions, her pale flesh bruised from falling around on stage. There is an atmosphere of acceptance around her. She will end up where she ends up.

“You might become a major rock icon,” I say, thinking this would be a good thing.

She smiles. “That would be a funny place to be.”

Jessica Berens

#queen adreena #interview #2000 #taxidermy

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vertiny · 4 months

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top three eras styling 💖

bec ilysm 🫶 okay so styling is so so fun in some eras so imma... not cheat, but ! break it up into two sections, hope you don't mind ! (one of these might just be purely bc of a hair colour but technically hair is a part of the stylings 👀 (i could do a whole top for hairstyles but that's not what we're here for) + these are gonna be a mix of mv stylings, stage stylings, etc.)

sorry this took so long getting out, i thnk i put Too Much thought into it KSJDGH

under the cut bc pictures are involved and i feel like i talked too much 🥹

SECTION ONE: BY MEMBER

1. yongseung - series ‘o’ [round 3 : whole]. i swear it’s not JUST his hair that puts him here but like . THIS HAIR COLOUR !!!!! wine red / burgundy yongs so dear to my heart, but other than that, the outfit choices made for him were such good ones. we always love a suit look, and there's smth about the copper(?) silk shirt that sits lovely against him, with a pop of a different pattern thanks to the collar, and then the silk shirts in general were just good choices, sarah stickered and seal of approval-ed, the whole works dskjgh, and then ig i just have a thing for yongs being in the orange / brown colour-wheel (especially with this hair) bc it just Suits Him, idk what else to say

2. hwanwoong - pygmalion. a mutual of mine got a real-time view into me, who was a singular leedo bias with a fondness for hwanwoong, who had also already seen the solo concept pics, completely disregard leedo in the group concept pics and zoomed right into hwanwoong with a caption of "HELLOOOO SAILOR 🤩🥰" so he was welcomed into the bias line officially... i think that speaks for itself SKDJGH and if it doesn't, look at the photos. they speak for themselves 🤭 (we also got yongseung & hwanwoong interactions again this era so many pluses in my book ! debut besties (oneus + vrvr debuted same day !) near and dear to me<3)

3. seonghwa - fever: epilogue. look at the material, need i say more? DKDKS no but fr, the pink hair is def a top reason this era of styling lives on in my head. we also got pink-haired vampire!seonghwa so… that’s worth all the hype 😌 also probs has smth to do with pink being my fave colour when i was younger, but either way, it's the colouring of everything together that really makes this era a fave. like, okay, hwa's got pink hair, but they didn't make it a hot pink that ran many possibilities of clashing with everything, and it's not a washed-out distant breath of the colour pink but a nice middle ground, and like i said before, look at the material. the brightness of the pink works with the dark blue and grey jacket, the pink goes up against the blue / green (teal?) of the overcoat and only serves to (imo) heighten the pop the coat brings - the clothes under the coat and the background are all monotone and yet, despite the pink, your eyes are instantly drawn to the coat. the third photo . well. that hwa might just live rent free in my head so i'm incredibly biased on it, and imma sound like a broken record but his pink hair is tied in with the pops of pink on the jacket, and there's spots of different patterns that draw your eye, but none that overwhelm you. and as for the fourth pic... pink (cat) hwa is so beloved to me and that's all i gotta say

(honourable mentions: seonghwa - halazia / seonghwa - crazy form / seonghwa - wonderland (bc sword<3) / yeosang - bouncy (esp this look & special mentions to these two hair stylings) / yeonho - undercover (esp this look) / gyehyeon - undercover (specifically 220508 & 220503) / wooyoung - bouncy (for this hair accessory & this styling alone lol idk i like it a lot) / seonghwa - deja vu / yongseung - crazy like that - and imma stop here bc i could apparently keep adding more :starcry:)

SECTION TWO: BY GROUP

1. verivery - tag tag tag. look, you know me, you know what my favourite colour is (red) lol BUT EVEN THEN there’s smth about the styling for this era that just hits so well. idk, it’s a mix of casual, of flowy, of literally “just some dudes” kinda looks that just work so well. i looooove the mix of fabrics and patterns and how cohesive they are while all being strong outfits all in their own. this set of stage outfits (pictured below) are, imo, great, like . giving dongheon (1) and yeonho (5) “red heavy” fits, giving hoyoung (2) and yongseung (6) black jackets to break up the monotonous of the singular colour, having gyehyeon (4) in a complete red look BUT using a deeper red and blue / black plaid overshirt to make him stand out AND THEN putting minchan (3) and kangmin (7) in black and white fits with a red accent belt? (even tho you can't really see the belt on minchan lol) SO GOOD 🤩 and even after all that, they've all got bits of silver jewelry that ties them all together too

2. p1harmony - killin' it. okay, so we aren't even in this era YET!! but like . the stuff i've seen... yeah, she deserves it. keeho (1) looks so good i'm 😭, theo (2) looks dark and edgy, jiung (3) looks - in the best way - like he's about to start a fight (and win) idk how to explain it but its so good, intak (4) i want his shirt rn plsnthx it looks like someone grabbed the stars and made it into a shirt 🤩, soul (5) is a son and batshit insane (affectionate) and i'm like so ?!?!? about his hair this era !! i don't think i could do it but it's so sick and suits him so well and jongseob (6) i lowkey expected a nosebleed in the styling? SDJKGH I KNOW THAT SOUNDS STUPID but i feel like it'd fit for his styling alone? not in the overall styling but if it was just him? piwon generally always has solid stylings !

3. victon - voice: the future is now. the era has 3 stylings but these two are so 🫶 !!!! to me lol (it's also my first victon era so it's v dear to me) the left side's styling gives off aristocratic vampires and i didn't know i needed this kind of styling in my life until i laid eyes on it ! the shirts all look like they're velvet and soft so that's always a plus in my books. and then the right side's styling !! i'd describe it as "casual royal" lmao it's the mix of them all in a simple pant, and then the jackets / coats are all bedazzled (and all different styles of bedazzlements !!!) making them the true statement pieces, and we both know that means they're sparkly and . well . gimme, i want them 🤲 SKDKD

(honourable mentions: verivery - get away / verivery - trigger / ateez - bouncy / ateez - crazy form / p1harmony - harmony: all in / oneus - pygmalion / oneus - baila conmigo / verivery - tap tap / verivery - undercover)

#I PROBABLY TOOK THIS TOO SERIOUS I'M SO SORRY BEC 😭#so much of this can be boiled down to - prettie<3 #i also always talk too much :sobs: but i hope you don't mind !!!#there's probs ppl / groups i forgot but i lov them smmmmm #ilysm ! tysm for these asks my love! the other ones you asked should absolutely not - hopefully - take as long as this one did to answer #MWAH you're the best<3 #hi bec ! 🥭#<- if you want your emoji changed lemme know too !! i just changed it to a mango bc *mango*#sarah’s replies

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demon-of-the-ancient-world · 2 years

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ASOIAF House Fashion Headcanons Part 2

Here's part 2 of this post:

Riverlands/House Tully:

So first of all I think there would actually be a lot of overlap between the North, Riverlands, and Iron Islands, especially the latter two seeing as the Riverlands were historically invaded and ruled by the Islanders

So stuff like the styles of jewelry and other decorations would bear a lot of similarities, but the Riverlanders would still have their own distinct style for sure

I thought of a Celtic vibe for most Riverlanders

All shades of red, blue, green, and teal - they'd probably get the closest to purple with either deep wine reds or indigo blues

I can for some reason see children or at least younger generations wearing lighter shades of these colours though (sea green, eggshell blue, dusky pink etc.)

I even thought some kind of plaid? Or at least patterns woven into the fabrics

Knitting would also be big here, again with fancy stripes and patterns with different coloured yarns

Freshwater pearls as decoration on fancy clothing or as jewelry

And other blue stones like Lapis Lazuli (probably amber from the north too)

All kinds of cloak pins, brooches, clasps etc.

Hair would be well taken care of and an important part of appearance, lots of elaborate and delicate layers of braids, both for men and women

In general I think the three northern kingdoms would wear their hair longer and generally looser for practicality's sake - it's warmer after all

Idk I like the idea of them having some kind of decorative fringe on the edges of shawls or cloaks

Reach/House Tyrell

I see somewhere between regency era and 1930s elegance in terms of style inspirations

I feel like their fashions would look more "modern" to us, to add to the thematic significance of them being the "new" nobles in King's Landing, Margaery replacing Cersei as queen etc.

Light pastel shades of green, blue, yellow, gold, and pink, or delicate embroidery and lace over white cotton and silk

Plenty of rose imagery of course

Delicate yellow and rose gold jewelry, pearls and light coloured gemstones like peridots, aquamarine, topaz, and rose quartz

Elaborate hair updos, in warmer weather they'd want hair off their necks (but still long enough to style)

Hair jewelry, ribbons, and netting, and flowers as hair decoration

A lot of clothing would have short sleeves, sometimes sleeveless altogether

Though I can see intricately embroidered silk shawls being used for evenings and cooler days

Victorian-esque fan etiquette would have a place here I feel

Stormlands/House Baratheon

Tudor/late Elizabethan inspired; structured and heavily layered

Brocade fabrics in rich, dark colours; dark gold, burgundy, black, navy blue, dark copper brown

Lots of leather and hides worked in, emphasis on hunting

Furs

Heavy, blocky jewelry - I'm thinking copper and bronze with stones like garnets, jasper, and carnelian

Wide silhouettes and broad shoulders, long surcoats for men and sometimes women

Wide leather belts

A variety of hats and headdresses/headpieces

A general impression both strength and impressiveness given through clothing

Vale/House Arryn

They're an old and traditional house, so their fashion wouldn't have changed much over the years

Emphasis on the past, each noble house has its own heirloom jewelry (and I'd assume even some of the smallfolk would have something of that nature even if it's just a single brooch or ring that's been passed down)

I want to say 12th century Medieval is my inspiration, lots of drapey layered gowns and such

Hair nets and veils, lots of hair decoration and dramatic hair fashions

Mostly shades of blue, green, cream, and grey and white, and expensive fabrics like velvet, silk, delicate lace, and satin

Furs too! They're up in the mountains and even though it's not that far north it would get pretty cold especially in the Eyrie, but instead of heavier furs like in the north you'd have more delicate, sleek pelts of rabbit and ermine and even some kind of snow leopard

Lots of blue and white precious stones like moonstone, agate, sapphire, and opal, they're not close to the ocean but they'd be able to afford pearls which fits nicely into their aesthetic too

Possible feather decoration in some form, half capes, drapery, or other accents made from feathers sewn onto cloth (not unlike Sansa's 'raven dress' on the show), or at the very least feather designs embroidered onto clothing

White gold and silver

Gloves

I have no idea where this comes from, but I really really want them to have some kind of subtle face paint designs - not like the Islanders' style war paint but almost a high fashion-y imitation of it. Idk I feel there's a "removed" quality to the Arryns/ Vale inhabitants and even though they're involved in Westeros' conflicts, they'd want to appear "above it all" (maybe I just feel this way because of the mountain thing *shrugs*) and thus take something that seems like it should be for battle and turn it into a fashion statement ?? idk

Sort of like Lady M's subtle blue face paint stripe in the 2015 version of Macbeth - this is exactly the vibe I'm thinking

Dorne/House Martell

I'm thinking ancient India as a vague inspiration (possibly Mughal Empire?)

The book mentions this and I like it so I'm gonna roll with it; mostly warm shades of red, gold, pink, orange and yellow - offset with bright blue-greens

Though it seems contradictory, I feel like those in the mountains and the desert would tend to wear more blue, green, or teal to offset their warm-toned environment, while the coast dwellers would dress in more warm colours

Printed/stamped on patterns, but also lots of rich embroidery and bead decoration

Light, fine silks, linens, and cottons

I like the idea of armor-like jewelry; arm cuffs, anklets, torcs, decorative breastplates

Gold and copper jewelry, stones such as turquoise, opals, tiger's eye, topaz

Near the sea I can see coral being worn as jewelry too

Or glass? I like the idea of them having painted glass bracelets and pendants

Like the Iron Islands, I thought tattoos and piercings would both make an appearance (though in a very different style and with more of an emphasis on decoration rather than intimidation)

I think in such a warm climate it wouldn't be uncommon to see women with shorter hair, way more so than in the rest of Westeros

#asoiaf #got #game of thrones #house tully #riverlands #house tyrell #the reach #house baratheon #the stormlands #house arryn #the vale #house martell #dorne #long post

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himejoshiba · 7 months

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do you guys think that like a dark wine red/burgundy hair colour would look good with my style?? i wear a lot of lights and white based pinks…… idk if it would clash or if it would be like a valentines day/roses kind of thing !! 🥀💕

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carnivalgore · 11 months

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Where the demons await me - 13.10.2022 (original ~2014)

You are dust.

We all came from dust. However that doesn't impact our existence in pure theory, it's quite funny how easily wind blows us around. Our souls like sand, poured over from one nook to another. And those ashes materialised, ashes real and holding a physical confirmation, are the destruction of humanity. Scraps of high values and virtues glorified by society that when absent leave behind the old chaos dubbed the new order. A primal shriek desperately gasping for thinning air above the surface of an ocean of wine and opium. Wretchedness glimmering as a few blinded memories in the diascope of obscurity. The destruction of being, destruction of the boundary between life and death, common sense and straightforward perception, the destruction of the limits of mind.

A human suffering emotional maladies favours shallow illusions of joy that let a speck of relief in for just one breath. Not long after it starts to decay once more, wither away, dry out. Festering sores of mind soon turn into overwhelming, black patches of necrosis, the glow in its eyes dissipates, the heart never to glint again. And yet, its life still flows down the cursed aqueducts of protruding veins on the self-convicted body's road towards doom.

Impure thoughts! barks the devilish preacher. Oh, if only life was so simple. Impurity sounds in our heads since our youngest days, lurks behind a bare, pale collarbone and licks our greedy ears with its sultry whispers. It tears from mortal throats in moments of highest pleasure. And all that goes back to the most persistent base of our instinct, torn between the flaming wings of Eros and Thanatos shrouded in fogs of war, forever straining its muscles subtly like Michelangelo's David. There is one thing allying both poles of the realm of human impulses, that being irresistible thirst. Thirst of suffering and delight alike, nestled together as one, unable to survive without one another under the dome of the great universe we call our own.

This way indeed did I choke a thousandfold and one more time. Inside my burgundy veins floated remnants of a previous substance I had injected, having yet to make room for the next. There was one more concoction, however, pumping through their tunnels. A poetic background to this entire theatre of woe. A substance unknown to the medical body, and that substance was sorrow.

It's not particularly difficult to become addicted to sorrow. After a while one's unable to function without it, as it becomes the only sensation strong enough to break through the layers and layers of flesh rotting alive. Without it, there is only emptiness – the most dreadful plague of mankind.

It would seem that in this state the only form of sustenance left to consume is pure blood. Blood either of strangers, or of one's own.

I do not know if it was a matter of contingency, or of conscious intervention, yet I had been granted the honourable opportunity of entering the gates of hell without the need to give up my soul. The marbled alabaster flooring in the residence of the Dark Lord made for a pleasant view. The velvety carpet dark as duck blood reflected its wondrous shades of maroon onto the artfully polished pearly shoes I was wearing. The shoes stood upon a delicate heel, ornamented with threads braided of deadman's hair. Gold was cascading down the walls so high they would rupture the foundations of the heavens. Windows, which as those in a gothic cathedral would have possessed the ability to at once flood the interiors with blinding luminosity, were all shrouded in impenetrable darkness. And only the smoke, that of colour darker than the deepest resentments of a thousand most dastardly beings, bloomed over the steps carved entirely from a slab of stone, steps leading toward the throne of His Majesty.

Despite the darkness, I was able to clearly make out the far away scene. There were hundreds of silhouettes barely reminiscent of the human figure dragging along the horizon line. As my deepest suspicions have prompted, the hellbound convicts were without a shadow of a doubt all dead. Both suited up lawyers and rugged beggars. The modern bourgeoisie of pompous billionaires hand in hand with their own servants. Truth be told, in the end slaves and masters die as one. And all of them shaved smooth, all wrinkly and shriveled up in a hunched crawl of the eternal procession before a backdrop of the bloody night sky.

Lucifer grinned with the side of his mouth, from his sultry lips came the words: "Just wait. You'll have the chance of joining in."

Were they once just as confounded as myself inside the meanders of their own inside conflicts leading straight into a suicidal death?

"This is what I call a second chance. From time to time, life allows for little swindle." He winked.

I glanced once again at the horizon. All those lucky bastards believing they had deserved death.

What's almost poetic, not one of them smiled even for a second after reaching that desired lethal outcome. They shriveled up even more in their bottomless thoughts, and in consciousness of how meaningless death is compared to the colours of life.

I felt the ground crashing below me, as if the ample carpet had suddenly lost its body and the shoes of mine lost contact with the marble. I seemed to have no use of my limbs and I fell until I was completely swallowed by nothingness.

...and to dust you shall return.

I woke up drenched in sweat, bloody, tucked into a corner.

"I found ya! Now run..." whispered a voice from underneath a cloak of moist, trembling air.

"Where...?" I managed to utter.

"Where the demons await me."

Photo by note thanun on Unsplash

author: carnivalgore @ Tumblr

mozguanihilacja @ WordPress Mouldy Oranges

original language: Polish

#creepy #horror #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writing #short story #carnivalgore

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thewordworrier · 2 years

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Revenge Looks Good On You

Word Count: 2,600 and change. Holy balls this is SHORT for me. Warnings: A cuss or two. Notes: ~ Female!OC ~ Band!Fic ~ Probably not actual awards they won/were nominated for but I’m not feeling serious enough to actually look those up. Oh, and this is the dress she’s wearing. I spent too long trying to figure out how to describe it. Happy birthday Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge! 18 today! Have a little possibly cheesy Band!Fic Universe ficlet.

- - - - - - - - - - Before some awards show, during which Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge is not only recognised but nominated. A lot. The band is too, but they’re all more excited for the album nominations. “Oh my god,” Frank grumbled, starting to pace out of boredom. “We’re going to be late!” “Shut up,” Gerard muttered. “She knows what she’s doing. She’s the one who makes all the arrangements and whatever.” “Yeah, which is why she should be -” “Oh hey,” Ray interrupted. “There she is.” Gerard and Frank looked to the doorway to see their little blonde Tour Manager standing there. She smiled when she realised she had all their eyes on her. “Well, look at you,” Frank said. “You look like the album threw up on you.” “Frank!” Mikey scolded, before turning back to the girl. “He means you look like the album in the flesh,” he glanced up at her hair. “Almost.” “I’m not dying my hair for you,” she said, moving to check her make-up in the mirror. “I have to draw the line somewhere.” “You’re prettier blonde,” Frank said, causing the others to look at him. “What? She is! I don’t think darker hair would suit her.” “Thank you, Frankie,” she rearranged her loosely-curled hair and adjusted some of the hair grips to keep it off of her face before using the mirror to look over the men behind her. “You guys all scrub up pretty decently too, by the way.” They appeared to puff up with pride a little and she giggled before speaking again. “And I’m not mad, it’s kinda the look I was going for. I don’t like to leave any doubt who I work for and belong to.” Gerard was watching her as she unwrapped something from around her wrist to put it around her neck. “Is that a rosary?” “From the razor to the,” she said with a nod, adjusting the black beads. “Where did you get that?” “It’s mine,” she went back to fiddling with her hair. “Grew up a little Catholic. Dropped it as soon as I could. If you look closer I have roses and stars in my ears.” “Red rose on your coffin door,” Mikey nodded before frowning. “Stars?” “Helena,” Shelly moved to head back into the other room. “When every star fall brought you to tears again,” Gerard clarified, watching her with… A really gentle look on his face. “They’re diamonds too,” she called. “Diamonds, comas and cake an’ all that. Actually, that sounds like a good biography name…” She reappeared in the doorway, putting her phone in a small purse and caught sight of the expression on Frank’s face. “What?” “Bet your nails are Pitchfork Red then,” Frank said with a grin. The blonde just smiled. “Almost. They’re more wine or burgundy rather than bright devil red, but the colour number is in the six hundreds, so that’ll do.” “I say that counts!” Shelly bowed slightly to Ray. “Thank you Mr Toro, sir!” The others laughed quietly. “I don’t suit bright red anyway,” she shrugged as they finished getting ready. “Makes me look deathly pale and while that might suit you guys, it doesn’t suit me. Besides, the burgundy matches my dress and shoes better.” “It’s a nice dress,” Frank said as she ushered them all into the elevator. “I do really mean that.” “It’s a little fancier than my daywear but it doesn’t make me stand out too much. Which is the dream, really. It’s not my job to stand out.” Shelly checked them all over as the elevator was moving. “Also, well done for all being ready on time.” “We were just waiting for you. Frank was starting to get worried that we were gonna be late.” Frank gave Gerard a Look for snitching on him. She hummed at the vocalist. “Truth be told, I gave you all the wrong time anyway. I told you all to be ready earlier than needed, just in case.” “See?” Gerard turned to Frank. “I told you that she knows what she’s doing.” Shelly could tell that Frank was going to start arguing back - she sighed and bundled them all into the car outside, making sure they weren’t sitting next to each other. “For goodness sake,” she muttered, settling in the car beside Gerard. “Behave boys.” Frank grumbled playfully under his breath, receiving a raised eyebrow from her in response and he giggled quietly until a thought hit him. “Hey, is that reporter gonna be there?” “Rep- which one?” Ray asked. “There’s probably gonna be a few.” “The one Mikey obviously has a crush on,” Frank said with a wicked little grin. “The one that made him go through someone’s planner and get whacked upside the head because of it.” “Shuttup,” the younger Way muttered, sinking into his seat a little more. Shelly giggled softly, pulling her phone out of the purse on her lap. “I don’t know the answer to that, I never thought to ask. But if she is there, we’ll know when we get there.” “So, stay professional Mikes,” Frank grinned at the bassist, only to laugh when he got a glare in response. “Frank,” Shelly said without looking up from her phone. “Be nice.” “Yes ma’am.” She cleared her throat warningly. “Miss,” Frank corrected. “Yes Miss.” She giggled and went back to her phone for the rest of the car trip. When they arrived, they piled out and she accepted help from Ray so she didn’t end up on her face. She thanked him and led the way to where they were supposed to be. Shelly sat quietly with the boys as the show progressed. Normally she’d be taking notes or something, but she knew that she’d be able to get a full breakdown of the awards, nominees and winners from someone later - she’d already set herself a reminder to email them about that. Instead, she was listening, both to whoever was presenting the current category, and to the soft, general chit chat around her. From both other tables and from the boys. She tilted her head towards the podium as the host changed for the next award. Ah. She turned her attention to Gerard beside her to see him nibbling on his thumb. Gently, she took his hand away from his mouth and held onto it, keeping her eyes focused on the current speaker, but she could see him look up and at her. “And the winner of best single is…” The speaker, someone Shelly didn’t recognise, paused for dramatic effect. “Helena by My Chemical Romance!” Shelly squealed softly in glee, squeezed Gerard’s hand and shooed them up from the table to go and accept the award. She watched them fondly, the brothers looking a little too surprised and, especially on Gerard’s part, emotional, to really talk properly, so Ray and Frank took over their little speech. Gerard managed to gather himself together enough to blow a kiss to the cameras and pat his heart before they were led offstage so they could head back to their table. She stood up to greet them when she saw them get closer and was immediately pulled into a tight hug by Gerard; he squeezed her and she hugged him back almost as tightly, though a little part of her was aware of the fact that there were journalists and photographers, and maybe even people filming. Although she wasn’t entirely sure why she was feeling so aware of that. When he let her go, they took their seats and he sought out her hand to squeeze it. Needless to say, the band and the album, how did the journalists put it? They cleared up - including one for best live show, which really pleased her. She was so proud of them. “What now?” Mikey asked afterwards. “Press stuff I think,” Shelly adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder and took a couple of the awards so they wouldn’t get dropped. Gerard checked the awards they were still holding before taking one from Frank and swapping it with one Shelly was holding. She looked at him inquisitively before checking the one he’d just given her. Ahh. The award for best single. She should’ve guessed, really, that he would want this one to stay safe. “Ready for the wolves?” She asked the band as a whole, tilting her head towards the designated press area. She giggled when they all nodded and stood up straighter. Shelly wasn’t surprised when the journalists there swarmed around her boys like vultures to a carcass. What did surprise her, however, was the speed at which they did so. Normally, she liked to stick close to them when journalists were around (though she’d always be off to the side when photographers were working) but this time she’d been edged out and away from them. Truthfully, she felt a tiny bit panicked by it - she was short, small and female, and a lot of these journalists were larger, stockier men. She had the feeling that their reporter friend wasn’t there; Shelly might’ve seen her by now. She could be wrong though; she couldn’t really see much right now. Even her politest “Excuse me, please?!” wasn’t helping her. “Hey, can you let her through?” She heard Ray’s voice. “She’s with us,” Mikey added. Always the polite ones, Shelly thought as she managed to get in front of one guy. “Oi!” Frank’s voice was next to reach her ears. “Fucking hell, let her through!” “Seriously! No interviews unless you let our Tour Manager through!” Gerard taking charge seemed to work as the two tall men stood in front of her parted, a little like the Red Sea, and she was able to hurry her way over to her band. Frank took her arm as soon as she was close enough and sandwiched her in between himself and Gerard, who looked down and nodded once. “Better,” he said, turning back to the press. “What were you asking?” After that, the press circuit bit, she ushered them all back into a car. She made sure that everyone had put their seatbelts on before she gently rearranged the awards she was still holding in her lap. “Okay darlings,” she said softly. “First we’re gonna take these back to the hotel so I can put them somewhere and arrange to get them shipped later. Then, it’s up to you if you wanna go and eat or go out or,” she waved a hand gently as the other held the awards closer to her. “Or whatever.” “What will you be doing?” Frank asked, noticing Gerard watching her holding the awards. “Mm, I’ll probably eat something and then get some sleep, I don’t really know.” “Not planning on going out?” Mikey frowned. “Not gonna celebrate with us?” She shook her head at the bassist. “No. I’m not one for partying, and besides, the celebration isn’t mine.” “The live shows award is,” Gerard said. “If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t get to our shows on time.” “Or have our instruments in one piece or tuned properly.” “Or look the part when we go on stage or go to interviews.” The immediate rebuttal of her response made the normally pale girl blush very pink, very quickly and she tried to hide behind her hair only to have Frank and Gerard - the two either side of her, move it off of her face. She couldn’t even hide her face in her hands because that would’ve meant letting the awards go and possibly letting them get damaged - and she wouldn’t do that. “Boys,” she whined quietly. “That’s not fair, let me be embarrassed in peace.” “Nope, never.” Frank’s smile turned into a big grin when she pouted a bit, but he did give her a break until they got back to the hotel. The awards were carefully put on a solid surface in her room and there was a brief, playful argument about her joining them to celebrate. She won, but that’s because she was stubborn. For the most part at least. There was still a little shyness there too, especially today because they all scrubbed up so well. Gerard was looking particularly swoon worthy, but she’d never admit that out loud. Or well, she might if she was bullied into it a little, but she would never, ever admit that she thought that about him even when he wasn’t ‘scrubbed up’ like this. She just really enjoyed looking at his face. “Shelly.” She looked up at Frank, as she tried to usher them to go out. “Yes?” As soon as he grinned she knew that he was up to something, and apparently the others did too as they turned to him. “Revenge looks so good on you.” The others seemed to relax, especially when she went pink and giggled. “But,” he pointedly looked her up and down. “That dress would probably look better on the floor.” “Frank!” Multiple voices scolded. Frank laughed and was marched down the corridor by Ray and Mikey. Gerard hung back for a moment, shaking his head before leaning against the doorframe. “Sorry about him,” he said softly as he looked her over again. She really did look good in the album’s aesthetic. “Mm,” Shelly nibbled her bottom lip, trying not to look up at him too much. “It’s okay. I should’ve expected something like that really.” “Damn dog,” Gerard muttered almost affectionately as he glanced down the hallway. “You okay though?” She nodded. “Go on, go and celebrate your well deserved wins.” “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come with us?” Gerard asked again, hesitating before tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “I…” She exhaled slowly as his fingers grazed her ear and then the side of her face. God, it was so hard to say no to him. “I’m good, really. The celebration really isn’t mine, and I have a little work to do anyway.” “Well, you know we disagree with that, but if you’re sure I can’t persuade you?” Shelly focused on her hands as she smoothed her dress down. She’d probably give in if she looked at his face. “I’m sure. Although, promise me something?” “Sure.” She made herself look up at him. “You guys will call me if you need anything? No matter what the time is? I mean,” she glanced slightly to the right and scratched her neck. “That is my job after all, but also, I want you all to be safe.” “I promise,” he hadn’t hesitated. “As long as you promise you’ll come and join us if you change your mind?” “I promise, but I doubt that will happen,” she shook her head again. “Try not to drink too much, okay?” “I’ll try and have something different, something softer, every other drink, don’t worry.” The shorter girl looked up to study his face for a minute, before nodding. “Okay. I believe you. Be careful.” “Will do,” Gerard hesitated for a second before giving her a quick hug, almost lifting her out of her shoes. “Put me down and go and find the others.” “Yes, Miss,” he grinned and avoided the playful swatting she aimed at him. “Shoo!” She smiled and her tone softened. “But call me if you need me, no matter what the time is.” “I- We will.” Shelly nodded to him and shut the door. He waited until he heard it locked before he leant against the wall and let out a sigh. Yeah, the aesthetic did look really good on her. Like, really good. She put so much effort in, she focused on little details and… That was something he could appreciate. Maybe he should tell her that. That he appreciated her and all the little details. But he would not tell her that he agreed with Frank; that he also thought her dress would look better on his hotel room floor.

#fan fic #my writing #She Writes #Gerard Way x OC #sort of #She Speaks

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