lion knocker

BloodLust - I

BloodLust Masterlist ||

Genre: Drama/Supernatural

Word Count: 2155

Warnings: Mentions of blood


The stories you heard could never have captured the breathtakingly elegant and magnificent nature of the mansion. It was built of smooth grey stone, chipped, cracked and stained black due to years of weathering. In each corner were cylindrical turrets, extending over the slanted roof, forming a sharp, cone-shaped point. Ivy scaled the damaged walls of the ancient structure, covering the bottom half with its evergreen leaves and shielding the lower windows from the light of day.

You stood by the gate with your fingers tightly wound around the iron bars, gazing in awe at the tremendous structure. The setting sun dipped behind the picturesque house, casting an iridescent glow along the edges of the stone. Eventually, you stopped gawking at the grandeur of the miniature castle and focused your thoughts on the true reason of your coming.

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i had kind of a bad day fam, the sort i get over by writing fluff for myself evidently, so it’s here, the witch au sequel you’ve all been asking for. i’ve realized there may need to be a part 3 from victor’s perspective and when it’s all over perhaps i’ll clean it up and ao3 things properly. here we go: 




Yuuri is three-quarters of the way through his shift at Secret Garden when Minako-sensei plants her hands on the counter, fixes him with an unimpressed look, and mutters: spill. Because Minako-sensei is Hiroko Katsuki’s oldest friend, and also because she’s objectively terrifying, even for Yuuri, he gives in with little resistance. How the shadow covens in London would chuckle, watching a white witch cower like this in the shadow of a mere herbalist. Yuuri has tried and failed to live in that world; the big city isn’t for him, it’s too far withdrawn and too distant from wild, untamed spaces. Edinburgh is too big, too, but Minako’s an old family friend and anyway she lives outside of town, in a little cottage on the road to Roslin.

Yuuri’s living in her attic until he figures out what the hell he’s doing with his life.

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The dangers of doorknockers...

Here’s one of the Chris Riddell illustrations from a recent reblog of Neil Gaiman’s poem “Instructions” (or, what to do if you find yourself in a Fairy Tale).

victoriansword said: 

Imp door knockers are/were a thing, which strangely makes me like this even more. Maybe because it adds a sense of wonder to otherwise common Victorian/Edwardian door knockers. Next time I see one on a door I’ll be careful!

Knockers in the shape of the Lincoln Imp were, and may still be, very popular - one of my aunts had a brass one on her door, a souvenir of a visit to the Cathedral…

…and there are numerous demon-, dragon-, bull and lion-heads with the knocker-ring clenched between their teeth or through their nose.

That said, this bull may be just a handle - the ring’s shiny from being touched (like the snouts of the bronze boar and carp outside the Huntin’-an’-Fishin’ Museum in Munich, or indeed Molly Malone’s burnished bronze bosom in Dublin) but there’s no matching bright spot on the door to show where knocking happens - unless it’s out of view behind the ring.

These are Ancient Roman, and may also be handles not knockers…

…since a doorknocker often has a striking-plate on the door, or a reinforced section at the bottom of the ring, and sometimes both, while a handle has neither.

Therefore this next one is definitely a knocker, confirmed by being attached to a door and a pretty famous one at that - No 10 Downing Street, home of Larry the Cat and his predecessors in the post of Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office, as well as numerous rats, mice, shrews and an occasional mole…

However there are plenty of images of actual knockers without reinforced rings or striking-plates that just thump against the surface of the door. The only sure way to tell if it’s just a handle is if the ring can’t actually make contact…

There are numerous ways of being careful around door-knockers: for one, there’s the business of not being rude to visitors. In Thackeray’s “The Rose and the Ring”, the doorman Gruffanuff refuses to announce the arrival of Fairy Blackstick (a tetchy fairy godmother) and behaves like this instead…

…whereupon she puts him in a position where he’ll announce everyone whether he feels like it or not…

There’s the business of not getting nipped by nasty little teeth as “Instructions” warns. I photographed this one in Chur, Switzerland, and even getting your palm licked by that brass tongue would be an unsettling experience…

…while here be dragons, who might also bite, or might breathe a tiny but troubling jet of flame up your sleeve. They’re from Pownall Hall, England….

…Powis Castle, Wales…

…and Orava Castle, Slovakia.

However this doorknocker was the one that would worry me more that the others if encountered in a fairy-tale or fantasy novel…

…because it instantly reminded me of this door-handle…

…and I’ve read (and written) enough in the genre to know that this is a set-up needing treated with great caution.

Make the wrong number of raps with that knocker, or be the wrong sort of character, and the apple might coming flying like a bullet.

Alternately, if a Wicked Person grips the matching handle their own hand might be crushed to a pulp and even a Good Person might be unable to let go and run away. That - according to The Theory of Narrative Causality™ - should happen humorously just as it starts to rain, snow or be otherwise unpleasant…

Or enough-seconds-for-drama before The Resident comes to answer their door, which interval should be just long enough for Surprising to become Scary, after which the raspy breathing and ponderous footsteps approaching down the hall make it clear The Resident is someone (or some thing) the visitor would really, really rather not meet.

But they’re going to…

ayyzor  asked:

But what about an Ancient Greek or Roman au with the daughter of a high status family and her childhood friend/next door neighbour of just as high status and it's been expected that they'll marry one day and theyve always been kind of disgusted with the idea of marrying each other because they're just friends but then they reach their teens and hit puberty and she's just like damn. Imma leave this one up to you too bc like I think you'd cast it really well idk

《I actually wrote this while being in Rome so I kinda like the vibe of this one》

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (Roman High-Status AU)

July 13th, 41 A.D.

“I heard Father talking to Mother in the garden this morning…”
Tetsurou looked up from his sandals slapping against the concrete pavement. The steady summer sun burned his eyes when he looked over at her, mud dusted skin and once preened hair. She was the definition of a disaster after tumbling down the hill behind her family’s estate. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, a nervous quirk of hers, while her other hand ran against the leaves of premature olive trees.
“So? My parents talk in the garden all the time.”
“Yeah, well this talk was different.” She huffed. The fingers that ran across the olives seemed to tighten, dragging down overripe fruit with quick swipes. “They were talking about a wedding.”
“What wedding?”
She paused, sending him a dirty look out of the corner of her eye.
“Our wedding.” She muttered, the apples of her cheeks growing red. Tetsurou stared at her in awe, the soft pitter patter of his feet ceasing to a stop. He cocked his head, staring at her in utter disbelief.
“Whatever do you mean, our wedding?”
“I mean-” She paused, taking a deep and steady breath. “I mean we’ve been arranged.”
Tetsurou let out a pathetic noise, a whine, perhaps, and sunk to his knees.
“Is this a joke?”
“You really think I’d be joking?” She frowned, plopping down next to him. She slumped her shoulders and spread her legs, something her mother would faint upon seeing, and yanked a leaf off the tree above them. He watched her fiddle with it between her fingers, before ripping it apart at the veins.
“Well, it could be worse. You could be arranged to Nose-Picker Naevius on the other side of the city.” Tetsurou shrugged, flashing her a coy grin when she frowned.
“Please! Like I’d like to be wed to the likes of either of you!” Tetsurou almost laughed at her, right then and there. It wasn’t that he was fond of her, because he wasn’t, she was bossy and loud and let dirt sit under her fingernails, but she definitely wasn’t the worst possible suitor. He didn’t take much of a liking for girls, these days. He couldn’t quite understand the hype of marriage, and why he needed to get married anyways. He was a man, powerful as is, and he was sure he’d live just fine without some girl tied next to him. Girls were disgusting, anyways, spent all day weaving in the commons. __, though, __ didn’t seem like the type to weave, and maybe that’s why he didn’t mind her all that much.
“Hey.” He peeped, “Give me one good reason why I wouldn’t be a suitable husband.”
“You’re disgusting!” She fired back, with no thought in between.
“How so?”
She paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowing. Tetsurou kept staring at her with a smirk so devious, and if it wasn’t for her mother’s voice in the back of her head telling her to be a lady, she would’ve thrown him into the dirt right then and there.
“Well, you cried after emperor Caligula’s death! The man was a menace, don’t you know. Father had him over for supper once and all he did was sass the cook and look at his reflection in the vases! Figures a narcissist like you would feel remorse for that goat.”
“My father had him over for supper once, too, and he did the same. It was hilarious, Mother was trying so hard not to be rude, I thought her head was going to explode. I wish he was still around so I could relive that.” Tetsurou shrugged. “Don’t seem to be getting any laughs with emperor Claudius in reign, now.”
“I think he’s much better suited as emperor! Laughs or not!”
“Really? I saw him stumble down a set of stairs today and crash into a pillar. I could do a better job at that, and I’m ten.” __ pulled another leaf off the tree and tore it apart immediately, letting the remains scatter to the concrete. She wiped her hands against her skirt, adding streaks of green alongside the faded brown of mud.
“Please! You can’t even take care of yourself, let alone an empire!”
“Says the girl who can’t even keep her skirt clean.”
She shot him one last dirty look before rising to her feet.
“I’m never marrying you.” She stated. Tetsurou hummed, jumping up to stand next to her. “We can be friends, but I’m never marrying you. You’re icky and your hair’s a mess.”
“Who said I was ever going to marry you? You aren’t quite the princess of my dreams, either.”
“Father said, but I’m going to let him know that I would rather be thrown in the Colosseum then call myself a ‘Kuroo’.”
“Yes, have fun sassing your father. I’m sure that’ll end up perfectly. Tell me how that turns out if you aren’t killed.”
“Thank you, I will. Filth.”
“Bossypants.”
“Jerk.”


March 29th, 49 A.D

Her hands were shaking.
Her hands were shaking and her mind was spinning, and oh god, she felt like she was going to puke.
Her mother insisted that today, out of all days, she reunite with her childhood friend, Tetsurou Kuroo, the wealthy boy down the street who she was destined to be wed to. She insisted that she’d rather not, it was her cursed time of the month and God forbid anything happen to her whilst she was draped in her finest white silk. Her pleas had no force though, and she was dragged along anyways. She hadn’t seen the boy in seven years, ties being cut off when she turned eleven. He had changed now, for sure, and she couldn’t fathom what he’d look like.
She imagined he’d be a lot more muscular. Rumor had it he was to be a part of the consul soon, so he had to be of decent shape. She hoped he had somehow learned to tame the childish fringe that hung in his face when he was younger, although she couldn’t imagine Tetsurou without it. Thinking about him put a small smile on her face, before her mother hit her on the arm.
“Are you excited to see him?” She pondered, and __ could feel her cheeks grow hot.
“I mean…” She shrugged, cocking her head towards the ground. “I’m a lot more nervous than excited. We’re not eight years old anymore, Mother.”
Walking through the Kuroo courtyard made her stomach roil even more than it was before. Her mother grabbed her by the hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, before marching up towards the gate and giving the lion mouth door knocker a heavy rap.
“I’m sure he’s just as nervous as you are. You do not need to worry, you’ve bathed naked with him before, you’re friends.”
“Mother! That’s not helping with the situation!”
Her mother only shrugged, straightening her shoulders when a slave opened the door for them. He nodded curtly, making way for the two of them to pass by. There was a rushed click of shoes against marble, and an all too familiar woman stumbled out into the commons.
“Oh, __, __, it’s so wonderful to see you again!” The short woman hobbled over to her and her mother, throwing her arms around both of their shoulders.
“My, what a beautiful young lady you’ve wound up to be, __. Tetsurou’s going to want to marry you right here once he sees you.”
__’s breath hitched, but she nodded, paying her respects towards her elder. Mrs. Kuroo looked the same as she did seven years ago, except the roots of her ebony hair started staining a deep gray.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kuroo, you look lovely yourself.” She managed to stutter out. The woman clapped gleefully, rushing into one of the doors at the end of the commons. __ looked up at her mother, furrowing her eyebrows in chagrin.
“I really don’t want to discuss my marriage whilst blood is dripping from my private areas, Mother.”
“You don’t have a choice. You don’t have to say anything. I’ll discuss things with Mrs. Kuroo, and you just have to sit there, drink the wine that’s served to you, and make yourself look presentable, understood?”
__ nodded, relaxing her eyebrows amongst her mother’s violent gaze.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Good girl.”
Mrs. Kuroo came stumbling out once more, an excited hue of pink dusted along her cheeks. If anything, Mrs. Kuroo was more excited about the wedding than either of the two actually being wed.
“Tetsurou should be out in a bit. He’s a smart boy, he’s studying the stars. He’s been very into science lately, and growing things.” She boasted.
“__ here, she’s very into literature. Her tutor remarks her as one of his greatest students. She took up playing the harp about a year ago, didn’t you, __?”
“I did, Mother.”
“Oh, isn’t that wonderful!” Mrs. Kuroo clapped. “It’s lovely to see you’ve grown up a proper girl.”
She wanted to ask her what she meant by that statement. Was she not proper before? Of course, she didn’t mind her clothes getting dirty and mussled up her hair, but she had the decency to be respectful. Behind closed eyelids, she rolled her eyes, but kindly accepted the so called compliment.
“Come here, ladies. I’ll have Brutus fetch us some wine while we wait for Tetsurou.”
Hearing his name out loud made her even more nervous than before. She clutched at the ends of her tunic as she took a seat, eyes nervously darting around the room. Mrs. Kuroo immediately noticed this, because she placed a hand on her shoulder and laughed.
“You don’t need to be nervous, my dear, __. He’s the same boy you knew when you were a child.”
She wanted to retaliate and say that no, he wasn’t the same boy she knew as a child. The Tetsurou she knew as a child only took interest in dirt and gladiator battles, never science or stars. Mrs. Kuroo kept yammering away, but suddenly silenced upon the sound of footsteps.
“Bragging about me now, are you, Mother?” Came a deep, hearty chuckle. Immediately, __’s heart dropped. It was him.
She didn’t dare turn around to greet him, although every part of her wanted to. God, his voice was attractive by itself. Her mother slapped her on her knee, an indication to stand up and greet him. So she did. She slowly stood up, brushed off her skirt, and faced him, eyes immediately widening upon the sight in front of her.
He was more attractive than she imagined. He was tall, extremely so, and had to be a good child larger than her. His face was thin and sharp, hazel eyes still youthful and attentive. He still had the horrible fringe, but it only added to his charm. He held a book in his hand, of some sort, and the vibe he gave off just made her want to melt.
Forget the consul, he could be a god, if he wanted to.
“Hello.” She stuttered, trying hard not to break eye contact.
“It’s been awhile, huh?”
“If seven years is while.”
Tetsurou chuckled, the tips of his ears growing visibly red. She could see the slight shake of his hands around his book, and that assured her that he was just as nervous as she was. The laughs that spilled out of his mouth were fake, but she didn’t have the audacity to confront him on it. She knew the ugly cackle that he was cursed to, and she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of facade he had pent up over the years.
They took a seat at the table, and __ didn’t dare touch her wine. Her hands were shaking so hard in her lap that she would definitely break the glass if she grabbed it. Tetsurou seemed to be sticking to the same thing. Although her eyes were glued to the table in front of her, she could feel Tetsurou’s eyes on her. This entire time, he’d been staring, as if he’d been analyzing her, like she was his prey. Needless to say, it was intimidating, especially when he was oh so attractive. At this point, she could feel her cheeks burning, every so often taking quick peeks upwards to catch his gaze. This time, once he’d caught her eye, she hadn’t looked away. He held her there with a stern gaze, before he took a quick glimpse at his mother before flashing her the nastiest silly face her could muster. At this, she couldn’t help but giggle into her fist. What he had done wasn’t at all humorous, but for some reason, she had laughed. She knew deep down in her heart that it was out of relief, that maybe he was the same, old idiotic Tetsurou from years past. Knowing this just made their arrangement all the more sweet.

Imagine #18 Charles Xavier - Part 3 (Request)

Requested by Anon: hi! so can i request a charles x reader one shot that ive been thinking of? ok so first of all y/n and charles were super close as teens but y/n died at around 19(got mixed up in smth), charles was devastated and hes still not 100% over it as an adult so when the xmen find a mutant who can control time he ends up asking them to go back and try to save y/n? and they try and they have to convince her to stay safe bcs ‘theres some1 who needs her’ or some cute shit like that?..but if u do this thx!

Not my gif

Words: 1893

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel (?), typos

A/N: Sooo, this is part 3 of 3, I hope you like it!

Part 1 - Part 2

Jean had insisted on paying for the tiny motel room for the night instead of, as Peter had suggested, breaking into someone’s house and hoping not to get caught. “Buzzkill.”, Peter had growled. “Criminal!”, Jean had replied. The bed had been old and way too small for two people, but Peter had refused to sleep on the admittedly slightly disgusting looking couch, so they had shared anyway. It was only the one night after all.

“My back!”, Peter groaned for the about hundredth time in the past few minutes and Jean knew that, by now, it was only to annoy her. “Stop complaining and lead the way.”

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hamiltons

PROMPT : HELLO HI. Can I have a Philip Hamilton imagine where the reader is Burr’s kid and you and Philip are in love and they sneak around and write cute letters to each other and one night after the reader thinks Aaron has gone to bed Philip comes over and they fool around a little or something and in the morning Aaron walks up and sees them passed out and chaos ensues.

A/N : for some reason this inspired me sm???? but yes this might b a bit short s orry!! aah ,, and there will be a sequel dont worry!!

ERA: hamiltonian (thats an actual word tf)

WARNINGS : a bit of Spice!! it isnt nsfw tho, i dont write smut

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Better With You By My Side

prompt: Dan and Phil are both sons of rich families and are sent to ballroom dancing lessons. Because there is a shortage of girls, Dan and Phil end up as partners. Phil really doesn’t want to be there and Dan doesn’t either, but is so frustrated by the fact Phil doesn’t want to dance with him he is determined to get him to.

a/n: it’s finally bacK OH MY GOD wtf it’s been so long i sorry i hate exams thank fuckin lord they’re all over so i can return with thiS i hope ur all still interested it’s been so long i’d understand if everyone’s forgotten waht’s happened tbh okay yes this is coming back every wednesday like usual yea cool 

anyway on with the dancing gays

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

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Chapter Four

It’s never in anything other than situations of extreme desperation Dan realizes his luck in having such a reliable chauffer service; knowing that as soon as he rushes out of the dark oak polished double doors without saying anything else to any of his new classmates, he’d be met with the relief of a black cab parked a convenient matter of footsteps away from him. He leaps straight through the door, relaxing into the leather upholstery as if it’s the first time he’d ever experienced the delights of simple transport before. 

“Good lesson?“ The driver fabricates small talk through Dan’s headphones. He pulls one out reluctantly. 

"Alright.” He lies in a monotonous mumble, hoping the more monosyllabic he is, the more of a chance he’ll avoid a functional conversation. The driver responds with a vague nod, before fixing his eyes back on the road ahead of them, littered with Saturday afternoon traffic. 

“Make any friends?” Dan hesitates, giving the back of his head a suspicious glare in response to his tone of nearly mockery. It’s almost as if he knows every expressed detail of his social life- or lack thereof. 

“A few.” He replies, his newly greyed tone making what he replied with before seem like the warmest and friendliest of replies. The driver picks up on it, brushing it off as typical Dan Howell attitude. 

“Nice.” He responds in a tone almost antagonistic. Dan, hoping that it was a conversation-ender, shoves his headphone back in, a feeling of relief washing over him as his eyes follow a red double decker bus swerving through the bustling maze of London vehicles. Hopefully that’ll be the last he’ll have to endure of that. “Your mother wants to talk to you when you get back, I’ve been told." 

Or not. 

"About…?” Dan frowns, settling for permanently keeping the earphone out.

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Hygge

I hope this one isn’t too surreal, it’s very 1AM and I just ate four cinnamon muffins. Part 6 of my unusual word prompts series! Enjoy! 

Content: FLUFF!! (Surrealist fluff?)

Others in the series: Epoch || Epiphany || Gigil || Balter || Syzygy


Hygge

(n) An absence of anything annoying, the presence of gentle and soothing things; a combination of cosiness, comfort, and warmth.


Their flat smelled like them. Cedar, cinnamon, and mint Aero bars.

It was the only flat on the top floor of a thin, ancient building in Notting Hill. The building was bright green, with a purple roof and a lion door knocker. There certainly wasn’t a buzzer or doorman for the tenants, but they didn’t mind.

Baz never turned down a chance to tell someone to bugger off.

 If you wandered up the stairs, to the very top, you’d find a single red door greeting you. With little bats painted on it, and a doormat that said, “Home is where the pants aren’t”.

If you happened to go inside Simon and Baz’s apartment, the first thing you’d notice were the high ceilings. Someone with wings had painted it to look like the night sky.

The walls were light blue, with scrawls of sheet music written on them in pen, at Baz’s eye level. For when he had an idea for a song and couldn’t find paper.

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