lady mary

fanfiction writer, creative person dreaming of living in Paris

[mismedleym]

pet portraits from may! also comms are open again!

[constancezin]

For @jilychallenge

My partner is @formerlympp

And the prompt

"A knight request a token before the jousting tournament begins and receives it."

It's more a Robin Hood than a knight but he got some apples.

[sobubule]

He gave her his shoulder.

She kept it.

I wanted to show them young and vulnerable. Because, after all, what are angry teens if not young, vulnerable kids?

Can I say I was very inspired by @ohhevans's work ?

Because I was. I am.

😗

[itswinterabyss]

Hi everyone! Unfortunately, Tumblr support isn't responding to my request to remove the shadowban, and I don't know when this issue will be resolved. So, I created a second blog to post content from Blackinnon, etc.

[iamacheezburger]

james and lily

[loverlupins]

jily engaged and carefree and so much in love

(all pics from pinterest)

[itswinterabyss]

A little information. Unfortunately, my blog has been shadowbanned. Therefore, I can't leave comments, reply to messages, and my posts aren't visible in search results. I hope support will respond to my message soon and fix the situation.

[itswinterabyss]

after a long winter part 1

@malbusfest

In the last weeks of May, Hogwarts sank into a peculiar state: the pre-exam tension and fatigue that bound professors and students alike slowly melted away under the gentle May sun. The castle seemed frozen on the threshold between seasons — it still held the breath of spring, yet eagerly welcomed the first stirrings of summer. The windows of classrooms and common rooms remained open for long stretches, letting the warm air, heavy with the scent of fresh green grass, flow into the cool stone walls and corridors.

The lake, usually a deep blue, gleamed silver in the morning sunlight these days, shimmering and beckoning. In the air hung a strange mixture of anticipation and quiet sadness: everyone, from first-years to graduating students, not to mention the teachers, sensed without words how swiftly time was passing — soon, the academic year, full of discoveries, debates, victories, and mistakes, would become nothing but a warm memory.

For Minerva, this month still felt unusual. After leaving Hogwarts, she had, for many reasons, never considered returning to the Scottish highlands — especially as a teacher. But time had put everything in its place, and she had to admit she did not miss the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic; in some ways, she even felt relief at finding herself once more in these halls, leaving behind regulations and arguments with superiors.

The morning followed its usual rhythm, filled with discussions about the upcoming exams. But Minerva’s thoughts wandered far elsewhere. She had noticed immediately that Albus had left earlier than usual. He rarely left the Great Hall first, preferring to linger: listen to the end of Headmaster Dippet’s speech, exchange a few words with a colleague, slowly stir his tea, and watch the latest mischief at the Gryffindor table.

Still, if Albus needed to slip away unnoticed, he did so without the slightest difficulty. Minerva lingered at the table a few more minutes: she slowly finished her almost-cold coffee, half-listening to Professor Dippet’s musings on discipline among second-years. The words reached her as though through a fog — she could not concentrate at all, and a growing unease tightened like a cold knot she could not untie.

The boundaries of her relationship with Albus had always been unstable — ever since the extra Animagus lessons. During that final school year, something had arisen between them that almost resembled friendship, if not for the sudden flash of attraction that threatened everything. And in the years that followed, this uncertainty tormented them both; closeness was followed by distance, over and over again. Sometimes it irritated Minerva unbearably and even disappointed her. Yet at the same time, she clearly understood that letting each other go was something they would likely never manage.

Albus must have thought the same, seeing as they had finally stopped resisting and allowed themselves to be together. Minerva had learned far too well to notice the slightest changes in him, and this knowledge was dangerous: it wound around her like a tight knot, heavier than the gossip they so carefully avoided within the school walls, preferring not to display their relationship in public. She had begun to distinguish the shades of his silence, but she did not always know how to act — or whether it was appropriate to interfere in something so personal. Did she have the right to intrude on what he chose to keep closed? These unanswerable questions constantly circled in her head.

The coffee had gone completely cold and left a bitter taste on her tongue when Minerva rose from the table and headed for the exit. The corridors were almost empty: the students, of course, spent as much time as possible outdoors. Beyond the high windows, the shadows of trees fell across the walls, but sunlight still streamed along the pathways in soft golden ribbons. She climbed the stairs, spoke the password at the door to Albus’s office, and entered. The room welcomed her with silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock, methodically counting minutes and seconds.

Fawkes dozed peacefully on his perch, his head tucked comfortably under his wing — his feathers glowed with crimson and gold. The desk was slightly messy: parchments lay in uneven stacks, and the written pages would have scattered at the faintest breeze if not for the charms placed upon them. Albus stood by the window, and even from a distance, Minerva could feel the weariness that had settled into him. He continued gazing at the sunlit courtyard and seemed not to notice her intrusion without invitation. Or perhaps it was so obvious that no extra words were needed.

In part, Minerva understood what caused his dark pensiveness at moments like this. May was drawing to a close. Summer was approaching too quickly — and with it, inevitably, Ariana returned. Minerva had seen the girl’s portrait once or twice: flaxen hair, a gaze filled with sorrow mixed with longing — as if she knew something beyond the reach of others. The ghost of the younger sister had taken up permanent residence in Albus’s soul, like a wound that would not heal and ached with the arrival of warm weather.

Minerva moved closer, almost soundlessly, deciding to announce her presence:

"You’re unusually silent today."

Albus did not turn around, but the corners of his lips twitched in a faint smile.

"Will you never break the habit of sneaking up quietly, Minerva?" he replied.

"Look who’s talking," she countered softly.

Now he turned his head. In the sunlight, his eyes seemed astonishingly light — blue, almost translucent — and therefore particularly poor at hiding his true feelings. Minerva frowned slightly, studying his face. The features she knew so well always seemed simultaneously complex — demanding to be deciphered — and simple. How did that happen? These observations made her feel flustered, as though they had gone back in time to when she crossed the threshold of his office as a student. But Minerva quickly pulled herself together.

"What’s troubling you?" she asked directly.

Albus looked back toward the window, as if beyond the glass lay the answer to all unspoken questions.

"It’s nothing," he said almost indifferently.

"Albus," Minerva insisted, stepping closer.

He sighed, as if he had already conducted this conversation in his head many times.

"I’m wallowing in regrets, as always. Nothing new," he added, a bitter note in his voice.

Albus tried to live without looking back at the past, but the old ghosts of his mistakes would not release him. Part of his soul wished this conversation were taking place between him and Aberforth. His younger brother would likely listen with his usual irritation, call him a "damn brooder" who looked at the past as though it could change.

And perhaps that was precisely why, after talking to Aberforth, things became easier. Not because his brother was kind — kindness had never been his strength — but because he ruthlessly brought him back to a reality where plenty of problems remained, as the newspaper headlines constantly testified, whether the Daily Prophet or the ordinary Muggle press.

But Aberforth did not look at him the way Minerva did — as though there was always something good in him. She gently touched his face, and Albus closed his eyes almost imperceptibly. It surprised her anew each time — how natural her tenderness became when she was with him. Minerva had never thought of herself as particularly affectionate. She had always found it easier to back her words with action. But next to Albus, something warm rose up inside her, something she had not known in herself before — or had not wanted to know. She suspected she would never be rid of this feeling.

"You shouldn’t torment yourself with self‑recrimination again," she said, tracing the line of his cheekbone with her fingers.

Albus gave a barely audible chuckle, his eyes still closed.

"What a philosophical speech for a weekend morning," he said, a hint of irony in his voice.

"I’m serious," Minerva said, raising her voice slightly.

"I can tell," Albus replied, finally turning to face her.

Suddenly he caught her hand and gently pulled her toward him. Minerva didn’t even have time to protest: Albus made her step back toward the desk, then easily sat her on its edge. The unexpected turn of events made her instinctively grab the edge of the desk.

"Albus," Minerva looked at him reproachfully, even though his desire to change the subject was expected. Albus didn’t like burdening her with his problems.

"Yes?" He leaned slightly toward her so that their faces were now very close.

"Of the two of us, you’re the only one with a bad habit of sitting on desks," Minerva said, trying to keep a straight face.

He laughed softly.

"You do love to criticize me," said Albus, and for the first time in their conversation, something like amusement flickered in his eyes. "It’s becoming a habit, isn’t it?"

Minerva shook her head. Still, a little distraction wouldn’t hurt either of them.

"Changing the subject again," Minerva said, squinting against the bright sunlight.

He took her hand, interlacing their fingers.

"I just know what you’re going to say."

Minerva looked at Albus carefully, her gaze lingering on the furrow between his brows that appeared whenever he was preparing a convincing argument. This was not the first time they had had this conversation, and each time she wished it would make things easier afterward.

"You are better than you think you are, Albus," she said bluntly, looking him straight in the eye.

He slowly moved closer, touching his nose to her cheekbone. The gesture might have seemed almost boyish if it hadn’t held so much caution. As if Albus still didn’t quite believe he was allowed to be happy with anyone.

"You’re just in love with me," he murmured with a smile. "For some reason completely unknown to me."

Minerva snorted in near irritation. She had never liked it when he said that.

"That’s not it," she countered. "I simply know you."

Albus was silent. Arguing was pointless. For a long time, he had walled himself off from this kind of scenario, and he still didn’t understand how it had happened that with Minerva he had miscalculated. It had started with friendship — a permissible thing, even if it was between a teacher and a student — and had ended with her knowing so much about him, and he about her. Not just knowing — understanding. With all the mistakes and the past that could not be erased.

With his and Grindelwald’s shared ideals. With Ariana’s death and the endless quarrel with Aberforth that followed. With a youth spent thinking more of his own grandeur than of those around him. But none of this repelled Minerva, and what was even more astonishing — it did not disappoint her. In her gaze there was neither judgment nor pity. In her green eyes he saw a glimmer of a familiar feeling. The same one that arose in him when she was near.

"You are so stubborn," Albus remarked.

"When it comes to stubbornness, we could give each other a run for our money," Minerva said with a smirk, tilting her head slightly like a cat.

She was the first to gently touch his lips, and his response was sharp, almost impetuous. Much more assertive, as if behind it all was a hunger he had suppressed for far too long. His hand slid to her waist, the other rested on her cheek, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. The heat of each other’s lips and their quickening breath made all the dark thoughts dissolve.

For so many years, Albus had carefully tried to atone for his guilt, but now, after a winter that had dragged on too long, he had finally, desperately and irrevocably, fallen into the tenderness that Minerva had given him.

[itswinterabyss]

modern! au & no magic! au

Deep down, Marlene had already resigned herself to the inevitable. She knew from the start that Sirius would catch a cold. It was only a matter of time. Two days ago, he had returned from a football match soaked to the bone because he had forgotten his umbrella at home. Nature had done its job flawlessly: the wind had been raging fiercely, and heavy raindrops had settled everywhere. But Sirius just waved it off with his usual smirk, insisting everything would be fine. His carelessness had always driven Marlene crazy.

And now, on the third day, her worst fears had come true. The fever was persistent, accompanied by an annoying runny nose — and now Sirius sat on the sofa, wrapped tightly in a warm blanket. He sniffled every now and then but tried to carry on as if it were nothing. Marlene often liked to tease him when he acted too overconfident, calling him a poodle. But right now, Black looked more like a beaten puppy who desperately wanted some care, even if he would never admit it.

"You're really sick, Black," Marlene carefully brushed the damp strands from his forehead, lingering her palm on his hot skin.

"I just need to stay home another day," Sirius retorted, forcing a smile, trying to look in control even in this situation. "Don't look at me like I'm dying, Marls."

"Stop joking! Do you really think you'll recover that quickly?" she inquired, sitting down beside him and studying his face intently.

"Maybe it's an allergy," he shrugged, sniffling.

Marlene raised an eyebrow and carefully adjusted the blanket that had slipped off Sirius's shoulders.

"An allergy to rain and November wind?" Marlene huffed. "Sirius, even your inventiveness has its limits."

He wanted to object, to say something like "you underestimate my talents," but instead had to reach for another tissue. Perhaps it was for the best. Otherwise, McKinnon would surely declare that it was time for him to stop cosplaying Anakin Skywalker during their final battle with Obi-Wan Kenobi in the third episode of Star Wars.

"Sirius, you're burning up," Marlene continued, this time touching his cheekbone. The skin under her palm was too warm, and she frowned involuntarily. "Can't you feel it?"

"I feel it," he admitted, leaning back against the sofa and closing his eyes. A defiant smirk appeared on his lips. "But I thought it was just you affecting me, Marls. I'm a naturally hot guy, you know."

"Very witty," Marlene rolled her eyes, walked to the cupboard, and began rummaging through the drawers. "Where's the thermometer?"

"I don't know. James borrowed it last time and never returned it," Sirius guessed, opening one eye and watching her fussy movements.

"I'll kill James. But first — you, if you don't get into bed," Marlene turned around, having found a spare thermometer, and froze when she saw that Sirius had already propped himself up on his elbow.

"Is that an invitation?" Sirius immediately tried to stand up and hug her, but Marlene shot him a stern look that even made a thought flicker through his feverish brain: "better not risk it."

"No jokes, Romeo," Marlene cut him off and led him to the bedroom.

Under other circumstances, Sirius would have definitely appreciated her habit of giving orders. Oh, what lousy timing to catch a cold. She put him to bed, covered him with two blankets, handed him the mercury thermometer that, for some reason, was stored in McKinnon's old makeup bag, and said sternly:

"Rest, Black. I'll make you some broth."

"You? Broth?" Sirius repeated, trying to figure out if he'd heard correctly or if he was already hallucinating from his weakened state. "McKinnon, do you know how to cook anything besides scrambled eggs?"

"Of course I do. You really must be sick, asking stupid questions!" Marlene snorted, but then softened and adjusted the blanket, tucking it neatly around him on all sides. "So your job right now is to lie there and not try to escape to the kitchen to 'help'!"

"I wouldn't dream of escaping," Sirius drawled. "Since you've voluntarily decided to be my doctor and cook at the same time, it would be sheer blasphemy not to take advantage of the opportunity, wouldn't it?"

Marlene smirked and headed to the kitchen. She and Sirius had moved in together only a month ago, and in that time, she hadn't really bothered much with cooking. It wasn't that she had any problem with culinary skills, but Marlene didn't consider herself one of those people who loved spending all their free time in the kitchen. Besides, they often ate out — and in the evenings, they ordered pizza or Chinese food from the neighborhood restaurant, and that suited them just fine. But today was a special occasion.

Marlene stopped by the table and also grabbed her wireless headphones, putting on her favorite ABBA playlist. Grandmother Rose's chicken broth had seemed like a magical potion to her as a child — one sip of the hot liquid warmed your very soul. And it helped fight colds so well! Marlene really hoped it would work now too. It was a good thing she had bought all the necessary ingredients ahead of time. Thinking about it, she smiled involuntarily, pleased with her foresight.

Marlene carefully placed the chicken pieces into cold water — just as Grandmother Rose had taught her, to fully release the flavor and make the broth rich. She turned on the burner, and a steady flame danced beneath the pot. As the water slowly heated, Marlene found herself watching the play of light on the pot's shiny surface. When the first timid bubbles began to appear on the water's surface, she quickly skimmed off the foam with a slotted spoon.

Next, she started chopping the vegetables. Her movements were confident. The carrots fell into the bowl in neat little circles, and the onions in translucent half-rings. Marlene paused for a second, looking at the onion, and sighed:

"Well, here we go."

Sure enough, a minute later, her eyes started stinging, and the sharp aroma hit her nose. She sniffled, barely holding back tears, and quickly pushed the cutting board further away, quietly laughing at herself and involuntarily dancing when she heard the chorus of "Chiquitita." If Sirius weren't sick, she would be singing along right now. However, while she was cooking, he could very well be taking a nap, and waking him up wasn't the best idea. So Marlene concentrated on the recipe.

A pinch of salt, a few black peppercorns, a bay leaf were added, and Marlene turned down the heat. While the chicken was cooking, she went to the refrigerator for eggs. Then Marlene leaned against the countertop, watching a thin golden film form on the surface of the broth — a sure sign that everything was going as it should.

When the egg was cooked, she quickly cooled it under cold running water, carefully peeled it, and, taking a sharp knife, cut it in half — the yolk was firm and bright yellow, resembling a tiny sun. The aroma gradually began to fill the kitchen, and fragments of memories flashed through her mind: Grandmother Rose at the stove, with her sleeves rolled up and laughing eyes, teaching her how to skim the foam properly; Sirius laughing carefreely at the table, devouring ordered pizza; their first cleaning session together in this apartment, arguing about where to put the old radio, then just collapsing onto the sofa and laughing…

Marlene slowly stirred the contents of the pot — the spoon traced smooth circles, and the motion reminded her of a spiral. A cycle. A closed loop that returns to itself, but each time at a new level. Like her life with Sirius — perpetually twisted, unpredictable, full of sharp turns, spins, and unexpected loops.

Black had entered her life two years ago as a random deskmate in a joint philosophy lecture. She still vividly remembered that day: he was late, burst noisily into the auditorium, apologized with such a disarming smile that even the strict professor just waved his hand, and plopped down next to her. Handsome, arrogant, with a smug smirk that immediately made Marlene's palms itch — she wanted to wipe it off his face. And there was that motorcycle, rumbling down the street as if announcing his arrival long before Sirius himself appeared. Back then, Marlene thought he annoyed her terribly.

But things turned out quite differently. They quickly found common ground — like two puzzle pieces that, at first glance, shouldn't have fit together, but suddenly clicked into a clear picture. Their conversations would start with sharp jabs and end with long arguments about music, about freedom, and about where this endless path was leading them. And at some point, the jabs turned into something more: they felt a mutual attraction, a pull that was impossible to ignore.

Marlene stirred the broth again — the spiral on the water's surface seemed to reflect their story. Each turn was a new stage, a new twist. For Sirius and Marlene would draw close, then pull away, argue until they were hoarse, and then laugh at what they had even fought about.

Thinking about this, Marlene smiled and poured the broth into deep bowls. Taking a first cautious sip, she closed her eyes in satisfaction. The taste was exactly as she remembered it from childhood. Picking up the tray, Marlene headed to the bedroom. Sirius lay with his eyes closed, but when he heard her footsteps, he immediately opened one eye and tried to muster an alert smile, though it was clear he had been dozing a bit.

"Oh, is that what I think it is?" Sirius theatrically raised his eyebrows. "Smells… like home."

"It's my grandmother's recipe," Marlene placed the tray on Sirius's lap and noted with satisfaction that he was genuinely taken aback. "Works like a charm. So eat it and don't criticize."

"Yes, ma'am, Dr. McKinnon," he took a spoon, scooped up some broth, blew on it, and cautiously tasted it. An expression of genuine surprise appeared on his face. "Wow. This is… delicious. Seriously. Marls, tell me, were you hiding the fact that you can cook this well on purpose?"

Marlene shook her head, laughing. She admitted she had expected something like this from Black, but thought he would wait until he was feeling better to mention it.

"Of course on purpose! What, did you think that just because we moved in together, I'm your servant now or something?" Marlene smirked. "But seriously, eat it all. This broth really helps."

"Then promise you'll make me something else," Sirius said with a satisfied smirk.

"We'll see how you behave," Marlene said. "Just eat."

"You're really bossy today," Sirius replied, but he scooped up another spoonful anyway.

Marlene, catching the grateful and tender look in his gray eyes, couldn't hold back a smile.

[dailyflicks]

EVER AFTER (1998) dir. Andy Tennant

[periodcostumefantasylover]

Mina Harkers red dress in Bram Stokers Dracula in 4k

[snowbairdd]

Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds… true love?

BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA (1992) dir. Francis Ford Coppola

[didanagy]

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (2005) dir. joe wright

[itswinterabyss]

with the rain comes my eternal meloncholy

@malbusfest

[midnightinshadow]

[trekkie-dunes]

hear me out...

this is who i imagine when i think about young obi-wan and satine

[tenartist]

Team 7 x Avatar AU