Queen of Hell

*He tightened his hold onto his blade when she descended the stairs and got closer to him. He knew his plan could go really wrong, really fast and at the words that left her lips, Dean’s eyes widened out of fright, but not for long. He didn’t wanted her to see how he felt. Dean instinctively stepped back, squinting at her when she stepped into his bubble. Alright, so maybe he needed his glasses, after all. It’s been so long since he had let his real vision through and he had trouble to see her traits properly without her real self shining through.*

                  Babylon didn’t care anymore. All these years, even above ground, she’d                    wanted Dean Winchester. He had always been kind to her, always care-                   d for her, always protected her. And by taking Hell, she felt she was retu-                   rning the favor. Keeping Demons off their ass, sending some to help, p-                   unishing those who hurt. And she doubted they even knew -- and if they                   did, they didn’t seem to take the time to care, or even say thank you.

                  And as she kissed him, she wondered if this Dean had those memorie-                   s. She and Sam would often talk about old times, but she had never had                   those conversations with Dean -- hell, she hardly had any conversations                   with Dean that weren’t business. She was the Queen, and as such was                   granted only royal consorts -- consorts like Sam. If she and Dean ever s-                   poke at all, it was in passing or because Dean was there on Sam’s requ-                   est. But that didn’t stop how she felt. It didn’t stop anything.

                  The sound of his blade clattering to the ground and his hands grabbing h-                   er waist reassured her that she’d made the right choice. His hands feel ri-                   ght on her body in ways she could never describe. His body fit perfectly pre-                   ssed against her own, just the right height for her, the right everything. Fing-                   ers softly held into his hair as she kissed him, his words finding their way t-                   o her ears as they did so. 

allow me to introduce you to some things made by zuhair murad

aka

“your country’s trying to take over/annex my country and you’re making it difficult to hate you because you’re so nice and attractive stop it” au

“we’ve been engaged to be married since we were three but this is the first time we’ve met and your portraits really don’t do you justice” au

“i’m a prince/ss and you’re a servant and we’re not supposed to hang out but we’re gonna fall in love anyways” au

“i’m a prince/ss and you’re my bodyguard and we’re so not supposed to bang but we kind of did anyways” au (bonus: limo sex is great sex)

princess diaries style “i grew up not knowing i was royal and suddenly my royal grandparent showed up out of nowhere and told me i was so now i guess i’m the heir to the throne and you’re my crush from my pre-royal days but i still have a crush on you” au

alternately, “i grew up not knowing i was royal and now i guess i’m heir to a throne and you’re the guy who’s supposed to be teaching me how to be royal bc i suck at it and oops we made out” au

“i’m a prince/ss from a small country nobody’s heard of and i’m in college pretending not to be royal and you’re another student who’s always calling me out on my bs” au

                          She allows him to still her hand with no protest, letting them fall away                           to settle by her side once again. “Of course they’re all an option,” the                           Queen responded, “You should know by now that anything you want                           is an option.” Red eyes flit over his face, her smile still genuine and s-                           weet as the sugar she often consumed. “I can definitely find someone                            to deal with their beck and call for a while, love,” Babylon informed, gi-                           ving a nod, “The things they require are often far below you, anyway. Y-                           ou should be up here with me in the throne room, doing more importa-                           nt things.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled at the throne, turn-                           ing back to him after a moment.

desert-revolution:

I firmly believe that the reason many Slytherins were easily convinced to join Voldemort was because they were treated like shit by the rest of the houses while they were growing up. Imagine spending seven of the most important years of your life being told that you were part of the bad house and therefore bad yourself. Everyone boos your quidditch team. All the houses will hang out with everyone except you. You grow up being hated by your fellow students and many of your teachers.

Now imagine someone comes along and tells you that you’re not worthless and bad. That you’re invited to join a family where you will right the wrongs committed against you. You have the opportunity to be wanted and powerful instead of a hated outcast. Several of your former classmates are telling you how great it is. How you’re welcomed and needed. These are the kids you grew up with. The classmates who went through all the same things you did. Being a Death Eater sounds pretty good now.

I’ve been waiting for a post like this.

THIS.

Did nobody stop to think and realize that if the Sytherin students had stood and fought, they would have been facing their own parents on a battlefield? Even if some of them weren’t really on board with the whole Death Eater thing, expecting them to fight was just cruel. They were children. The oldest of them were seventeen. Babies. And their own professors were asking them to shoot illegal killing spells at Mum and Dad.

Imagine you are a Slytherin and you are staying behind to defend your school and maybe restore some honor to your House. The other students are all giving you mistrustful glares. You know they’re waiting for you to start hitting them in the back with stunning spells. You consider doing it, too, because you’re already starting to regret the choice you made.

Then the battle begins, and you are up against a crowd of strangers who aren’t strangers at all. You recognize voices, muffled behind masks but still piercingly familiar. Your uncle. Your cousin. Your best friend’s big sister.

And then you see a tall man in expensive grey robes. A moment later you notice the small, curvy woman next to him, wand ready. They are guarding each others backs.

Dress

1906