bakerstreet | She gave me peace in a lifetime of war

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She gave me peace in a lifetime of war

Hades & Persephone.

Persephone was gathering flowers with the Oceanids along with Artemis and Athena—the Homeric Hymn says—in a field when Hades came to abduct her, bursting through a cleft in the earth. Demeter, when she found her daughter had disappeared, searched for her all over the earth with torches. In most versions she forbids the earth to produce, or she neglects the earth and in the depth of her despair she causes nothing to grow. Helios, the sun, who sees everything, eventually told Demeter what had happened and at length she discovered the place of her abode. Finally, Zeus, pressed by the cries of the hungry people and by the other deities who also heard their anguish, forced Hades to return Persephone. Hades indeed complied with the request, but first he tricked her, giving her some pomegranate seeds to eat. Persephone was released by Hermes, who had been sent to retrieve her, but because she had tasted food in the underworld, she was obliged to spend a third of each year (the winter months) there, and the remaining part of the year with the gods above.

but even that hardest of hearts unhardened suddenly when he saw her there: persephone in her mother’s garden, sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair, the smell of flowers she held in her hand and the pollen that fell from her fingertips. and suddenly, hades was only a man with a taste of nectar upon his lips

To live your life in darkness is no easy task. Evil may be just a point of view - one you may not ascribe to yourself - but a black heart or a ruthless mind is hardly quieted. While you don't regret what you've done, at least not outwardly, you do wonder if there isn't something more. Grey morality has discolored your world.

That is, until you see them.

They are beautiful, pure, good: everything that you are not. You should be annoyed or at least ambivalent to their presence; after all, they serve you no purpose, promise you no gain. But oddly enough, you are drawn to them, and not even in hopes to destroy or corrupt. No, you want to have them, to keep them with you. What to do with this newfound feeling?

Act on it, of course. You've never let anything stop you before. What you don't realize (or perhaps do, you just don't exactly care) is that the object of your...affection may not be too keen on being taken what they see as prisoner. Yet you only have their best interests at heart! Still, you do care for them, in your own fashion, more than almost anyone else, so surely a deal can be struck...

You just couldn't bear to lose them.

This meme, obviously, is inspired by the myth of Hades and Persephone. Feel free to be as literal or as loose with your interpretations as you'd like.
Comment with your character, canon, preferences, and what role you'd like your character to play.
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[ He's seen her with her fiance, and the relationship is cold, distant, and displays are very much for show. He's seen her with others who have a mind to seduce the very beautiful Bellatrix Black, and she's cold and haughty and touch me not. He half expects, then, that Bella will push him away when he kisses her, even with the way she's wrapped herself around her. He doesn't expect her to press against him and kiss him again in the kind of kiss that could be the prelude to more.

When he opens his eyes after she draws back, they aren't calm and serene but simmering with the desire he'd tamped down earlier. ]

I would not mind it.

[Lucius Malfoy is no fool. He can guess that the progressively more violent torturing of Muggles leads eventually to murder of the filthy Mudbloods who stain the world. He can guess that Bella is instrumental in the growing mysterious deaths that mundane world and their own are abuzz about.

Some would say that there's something wrong with me that the idea excites him.

He picks up her left arm and brings it to his lips, his teeth scraping across her wrist below where her dark mark burns black. ]

Take me hunting, Bella.

( She lights up at his easy agreement to join, and she suspects nothing when he takes her hand in his and guides it to his lips. A kiss to the hand, no doubt, and permits him, it's hardly somethings he minds coming from him. Besides, there is one one of her favourite subjects to speak of. )

Oh, you are ––

( – and then his teeth scrape against her skin, her voice cuts out in a gasp, and she squirms, no doubt about it as she is still sitting astride. It is the proximity to the Mark that gets her beyond anything, a touch uncomfortable to most, while she has gotten so used to brushing her fingers against it, tracing it, resting her head as she sleeps, that she no longer perceives it as anything remotely unpleasant in the traditional sense.

Quite the opposite. She finds her voice again, but now more than before, her eyes are bright with desire of a different nature. )

You are going to enjoy it so very much, my darling.

[ It is madness, what he's doing. A part of him knows this. The part of him that had resisted taking the risk that could have led him here before knows that this is purely madness, that this will lead him down a dark road of the sort where there is no exit. A part of him may blame it on a mixture of desire and enchantment.

Another part of Lucius has always known that he's a little bit mad. That same part knows that he's always wanted to lean into the madness. That same part finds it easy to pulled along with Bella's

When she shifts on his lap, he draws in a breath and his eyes darken to nearly black. And yet, he doesn't reach between them. It would be easy - easier for her, but still easy - to dispense with the last of his clothing and remove the last of the barriers between them. But he finds he wants to draw this out. ]

Tell me what you'll do, darling.

( The truth is that she hasn't yet decided. This is hardly a mission in the classical sense, where her Lord sets a specific target, where the danger is real, because filthy as they may be, they still weird power, undeserved and ill-begotten as it might be, because that kind of mission is hardly one she would be permitted to bring him along. Brilliant, high potential, perfect as he was, he was not yet marked for the Cause. No, tonight's orders were simple: pick a Muggle home, take the inhabitants apart, send the Mark into the sky so that the magical community can continue rallying behind the Minister who seems to be the only one capable of keeping these horrors away from them and theirs.

But his head must begin to clear, no? So this is fine. She doesn't consider that perhaps the fact that there is now undeniable want in his eyes doesn't for clear and rational thought on his part make, nor that his powers will still be somewhat dampened, unlike hers. She doesn't much want to think about the less savoury aspects of their situation. )

I did always rather fancy the idea of drowning a parent in their child's blood.

( Well, it would need to be watered down, of course, but that is what a bathtub is for. )

There is just something breaking within them when they are forced to watch as you carve up their little ones with a searing hot blade, and it is so terribly easy to keep them all conscious for however long you need them to be.

[It's better if he - if both of them - don't think about the less savoury aspects. If he pretends he's here of his own free will, then that occasionally nagging voice is silenced. Perhaps he'd listen to it another time, he thinks as one hand curves around Bella's thigh. Perhaps he wouldn't.

He doesn't have the Mark. He has not caught the attention of the Minister - at least as far as he's aware. He's been back in London a mere six months, after all, and has been mostly been playing the part of a well-off young wizard with no responsibilities. It doesn't mean he hasn't gotten up to things on his own.

Europe is a rather permissive place.]

If use the body-bind curse to hold a body over a basin, you can bleed them into a basin. A basin containing, for example, their screaming mother.

[His hand slips under the edge of the raised hem of her dress, silky and slinky now that her undergarments have been dispensed with. ]

While they beg Mummy to make it stop, as if she has any power at all. You can see the moment they realize their parent is useless.

( He said he would stay, and she clings to that like a lifeline, even if her desperate need for him remains, if not entirely subconscious, at least somewhat rationalised away. She tries to fit it in a mold, into a pattern of sense or reason, but struggles, ultimately fails. She is unfamiliar with a need like this, or rather, unfamiliar with permitting herself, and likewise, there is no positive worldly answer to what she has done to get him here. The ending she envisions exists in its positive form only in her mind.

And still, this is his hand on her thigh, and his hand sneaking up her skirt, a skirt she would not publicly allow to look as disturbed as this. More so, when she has trouble remaining unmoving beneath his touch, it is not to suppress a recoiling, but too keep from shifting into it.

It is somewhat unsuccessful. She shifts in his lap, humming, content, encouraging. )

I knew you were perfect.

( She can picture it, too, picture him and his victims, picturing his eyes going as pitch dark as they are now, sees him licking his lips as some filth breathes its last. He can feel the muscles in her thighs tense at the thought. She knows he has tortured, of course, she has been there for it. But killing is a further step, and she has not asked it of him yet. Belatedly now, she knows she should have. )

Tell me how much you enjoyed it.

[ His father, purist though he is, influential though he was in getting rid of Riddle's predecessor, draws his line long before muder. He doesn't mourn the Muggles and Mudbloods who have been killed - but it would be terribly distasteful to actually do it. And so, Lucius' adventures have been confined to the Continent, to the year and some change he spent "studying" at Durmstrang and then traversing the Nordic countries, then east to Switzerland, south to Italy, and further east yet to Greece, Romania, Albania and the like. He has cast no mark in the sky when he's done it, and the murders have been horrifying to the Muggles - but unexplainable, and certainly not traceable to a young man who none of them recalled.

His father would not approve, would approve even less of his heir doing that than simply acquiesing to abduction by a lovely, possibly mad, pureblood witch. But Lucius is not purely the son Abraxas would have wanted.

His hand slides in between Bella's thighs, where she's wet and hot, and wanting him. He meets her eyes that are burning with the idea of what he's done. His thumb slips through her folds to find her clit. ]

It's like being a god. They look at me like that, you know. Like I'm a god who might possibly show them mercy and allow them to live, even after they've watched me destroy the rest of their family. I like it when they get on their knees and beg especially. It's where they belong, don't you think? They should always be on their knees.

[ He's not thinking of Petia - Petia may as well not exist anymore, not with beautiful, beautiful Bella draped over him staring at him as if he's the only man in the world - but it's possible that his experiences with her led Lucius down this path. Petia was a headstrong witch who almost always got her way, and a kind of resentment had simmered under the surface with Lucius, even as he told himself he loved her. And now here he is, listening to the parts of himself that any reasonable person would silence. Now here he is, pushing Bellatrix Black's desire higher with his fingers and a story. ]

( She listens to his words with dazed veneration, equally enthralled by the sound of his voice as she is by his touch, which, in a way, is a novelty. She is not innocent in any sense of the word, but she has, with preference, sought out fellow Death Eaters for relief, and the power play there was nothing short of explicit, inhibitions a life saver, too much enjoyment a sign of weakness – and more often than not, she felt as detached from the person beneath, above, inside her as her fiancé felt from the rest of the world.

Only now does she notices that her ring is gone. She must have taken it off, before…

Is it still abduction? Does she have to call it that? If he touches her like this, and his hands are unbound, and the fog has lifted, it’s almost just as it all should be. )

They should be on their knees, but more than that, they should all be gone, turned to dust or ashes, so that the world can be truly purified.

( Gods, though, she likes the sound of it. There has been room within her mythology for one god already, but the old times had gods aplenty, why not make it so now? She writhes against his hand, her breathing has turned unsteady, and at a particularly clever flick of a finger, she moans out his name, like a prayer. It seems right. )

I want you inside of me.

( It would be easy for her, less easy for him – but manageable, at this stage – to vanish his trousers and make it so. She can quite tell that his body, at least, is willing, but this is why she waits for his agreement, a nod, anything. Even if she needs him more than she needs herself right now, what she also needs is for him to look at her just as he does now. )

[ Perhaps it's his youth. Perhaps it's because he's not a part of a group where he must guard against perceived weaknesses - not yet, at least - but Lucius takes a hedonistic pleasure in sex, and his lip curves as Bella writhes against his palm. Maybe, he's thinking, Bella belongs to him now. Despite how this started, despite the fact that when he first woke the power was all on one side, there's more even footing now.

And it's partly the way she's on the verge of coming apart against his hand. It's partly the way his name falls from her lips like a benediction. He knows if he said hers now right now it would sound very much the same.

It only takes a murmured word, his eyes narrowing in concentration, before his trousers vanish. It takes another for her gown to go the same route. ]

I have to have you. Now.

[ Forever, he thinks as his hands at Bella's hips urge her up on her knees so he can fit the head of his cock against her entrance. He has to have her forever, and he's never thought that with any girl he's ever been with. ]

I have to have you after I watch you kill, too. Especially then, darling.

( She makes a startled sound when he vanishes her dress right along his trousers, there is some illusion of power shattered here, clearly, and that ought to worry her – she has better situational awareness than this, usually. But in many, many ways, she isn't able to think her way through this situation, not without acknowledging things she wouldn't know how to cope with, and anyway, isn't this precisely what she had hoped for?

What she had pictured, on more than one occasion, when she had been by herself? )

With the blood still on your hands, after we have given them the only ending they deserve.

( She has half let him lead thus far, but the claiming she denies, and leaves it to herself, and she makes it deep, and vicious. The sudden intensity of it is near-overwhelming, bordering on discomfort, certainly not without a dull ache for her – but it is also the intersection that marks too many of her favourite things at once. She cries out with a smile, and sets a pace as ferocious as she imagines him in his killing moments. )

Make it so.

[It's safe to say that something within Lucius Malfoy has been snapping since he left Hogwarts, if not before then. He hasn't had the stressors that one could see with Bella. He was not recruited straight out of Hogwarts by charming Tom Riddle. He hasn't had to contend with his father's friends in more than a peripheral sense. But little things have pushed him closer to this edge, one he's ever been inclined to anyway.

And here they are, he thinks, gasping as Bella takes him with a rough force that would be too much for most. It pains her, and he savors that cry that is very much not pleasure. Not entirely, and he reaches up to wrap her hair around his fist and he yanks her down as he bucks into her. ]

As you wish, my love.

[ He'll fuck her, the kind of violent, vicious fuck he's fantasized about when having gentle relations with appropriate heiresses. The kind of vicious coupling he's imagined while the two of them have thumbed through books at McKinnons.

He reaches down to press his thumb against her clit as she rides him with the kind of force that guarantees he'll not last long. ]

Scream my name, Bella.

( It is a fantasy made reality, she reflects. He does all she would otherwise ask – or, more candidly, demand – of him, and oh, he does it so, so well. The tight, painful grasp on her hair that has her gasping with pain has her clenching around him, his voice, his calling her “my love” has her eyes fall shut with a shiver of something that isn’t all lust, something beyond. He meets her every fall with a bucking of his hips, driving himself into her in a way that would for others perhaps bring hurt, but to her, it is the highest, purest form of pleasure. What he asks of her is something she would deny others, save for Rodolphus, who had been insisted in other ways. To her, the name makes it real, makes it personal, and most, she’d keep away at an arm’s length, only to be used for pleasure. His name is another thing entirely, and she cries it out just as he wished –– secretly, it is by no means the first time it has fallen from her lips as she neared orgasm, though this is the first time there has ever been anyone else around to hear it.

Her rhythm remains vicious, fast, and hard, and her nails dig into his hip as she demands the same of him. She is no gentler with her other hand, dragging nails sharply across his chest down to his stomach, drawing blood in points and leaving the skin red and raised in others. )

Tell me you are mine.

( She doesn’t need to hear it –– that is, she does, but not for this, because as it stands, she can hardly last very long between his finger circling her clit just so, and all the rest of it, and him looking up at her with his storm-dark eyes, and all his perfect, naked body beneath her. She wants to take it all in, she wants to stay in this room with him forever, and even though he is filling her and he is the only part of the universe she can bring into focus, she wants him closer still. The relief she is rapidly tumbling towards is only physical; all the rest of his draw, she feels, may be everlasting. )

[ He is young, he's maddened with desire and the pure intoxication of Bella's own insanity - and he's close. His youth may give him stamina, but not particularly longetevity, and particularly not when Bella has been pressed against him for hours and when he woke to the stroke of her fingertips over his skin. It's not fingertips now, of course. It's nails, sharp enough to draw blood and bring forth that quick burn of pain.

Merlin, he thinks as he stares up her with eyes that have an almost feverish light to them, if he didn't know better, he'd think this was under a love potion. But he knows its not that. ]

I am yours, Bella. Only yours. I swear it.

[ In this moment. For this day. For as long as he's in this manor. Forever? He does not know. He cannot answer, but right now he can't fathom anyone else he would wish to belong to. ]

( Normally, she might need more time than this – but normalcy has been properly disassembled at this point. Normally, he would hardly be here, normally, instead of casting him under a spell and taking him to her manor, he would have gone home by himself, and she would have roamed her halls until sleep becomes the only remaining option. And in that version, she would have dreamed of him, likely dreamed of him like this. Instead, she had hovered by his side, watching him in magical unconsciousness, resisting the urge to sink down beside him with her hands between her thighs.

Well, there’s nothing to resist now. This is the stuff rituals could thrive on, the kind of rituals that could lay waste to entire cities, the kind that drive powers to whole new levels. She is a picture like this, riding him with every curve laid bare for him to see, to touch, to feel. She hasn't quite known it like this, but by all means, she would be with him again and again for even just half the pleasure she feels now. )

Come for me.

( It’s gasped out, she knows it’s the last bit she needs to fall into the void herself, and she knows he is close, very, very close, from the way he meets her falls to the look in his eyes, to the sounds he makes. )

[ Normally he would not be ready so quickly. Normally, perhaps, he would be able to recall that he is not here of his own free will and that the glorious witch riding him and staring down at him like he's everything had knocked him out and trapped him here.

Normal is perhaps not a thing that will ever pertain to the two of them.

It's on the tip of his tongue to demand that she come with him, but then he's falling off that precipice, he's dragging Bella into the void with with him, he's jerking her down for a rough and desperate kiss. There's nothing for a moment, then there's her.

After another moment, another breath, he realizes that there's still only her. ]

You're mine, too.

( She need not be told, her words might just as well have been a warning. She comes just as he does, crying out his name like a priestess of the oldest days, and then giving in to his pull, giving herself up entirely to his kiss. When he breaks away to speak, she is still trembling, heart still racing, still panting. )

All yours.

( There’s a desperate truth to it. She can’t keep herself steady now, and it’s a heroic effort not to collapse on top of him and instead sinks down, melting against him, feeling more content than she has in what may well be years. Her arms snake around him, her breathing is coming more steady now, but the surreal feeling of there being nothing and no one else in this world but him remains. She feels as though it might stay for a while. She doesn’t mind, doesn’t mind at all. )

No one can ever take you from me.

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She gave me peace in a lifetime of war

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