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inlovewiththefictionalcharacters · 4 years

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COERCION AND HAVEN

CHAPTER - 5 : NOT AN IDEAL PLACE

Pairing: (dark) Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning(s): MCU spoilers, slowburn, Stalking, Obsession, Non - con, Dubious content, Kidnapping, Sexual themes, Strictly 18+.

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<- Previous Chapter

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To say that the team was shocked when he told them that he will be moving out soon will be an understatement of the century. They all immediately shot question after question at him.

“Why?”

“Did we do something that made you angry at us?”

“Did we hurt you?”

“Are you crazy?!”

“Have you gone nuts, punk?”

“Are you mad at us?”

“From where did this come from?”

“Why did you decide that, out of nowhere?”

All the while, Tony was the only one who remained quite while the rest of the team kept asking, talking, rambling and that went on and on.

But the most hilarious question asked was “How are you going to survive out there, all on your own?”

Steve sighed in exasperation. He wasn’t a five year old. Not appearance wise and definitely not chronologically. The team wasn’t giving him a chance to speak, let alone reply to any of their questions. At this point, Tony popped into the conversation.

“He’s a grown ass man. He’ll be doing just fine” he told them making all of them look at him.

“Plus, it’s not like he’s quitting the team. He’s just moving out and getting a life” Tony added.

“Are you saying that we don’t have a life?” Wanda asked.

“No, we do. He doesn’t. All he’s done till now is fight. Let him do something else now” Tony replied and walked out of the room, patting Steve’s shoulder as he left.

The team looked like they’re processing what Tony said and Steve followed Tony to his lab.

“Thank you, Tony” Steve said, entering the lab and billionaire just waved it off.

“Well, just so you know, I’m gonna add some upgrades to your new home before you move. Just some safety precautions. We all have enemies, cap. It’ll be better if we take some safety measures” Tony said while moving towards a table with what looked like a metal arm on it and Steve nodded.

“By the way, who’s she?” Tony asked while tapping on the screen beside the, setting some configurations.

Steve stilled hearing that.

“You know?” he asked after a moment.

“Of course, I do. You keep on going out in the evenings, come back at midnights, suddenly have loads of sweets with you, I connected the dots” Tony replied.

“Oh, by the way, Morgan may or may not have seen the wallpaper of your phone and asked me who that pretty woman was. I thought it might have been Peggy Carter, but Morgan said that the woman on your phone was not Peggy Carter and gave a three minutes 12 seconds lecture saying that she knows who Peggy Carter is” Tony added and Steve sighed.

*****

“You’re planning on doing what?!” Tony asked, as if he’s not sure if he heard it right.

Steve sighed “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want you to get a life, but an abduction, cap? Do you know how much of a PR nightmare it’ll be if this gets out?” Tony asked with wide eyes.

“I’m aware of it, Tony. Look, I don’t have any other choice” he said.

“You do have another choice. Ask her out like any other sane person does instead of going out all caveman on her” Tony told him.

“Don’t you think I’ve already tried that?! She’d rather stay closed off from the whole world than go out on one single date! I’ve seen men trying to woo her, hell, I know I’ve tried to do that over the weeks and everytime I do that, she just closes off!” Steve exclaimed.

Tony dropped into the seat by his desk and sighed. He rubbed his face with his hand and asked “When are you going to do it?”

“As early as possible. I’m thinking about as soon as we come back from Hangar” Steve said.

“Wait, I thought we’re not gonna bother about Hangar for a few months” Tony said, siting up.

“Me too, but Fury sent an intel a few hours ago and trust me. Hangar needs immediate attention. The abandoned Hydra facility is showing a lot of secret activities, I’m afraid. Hill confirmed it with a few photographs sent by another Agent that was nearby the location” Steve said.

“When are we gonna strike? Do we even have the intel we need? And who all are going?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, we have the intel we need. We don’t need the whole team. Just Nat, Bucky and I. Sam will be staying as backup” Steve said and added “We’re going to strike on that base tomorrow.”

*****

This time, Steve approached her while she was locking the back door of the bakery after closing up. She turned around and a shriek left her when she spotted Steve standing right behind her.

She placed a hand on her chest and sighed out in relief.

“Captain America... Rogers... Steve... You gave me quite the scare” she told him and Steve had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Sorry about that doll” Steve chuckled.

Y/N just smiled and frowned.

“You didn’t come in today” she said.

“Yeah... Work happened” Steve said.

“A-are you going home?” Steve asked her.

Of course she’s going home. He knows that. The girl has nowhere else to go. And nobody else to go home to. Just her, all alone with that little plant that she placed by the window.

After days of following her to her home at nights, Steve started tracking her entire day schedule. Apart from the bakery, Y/N also works as a waitress at a diner and during her free hours, she goes back to her tiny apartment and spends her day, doing some chores at home and reading a book if time permits. The she gets refreshed and comes to the “Sugar Shack” to start her shift their and mostly, she’s the one who’s closing it. Steve also became brave enough to stalk her inside her apartment by hiding on the terrace of the apartment complex beside the one she lives in and gazes into her apartment. If he wanted to observe with a little more detail, he used the binoculars that he brought with him. He even took it upon himself to install some security cameras and keep them hidden inside her apartment, just for her safety. The place was not 100% safe and he didn’t want to risk it.

“Yeah, I’m heading home” she told him, looking down at her shoes and moving and curling her toes inside them.

“I was hoping that I could walk you home, doll” Steve told her.

That surprised her.

“What? Why?” she asked, not really liking where this was going.

“I have to talk to you about something. It’s already late now and I don’t want to delay you this late” he told her.

“But I don’t really live close” she told him, giving an excuse to just stop him from accompanying her.

“I don’t mind, doll” he told her.

Y/N thought about it. Really thought about it and came to a conclusion with a sigh. He’s Captain America. He’s pretty harmless. What could he do to me? Literally nothing was what she thought.

With that, she gave him a nod and Steve smiled at her. They both made their way to her place.

*****

Steve and Y/N reached Y/N’s place and stood right outside the apartment complex. Steve set his best acting face and looked around the area as if he’s seeing it for the first time, pretending that he has not been there a trillion times before. Hell, he has even sneaked into her apartment while she was not present or awake just get a little closer look at things. On their way back, they made some talk here and there, but nothing seemed important for him to come with her just to talk.

“So... This is me” Y/N said, turning around to look at him.

“Not an ideal place to live for a woman like you” Steve told her what he thought that first time he saw the place.

Y/N on the other hand didn’t know whether to get offended or not. Is he insulting the place or her? She didn’t have the answer to that. At the end, she decided to play it cool.

“Well, New York is not exactly and easy city to live in” she told him.

Steve smiled hearing that “Agreed.”

She too smiled at it and they both looked at each other.

A moment later Steve smiled and said “I won’t be coming to the bakery, doll.”

That surprised her.

“What?” she asked in surprise.

“I’ll be out of town for a couple of days. Don’t exactly know when I’ll return” he told her.

She frowned hearing it.

“Are you moving or something?” she asked him.

Steve laughed hearing that “No, doll. I have to go out of town on a mission.”

“Oh!” her voice held relief and Steve reveled in that.

“Yeah...” Steve tucked a stray lock of her her behind her ear.

“In the mean time,” he cupped her cheek and added “I want you to be careful around here and take care of yourself” while her eyes widened at this.

It was a strangely intimate act for two strangers who barely knew each other. But Steve literally knew everything about her. It was her who doesn’t know Steve.

“Do you hear me?” he asked her, make his voice more deeper, like he’s giving a command.

Her eyes widened a bit and she nodded quickly. She was not comfortable with this and didn’t know what to do. Steve on the other hand, read her like an open book. He just wanted to push things a bit more and dropped his hand to her elbow and caught it and moved closer to her, kissing her forehead. Her eyes widened and her skin flushed up her neck.

Both of them looked at each other’s eyes until she broke the eye contact, awkwardly clearing her throat. He loved how she reacted to him.

“Right umm... You too take care of yourself Capt- uh... Steve” she told him and Steve smiled.

“Will do, doll” he said and decided to put a stop to her temporary misery.

“Good night” he told her and she nodded “Good night. Take care” she said and quickly walked inside the complex, but not before casting a look back at him one more time before making her way to her apartment.

Steve waited till he saw the shadow of her silhouette by the window and started walking away from there with a smirk on his face, loving how she reacted to him.

*****

Next Chapter ->

*****

Taglist:

@mandiiblanche

@literalmcuhoe

@saiyanprincessswanie

@elegantcroissantplaidpony

@jevans2

@red--aren

@brownsugur

@justanotherintrovert

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coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe · 3 years

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The Salem House or The Scottish Cottage

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @stupidbluegirl @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst

This Passage Contains Potentially: swearing, violence, blood, angst, whump, fluff and smutty content.

Summary: Rod and Kirby move in to their new cottage home in Salem, Oregon.

Kirby's POV:

Rod blindfolded me with one of his ties and drove our rented van out to the property, taking off my blindfold in front of the house.

"There it is, our new home," he twirled the keys around his index finger, "all ours now, Kirbs."

There it was, white panel exterior with fancy windows and lights along both sides of the gravel path towards the house. Without thinking I pulled Rod into a hug and kissed him, tears of happiness rolling down my cheek.

"Woah, baby, are ya alright sweetheart?"

"I love it, and I love you and-" Upon hearing that, Rod hoisted me over his shoulder, "Woah, Roddy, what are you doing?"

"Taking you inside and carrying you to the one room I know you're gonna love."

He carried me through the front double doors, through the foyer and then the kitchen, before carrying me past the television and sofa, past what I believe is the ground floor bathroom and up the stairs, letting me get a glance at the basement staircase as we went up to the top floor of our new home.

He then put me down in front of a pale green door with a childish or childlike, chalk or pastel drawing on the front.

I turned the handle slowly, not knowing what to expect.

Then I saw it.

The lone white bassinet.

Surrounded by soft toys and things you'd assume would be in a nursery.

"The former owners said that they're daughter was gonna move in before she moved to L.A. They knew she had a baby and set this room up. I'm gonna be honest with ya and tell ya that I let a couple tears slip when I saw this room ma-self, so I completely understand if you need a moment alone."

"Rod, Roddy, as much as I hate the weird wallpaper in the foyer, this room is," I took a second to compose myself, "It's perfect."

"Do ya wanna see our bedroom?"

"Yeah."

Rod showed me around the rest of the house before going into the basement.

"There's no attic, so the basement will have to do if we want to store anything anywhere."

The basement was large, the only room separated off from the rest of the basement was another bathroom. I walked to the opposite side of the basement and stopped in my tracks.

"What's wrong babe?"

"They have a hot tub?!"

"What?"

Rod walked over to me, also stopping upon seeing the hot tub in it's own corner of the basement, separate from the gym equipment and rugs and the very empty basement.

"What d'ya reckon they use that for?" Rod asked, teasing me slightly.

"No, Rod, eww, that's gross, you wouldn't dare suggest that!"

"Hot tub sex, babe, it's a thing."

"We are not doing that. Ever!"

"We are alone in the house, you know." He started unbuckling his belt, chucking it as well as his sporran down at his feet, "I know we've gotta fly back to the other side of the country later, but, right now, we're home, honey," He started walking towards me, whipping his jacket and shirt off, leaving him in his kilt and boots as he ran his hand through his hair, letting out a deep guttural sigh.

"I guess we could test out the new bed, Roddy." I started unbuttoning my shirt, exposing the peach toned tank top underneath.

"Or, We could have sex right here and now," He suggested, whipping his kilt off and in true Scottish fashion, revealing nothing but his bare body below.

He unclenched his hand, showing off the fact that he had brought a condom with him.

By the time we got to Taunton, Massachusetts on the first of March, Roddy had set aside some time for us to redecorate the house, and by the time we actually got around to redecorating, Roddy had recruited the rest of the D.O.D as well a Schultz, Orton and Orndorff to help us. We had met back at the house on the Eleventh (of March) and unbeknownst to me, Piper had made a couple calls to his friends from back in his NWA and Mid Atlantic days.

"Woo!"

"He didn't." Schultz grunted out, partly worried and partly surprised.

"He didn't do what … David?"

Schultz guided me outside to meet the guys.

"Piper! introduce ya wife to the boys, I'll go grab us some beer."

"I'm not his wife," I called after him as he walked back inside, "So, Roddy, who are these guys."

Rod leant up to kiss me, he would have backed me into the nearest wall if I didn't pull away immediately after, concern taking over any hint of a flirtatious mood in me.

"Who's this fine female?"

I recognised the voice from the yell earlier.

"Ric, this is my girlfriend, Kirby. Kirby, this is Ric Flair. Over there," he gestured to the other four, "Are Tully Blanchard, with the black hair, JJ Dillon, the other blonde looking one and Ole and Arn Anderson."

"Are they here to help or are they here to distract you?"

"The only thing distracting me is the idea of seeing you na-"

I covered Rod's mouth with my hand and gave Ric a sheepish smile, "I apologise for my hus, I mean boyfriend's attitude Ric."

"You almost said husband, Kirbs." Rod whispered to me as we led the boys inside, before he took me aside.

"It was a slip of the tongue."

"I'm sorry, about the kiss, I got a bit jealous because I know what Ric can be like, with women in particular."

"Rod, you shouldn't have to apologise for that, I love ya. I was going to start looking for you anyway, what d'ya want for lunch?"

"Don't you worry about that, I'll go grill those hamburgers we have in the fridge and … hey look, beer."

"Thank you, David."

"Anytime, Tall-ass."

"Look, babe, I'll deal with it alright, you stop worrying and I'll deal with it. I'm the man of the house so I'll deal with it."

I came up behind Roddy, putting my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his waist, kissing his neck.

"I'm gonna go rest for a bit Rod, my head feels funny."

"Baby, baby come here."

Rod helped me upstairs, making sure I didn't fall over and letting me lay on the bed.

"We have today and tomorrow here baby, relax."

"Rod, you know me, you know I wind myself up with worry."

"I know," He brushed his thumbs over my knuckles, "I'm gonna get you some hand wraps or something, stop punching things until ya knuckles bleed."

"I thought you were gonna go cook."

"I am, but, right now, I'm taking in every little detail of the woman I love."

"You softie."

"Oh really? I'm soft. You worry way more than me baby."

"I love you, Roddy."

"I love you too, Kirby."

I slept for a short while until I was woken up by Piper and Schultz yelling obscenities at each other. I ran down the stairs and outside the house to see the two grown men squabbling like children.

Without saying anything I picked Roddy up by his midsection and took him back inside, chucking him down on the sofa.

"I'm gonna fuckin-"

"Roderick!"

"Yes, baby."

"You are drunk, and shut up."

"Yes, Sweetheart."

I helped Roddy up, almost gagging at how strong the smell of alcohol was coming from him, swiftly avoiding his attempts at kissing me and placing my hand over his mouth.

By the Thirteenth we were back working and Rod had started to get fidgety around me until things came to a head on the Thirtieth.

"Rod, are you alright, you've been awfully quiet today."

"I'm fine baby, actually, Kirby?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to be on Piper's Pit?"

"When?"

"Sunday, Yes or No?"

"This Sunday?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there's your answer."

"Wait, you'll do it."

"Of fucking course I'll do it. I don't give a fuck what Damien says."

He let out a chuckle as I pulled into the hotel parking lot.

"How's the Visa status going?"

"It's good, I'll hopefully be a US citizen before the end of May."

"So, May, you'll be a citizen, so," He mumbled to himself for a short while, "Alright, cool."

Before long it was time for me to be on Piper's Pit, fully expecting Roddy to do something and cause a ruckus to occur.

"Well, I'd just like you to know, it's a pleasure to have our first, female, guest on Piper's Pit. I want you to know that I asked every single female in the entire WWF if they would be on the Pit and only one of them said 'yes' to me. The only woman with enough guts to face me with 'Gluttony' herself, Kirby Lucifarian. Kirby, I would like to thank you for being brave enough to come out here and face me. I had Captain Lou on here last week and he said something vague about you and your sisters protecting Lauper. Why would a woman like you, someone who doesn't smoke, doesn't swear, doesn't drink, or shack up with skinny little idiots like Dave Wolff, Why would a great and accomplished female wrestler like you offer her protection to Lauper?"

"First of all, Piper, thank you for having me on here."

"My pleasure."

"Secondly, I was going to let you unmask me, but you showed support of Big John Studd, A man I greatly despise for his disrespect of both me and André."

"I am sorry for going back on that unspoken promise, Miss Lucifarian."

"Thank you for the apology, Roddy, Thirdly, may I say that I did not offer my services of protection to Miss Lauper, instead that was my father who told, Miss Lauper, that the D.O.D would protect her. Why on earth would a woman with an intelligence that rivals, yours for example, protect a girl like Cyndi Lauper?"

"I don't admire a lot of women, but you, I like you. I admire your intelligence, your ability to strike fear into the hearts of men with your words alone. I know that you have been searching for your next challenging opponent, and I for one don't wanna offer myself up, I just want to know how difficult it has been for the past few weeks going without a challenging enough opponent for your skill level?"

"Well, Piper, it's been tough, honestly, I think I may have scared everyone off. As someone who has previously been banned from women's competition, I find getting any support in the ring quite hard at times. I find your lack of fear quite charming, honest to the Lord above, you charm me, boyo."

"Thank you, you're a real sweetheart. Quick question, why do you call me 'boyo'?"

"Don't you call men 'lad' in Glasgow?"

"Oh, I see, anyway, before you go, one last thing."

I wasn't expecting this, the rest me and Rod had planned in advance, but not that line, he said he wasn't going to pull anything, he gave me his word.

Then, before I knew what was going on, he unbuckled my mask, pulling it down for a moment and kissed me square on the lips, in front of the cameras and the fans.

I tried to stand up and he dipped me down into the kiss, much to the enjoyment of the fans, who were hooting and hollering, obviously this doesn't happen much in the WWF.

Roddy kept his right hand intertwined with my ponytail and had his left arm around my back, supporting most of my waist as he brought me back up and helped me re-fix my mask into it's rightful spot.

After the show I tried to avoid Roddy for a couple minutes, trying to make sense of why he would do such a thing knowing full well we were not an 'out' couple or even an 'in' couple with the fans, sure the fans enjoying the moment was nice, but we were both heels, we were not supposed to do that off-screen, let alone on-screen and in front of a full crowd of fans.

I came to the decision to drop it for now and wait for Rod to hopefully explain his actions or somehow work it into a programme.

My mind started to wonder, maybe he would try to use that as blackmail against Damien, or even against me.

The D200's door opening and slamming shut caught me off guard, making me jump a little.

"I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to scare ya."

"I'm fine, Roddy, just caught up in my thoughts, that's all."

"What were ya thinking about?"

"Nothing important, mainly just what happened earlier."

"Ya mean, me, Orndorff and Schultz winning the match?"

"No, Roderick, the kiss, we didn't plan that."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot to clear that with ya, but Orndorff and Schultz said that it would get the fans interested."

"Hon."

"Yeah?"

"Next time, please clear everything we do in a promo or interview with me first, so I don't start wondering if you'll blackmail me."

"I would never blackmail ya, maybe Damien, but never you."

"I love you, ya hot-headed, kilt wearing idiot."

"I love you to, ya blonde, gothic, tattooed Ivory tower."

"Did you call me an 'Ivory tower'?"

"You're tall and pale, what d'ya want me to say?"

END OF THE SALEM HOUSE or THE SCOTTISH COTTAGE

#wrestling fic #Lucifarians

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wangtaeil · 5 years

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wow. hello everyone! i cant believe i really get to say this, but i just hit 3,500 followers. w o w. i've been making ateez gifs for exactly 3 months now and in those 3 short months i have gained over 500 followers, bringing me to an amount i am totally undeserving of. i honestly have no idea how this happened but i am so grateful for each and every one of you i didnt know what i should do to celebrate this amazing milestone. i considered opening requests for gifs or moodboards, maybe even start taking requests for the amazing writing skills i've developed recently. that might still happen (and would probably be for mutuals only i'm afraid) but for now i want to just give a shout out to my amazing mutuals who make being here worth it. its gonna get loooong so its under the cut thank you all so much for this, i love you all

here we gooo....

@cryiingemoji if i said everything i want to say to you here, it would take up this entire post. luckily you already know it all because its been 700 years lol. speak to you soon, ily 💚

@sooncheolie i’ve said it a thousand times in the what, 3 years we’ve been friends? but you are one of my closest friends on here, and i’d like to think that if we knew each other in the real world we would be basically best friends. you’re amazing and i’m so glad we stumbled into each other’s lives back when we were just imhobi and jinjackson. you got me into seventeen and taught me all their names, now i just have to get you into ateez... ily 💚

@mauloveskpop miss mau, anyone that is lucky enough to call you a friend is truly blessed. we’ve known each other for years and i’ve loved every damn second of it. you’re amazing and so hard working, a real treasure. i’ve discovered a lot of groups through you and learned how to gif by watching you grow, ily 💚

@1oonar my daughter... you’ve been gone for over a month now but i still think about you every day. i hope you are well and i will be here waiting when you get back, ily 💚

@whiteconfession laura, honestly, i’d be lost without you. you’re an absolute riot to talk to, every time i see your name come up in my dm’s i know i’m about to lol in real life. i’m so proud of you for all your achievements, not that i ever had any doubts. and its not that long until sungyeol returns woo! ily 💚

@visualsan i dont know that i’d be writing all of this right now if it wasnt for you and your sister, i think its all down to you two that the amount of atinys that follow me are following me. i remember being really scared to talk to you at first because i’d admired your blog for a while and i actually freaked out a little when you followed me. i’m so glad we became friends, you’re so wonderful, ily 💚

@smol-joong like i said to bea, i wouldnt be able to write a 3.5k follower post if it hadnt been for you. you told people to follow me and then everything just blew up. you did that for me, i cannot thank you enough. you’re very special to me and i’d take a bullet for you (or take a buffet for you as my sister would say...). ily 💚

@prettyseonghwa wow, where do i start with you miss yasmin? you are an actual angel. i dont know what i did to deserve you but i’m so thankful for you. you’ve been there to talk me through some rough times and you handle everything with such maturity. you’re so thoughtful and caring, even when you’re struggling yourself. i wish i could do for you what you have done for me. ily 💚

@softmingis wonderful miss luna. you were one of the people i was most intimidated by when i first became part of atinyblr. no matter what you say, to me you are a big account and i was scared to approach you. but look at us now! you’re one of my favourite people here and i love talking to you. i’m so happy you came back, ily 💚

@doorootu res, i’m so happy to have met you. your finals are almost over and i’m so proud of you! soon you will be all over my dash again and i cannot wait! ily 💚

@omg-gyu i’ve missed you while you’ve been away taking your exams, i hope everything is going well for you. i was honoured to be the one you asked for advice when getting into ateez, i hope you’ve been enjoying this comeback, ily 💚

@honeyboysan jules, i admire you so much. your love of all things nature is so pure and wholesome and its a joy to see. you’re so thoughtful towards other people’s feelings and weird phobias. allowing myself and your followers to share your nb journey is inspiring, i wish you nothing but happiness, ily 💚

@cherryjoong honestly maggie, you’re some kind of chaotic good, you’re the human embodiment of your ateez crack moodboards, so much fun and i love interacting with you. also you and jules are so EFFIN cute i cannot handle it. ily 💚

@moonctzen you’re so much fun and you’re taeil biased so that automatically means you’re awesome. i know we dont interact that much but i thoroughly enjoy seeing you on my dash. ily 💚

@moonitaeil we dont interact much but your posts on my dash brighten my day. i’m glad we share a love of taeil, ily 💚

@127-mile emilie, you’re a very talented writer and you bring so much joy to so many people with your au’s. i hope you continue to write and grow for many many years, ily 💚

@softforyunho it says it right there in your url, you are the softest. so lovable and seeing you share your love for yunho is heartwarming. ily 💚

@jaehyunay you are hilarious, i love talking to you and seeing all of your lovely wallpapers that you make. keep up the good work! ily 💚

@meinyunho natali you’re so lovely. watching your adventures in gif making has been a pleasure. you’re doing so well and i hope you continue. you’re doing so well, i’m proud of you, ily 💚

@honeyjoongie elli, you’ve been gone for so long but its like you’re still here because of the amazing queue you set up. its so thoughtful and you’ve really made everyone so happy with the posts you’ve tagged them in. you even remembered who my stray kids bias is, you’re so powerful and you dont even realise it. everyone is so excited for you to come back, including me. i hope your exams went well, ily 💚

@missminji miss harleigh. you are another person i was quite intimidated by when i first got into the fandom, but looking back i have no idea why. you’re wonderful and totally deserve to see your bias yuto when you go to see pentagon. ily 💚

@wooyuong inna inna inna... you are the one i was the most intimidated by. literally everyone i know already knew you, even people not in atinyblr knew you and i once posted that i wanted to be friends with you and then immediately deleted the post because i was scared you’d see it. but it turns out you’re not scary, you’re infact very cute and adorable and lovable and i might adopt you. ily 💚

@choisansbitch we dont know each other very well, but maybe that will change one day. you are chaotic, but sometimes we all need a little chaos in our lives. you’re fun, i like it. ily 💚

@dearmingi you are someone i would like to get to know better because i dont think we know each other too well just yet. that being said, i do love seeing you on my dash. lets talk more, ily 💚

@sonqmingi definitely was intimidated by you at first and tbh still am a little and i dont know why. you’re awesome though and i’d love to get to know you more, ily 💚

@soulofatiny an angel in disguise. you are so wonderful and kind and caring and i wish there were more people like you in the world. it would be a much kinder place is there were. ily 💚

@woovoung another little bit of much needed chaos on my dash. we dont really know each other that well, but you’re definitely fun. ily 💚

@multidino sometimes i feel like i can actually hear your posts. you’re always there and always first to interact when i say i’m bored for which i’m always grateful. ily 💚

@jonghostation i was a little intimidated by you at first because even before i followed you you were always all over my dash interacting with everyone. i hope we can become friends, ily 💚

@celestial-yunho the last of the people i was most intimidated by. you have such a big presence within the fandom that i didnt think you’d even notice if i followed you. i’d love to get to know you more! ily 💚

@kqyvnho we’ve been mutuals for 2 whole days but i didnt want to leave you out! i hope we can become friends! ily 💚

so there we go! thank you all so much for everything 💚💚💚

#this is so loooong omg #i'm sorry if i missed anyone

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johnskleats · 5 years

Text

Beautiful Fool

That Great Gatsby!Merther AU, ya’ll.

@the-once-and-future-love @arthur-of-the-pendragons @the-fated-dragoness @pretty-pendragon

He had only wanted a little space to himself. That was natural enough, Gaius had said, provided he be mindful to keep sharp whilst on holiday. Privacy was recipe for secrets, his mother had said, get too used to it and risk a doomed marriage. What his uncle failed to understand was that this was not, in fact, a holiday, and his mother, bless her, would have to come to terms with his preferences. Whomever he found as a companion, eventually, would favor a similar life to his- that was what made a household, after all -harmony. “Find a woman who hates flowers,” he had jested, “and lake houses, and sunsets.” Merlin had been grinning. His mother had not. “Specifically task her to woo me, see if I give it up.”

“Give what up, Merlin,” mother had sighed.

He had only gotten so far as opening his mouth before Gaius boxed his ears in scolding. Mother fussed over supper. Merlin set the table. All was as it had always been in their little house on the corner, only in his room, there was a suitcase by the door, and the drawers were empty, and nothing was as it had been, really, at all.

And now he was home, where a new always would forge itself. Even as he had told mother to her bleary-eyed face that he would visit often and call yet more, Gaius had watched the lie weave through his lips as it was spun. His brow had been stern, but understanding. As always, he neglected to stop him spouting words that dug graves; Merlin couldn't blame him, as whatever came to him, he would probably deserve in one way or another. Yet, here he was: Camelot Isle, renting out a minuscule gardener's cottage that overlooked the harbor. His backyard, backwoods rather, lead into the gardens and courtyards of the looming mansion next door, Pendragon House, the full and dreary history of which he had gotten in his tenancy letter. Merlin had skimmed it. As his personal contract with the cottage was in no way connected to Pendragon House, originally servant's quarters or not, he had no interest or attachment to its grounds whatsoever. Because he lived here, he preferred not to be treated as a tourist, though the thought crossed his mind that the rent was fixed where it was for a purpose. The possibility of poor neighbors hadn’t crossed his mind. Between himself and whomever occupied the mansion, they had the isle to themselves; whatever it was that rendered his house so cheap couldn’t be so bad.

Merlin, on the porch of his new-to-him, two-room-with-a-bathroom-and-a-patio house, drank in the character of his little abode through a lens of intentional whimsy. It had windchimes nailed to the wood frame of the awning, bits of Cola bottles and seaglass turned in the lake and hung up with cord. The step into the living room and kitchen area was high and gnarled, and in his rounds about, Merlin had tripped on it no less than three times; his bedroom, the aforementioned second room of the two-room-with-a-bathroom-and-a-patio house, was a splotched lavender color, unevenly applied rose wallpaper fading and peeling away at cracks in the corners of the walls. His favorite part of the bedroom was probably the curtains, orange and visible, with their thick plumes of dust and heavy shadow. They were hideous. They were his.

Between his house and his neighbor's stood a dock leading out to a pier, at the end of which was a signalling bell. It was here that Merlin’s attention was drawn when with a peal of joy, the bell, chimed with the wind, his permanent glass fixtures tinkling with it and all the leaves sounding applause through the boughs of the canopy. A chill cut through him, and Merlin retreated inside to weather the surely impending storm. Awaiting him was a house of his own, just as cramped as his mother’s and far less comfortable, made sweeter and more welcoming by the name on the lease.

Merlin was a third of the way through chipping the grime from his stovetop when the first cracks of thunder rent the air. He jolted in surprise, butter knife clattering to the tile, and, shakily, took up his task again. The sound of pouring rain had deafened him to all other stimuli, and the sense of exposure rattled his bones. With the panes trembling in their frames and shutters fluttering, clamoring against the sides of the house along with the waving branches and pelting rain, wind whistling through the waterspout with the gush of overflow, he felt swallowed inside a void. The house was empty, save for himself. A new always, he supposed, being safe, unscathed, while simultaneously so utterly immersed in what his mother lovingly referred to as trouble. It filled him to the brim with the kind of excitement that makes boys leap from cliff faces to the sea, the kind of adrenaline that demands to know whether or not he could make the jump. The chaos scraped at his safehouse as the wall of his own skin, itching. It called to him like a siren song and, oddly, his heart ached. Merlin had longed to be alone, but the magic had followed him anyway.

Forlorn, he closed again the beaten shudders.

--Merlin opened them again.

There, in the earth driveway leading up to his neighbor's abode, was a car, the likes of which Merlin had only ever seen on magazine covers in stores. Yellow, canary yellow like rain slickers, yellow like bananas and technicolor and his mother's good dress stared back at him, obscured by black mud and torrents of water coursing along the body of metal. Outside the vehicle was a man of equally astounding quality, although less from the fact that he was soaked through to his designer shoes with water-dark hair in his eyes, and more so that he stood outside apparently his car, mixing himself in what was about to be ankle-deep mud. The moment Merlin had registered that the man was trying to push it out of its rut to no avail happened to be the same moment that the man had given up, throwing up his hands and kicking at the white-faced wheels with petulant abandon. The car wasn't hooded, rather open, actually, and the man looked away, paced, fumed as it rapidly took up water. Much longer in the road, which was flooding quickly, and the vehicle may not be operable at all.

Merlin, despite his brain telling him quite avidly that this would somehow change the course of his day, if not his life, in a way that would render him devoid of control, took it upon himself to don his raincoat, nevermind the boots, there was little time, and help the remarkable stranger.

When Merlin dashed out his front door, the look of surprise and relief he expected left much to be desired. Instead, he saw bewilderment and agitation, characteristic of a man who has had a very, very long morning. The man was shouting at him. Merlin was shouting back, but both voices were carried away in the storm, leading to a mutual agreement to shut up and push the car. He was struck with regret at his choice in priorities; his raincoat did him little good, as the exertion and laboured movement lead to water penetrating and eventually inundating his upper half, while he suspected galoshes would have done him much good indeed, in place of the cold mud oozing beneath his heels and riding up his socks. In several short pushes of combined effort, plus one big push, the buggy was out of the worst of the puddle, and arguably fit to go again. Still too loud to speak much, Merlin offered a thumbs up, and the man blinked at him, surprised again, although it may have been to chase away water clinging to his lashes still blindingly. Merlin gave that close-lipped, polite smile that offered immediate exit to limited acquaintances to urge him forward and out, but when the strange man, a drowned cat in a suit, continued to look at him as though transfixed, Merlin decided to make an executive decision on part of the universe.

He turned, and went inside.

The man watched him go, Merlin could feel it like the prickle of lightning in the sky, but he dared not look back, not even out his ugly curtains until he was certain his guest was gone. When he opened the shudder for the third time that rainy first day, it was to a flooded, murky street made to a mud pond in front of his house, and a long trail of tire tracks he could trace like a piece of string to the gates of the beautiful Pendragon House.

The first of the letters arrived the following morning. Merlin had only barely begun updating his address, most of his mail sure to be forwarded by his mother in the coming months, but this first letter, addressed to him, was from someone he was vaguely surprised but not astounded to hear from. Arthur Pendragon, his landlord. He could assume it was just like the last few he had received, informative snippets about his tenancy or more fluffy introduction to the place he was so privileged to live in, and so he paid it little mind. Merlin set it aside. The man with the yellow car crossed his mind once or twice, but only in passing. He hoped he had made it wherever he was going without much more trouble, even if it was his own fault for leaving such a valuable possession vulnerable to the elements like that.

He spent the day cleaning and tidying, much as he had the day before. The sunny sky and renewing smell of rain set him in a mood of rebirth, of new beginnings, and everything in his cozy fixer-upper was an opportunity to make something lovelier than before. He had a day or two yet for his holiday before he would have to call into work, and until then, he intended use his time wisely.

The wallpaper was the first thing to go.

With the night came the smell of drying paint and the sound of cars passing his house one after another, the chatter of excitement and the glare of filtered, colored light. Merlin would have shut it out if he could, but to close the window would be to suffocate in paint fumes, his beauty rest be damned. He wanted a good night's sleep, not a hangover. In the earlier hours of the evening, he had thought this would be an eight to ten kind of affair. Then the music started, a whole brass band, it sounded like, and he knew he was in for something interminable.

Merlin rolled around his cluttered living room, everything from the bedroom shoved into it whilst his paint aired out. He perched on his loveseat, did a lazy summersault out of his pillowfort, baked cookies to warm the house, even put on his own record as though to spite Pendragon House for its inconsiderate racket. The latter was to no avail, and he turned it off after a few minutes; the clash of melody was giving him a headache. He checked his watch- almost three in the morning. He was agitated enough to round up; at most, he had dozed a little under two hours between nine and now, fifteen minute increments interrupted by raucous laughter and what he assumed to be drunkards skinny dipping in the lake. He wished he didn’t know, but again, his windows were all wide open, and if anything killed him, it would be curiosity, followed swiftly by this miserable Arthur Pendragon.

Just then, Merlin remembered the letter he had received this morning. Was it a notice? He could find it in himself to be less put off if he had been warned- at least then it would be his own fault. Eyes shot, he fumbled with the heavy envelope until the seal popped- who wax-sealed their letters? -and squinted to make sense of the elaborate script.

Hereby invited...party...courtesy of Arthur Pendragon…

That was about all he got out of it, and all he really needed to read. Merlin tossed it aside with a huff and, exhausted, covered his ears with throw pillows.

The letters kept coming. The parties kept happening. The house was coming together.

Merlin had painted the outside a soft blue and rigorously cleaned the white trim, although he left the knobbed stair and wind chime as they were. The living room and bedroom were a brisk white, the curtains had been washed- Merlin didn't have the heart to throw them out -and he had livened up the space with a new dining table, a novelty painting of a farmhouse, and a little potted plant. The teakettle was operable, and life was good.

Still, the invitations came. Invitations to day trips into the city, rendezvous on the yacht, tours of the estate, and at the end of each was a reminder of the inevitable nightly house party.

Merlin had received seven now, and other trinkets had started to accompany them in little red boxes. A birdhouse. A teacozy. A brass watch, at least he hoped it was brass. All in all, it was unsettling, but Merlin had managed to put it out of his mind. It was thoughtful, and probably born of guilt, although, if Arthur knew he was a terrible neighbor, Merlin wished he would just start being a good one instead of perpetuating this compensation nonsense. It was the ninth night, and the eighth letter that finally convinced him. It had come in a box that was shaped frighteningly like a necklace from Tiffany’s, or some other such bizarre place, and Merlin had opened it with pallor and trepidation. The letter was on top, he could only guess its contents, but beneath that, in the box itself, was a simple, soft, blue...scarf. There was no price tag, no note, for when he did open the envelope, it was only his name in that elegant script he had come to be so familiar with. Somehow, that was enough.

Merlin made yet another executive decision.

He would attend one of these parties, only one, and put an end to this strange outreach of companionship. He was willing to make passing friends, would allow teatime some afternoon or another, but this gift business would stop, and by the stars and stripes, they would be on a mutual last name basis. No more of this dear Merlin business, no signed Arthur. It would be Mr. Emrys, Mr. Pendragon, chatter about the water pressure, the Sox game, and no more.

Merlin was unfit to be there. He didn't only feel that way, but was, surrounded by people he saw glimpses of in movie pictures and heard on the radio, talking about their careers and mixing brandy in their sequined dresses and tight suits. Even amongst those closer to his own economic class, college students wasted out of their minds, he didn't feel at ease. There was no theme, no center, no purpose to their frivolity- only music, loud and frenzied, and glittering champagne, dancers, fireworks above the tower raining stars into the lake. Whoever he spoke to told him something different; Mr. Pendragon was a prince, an actor, a war hero, a famous doctor, a mob boss. Not once did he hear Arthur. No one seemed to know him, or where he was, if he even lived in the house bearing his name, if he intended for there to be a shindig tonight. Apparently, the gates opened and people came, from everywhere, and no one was ever turned away.

No one was ever invited.

That put a knot in his stomach like nothing else, and he kept a white-knuckle grip on his little box of unsolicited gifts. He would find Arthur, if he could, and return them, explain himself if there was air left in the atmosphere. He would apologize. He would leave. The stars fallen into the lake would stay there, extinguished, and Merlin would soundproof his bedroom. The next letter he got, he would pack his things. The overwhelming sense of impending change, so much like doom, made his heart beat heavy and his teeth ache.

He had meandered for two hours, and like Persephone in the underworld, dared not partake. Unlike her, he could leave whenever he pleased, even if it didn't feel like it just then. The pull of destiny made him stay put, and with every passing moment, he was tempted to throw caution to the wind and join the fray.

Four hours in. Midnight. Merlin felt a tap on his shoulder and turned, the band meeting crescendo to the coo of a love song and the stars bright overhead, a moment of stillness and light, he stared, caught in the blue eyes of Apollo himself. He wished he had had something to drink. Heart fluttering in his chest, he half listened to the man welcoming him with a smile, leading him by the shoulder to somewhere more private where they could talk, and yes, he did have a lot on his mind, and indeed, the decorations were splendid. The click of a door brought him to his senses.

“What’ve you got there?”

They were in a study lined with chestnut bookshelves, each full of old, decorative books and ships trapped in bottles. The man who Merlin recognized as Mud Man With the Yellow Car had seated him on a plush lounge, black leather that squeaked faintly when he moved and smelled particular, but good. Its arms were too wide for his comfort, and he felt small. The man, much neater than when Merlin had last seen him, placed a cold glass in his hand.

“Just water,” he assured amiably.

Mindlessly, Merlin broke his vow and sipped.

Arthur Pendragon was a tall, broad man, who knew his way around a suit. In private now, he had shucked his coat to a hanger and loosed his ascot, red, to leave it hanging about his neck. He had never seen a man in suspenders any color but black or brown before, but for the sake of fashion, Merlin compelled himself to understand one's need for scarlet, if only to pair with a white suit. A white suit that looked fantastic, mind.

His host was watching him bemused, as if he knew what Merlin was here for. Merlin certainly didn't. He swallowed.

“Is that for me?” Arthur probed again. All eyes went to the repurposed gift box in Merlin’s hands, suddenly thrust into Arthur’s, who took it with mild surprise. Opening it, the look of someone enjoying a marvelous and delightful game was lost to one crestfallen. In the box, was a birdhouse, a teacozy, and a brass watch. Arthur closed the box. Had he continued to paw through it, he would have found the stack of letters, each written in this very study. Merlin, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, was relieved that he had stopped there.

“Would you like a drink? I'd like a drink,” Arthur hummed, and he was gone again, opening wine.

“So you're not a gift person,” he said cheerily. A new glass found its way into Merlin’s hand. “Or a, how do you say, luxury adventure person,” he was starting to feel guilty, “or a party person--”

“You don't even know me,” Merlin heard himself say. The half empty wine glass he didn't remember drinking set itself on the table. Everything about this night was shiny and ethereal, his whole body abuzz with newness and golden warmth. He didn't know he had passed four hours wandering this house, drunk on art and a myriad of mismatched strangers, didn't realize he had spent almost half an hour drinking with the mysterious Arthur Pendragon in his private study, didn't know how he had gotten to the point where he could hear the words coming out of his mouth but couldn't understand who on earth had put them there, but here he was, and, “You don't know a thing about me.”

Arthur furrowed his brow and stared into his glass, the box far from forgotten on the coffee table. “I know you like the color blue,” he said quietly. “I know you like to watch birds. I know you like to work with your hands when you could call someone instead.”

Merlin, at once feeling too big for his skin and yet very small under the pressure of Arthur’s attention, watched him carefully. He watched his body language, stiff even in as casual a position as he was, legs crossed and leaning. He watched his lips, red from the worry of teeth and wine, round themselves about his words, saw his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

“I know you don't mind helping strangers,” Arthur was saying. Merlin’s mouth was dry and his water was gone. Arthur was watching him now, too. His eyes were blue, bluer than anything, his jaw was sharp, his shave was close and he could smell his cologne and Arthur was saying, softly, “I know your name,” and then, “Merlin,” and then.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“We know each other plenty well,” returned the easy smile. The moment was gone just like that, leaving him breathless, as though he'd been kissed. Arthur hadn't kissed him, though. He hadn't touched him aside from the occasional brush of fingers exchanging a glass, hadn't tried to breach the distance. He was still talking. Merlin wondered how his a smile didn't reach his blue, blue eyes. “But you've avoided me quite avidly, I would say. I was starting to get ideas when-”

“--When?”

“Beg your pardon?” Arthur flushed red, not expecting the question. He was used to Merlin’s silence, had no way of knowing how unusual it really was. Perhaps he had rehearsed parts of this conversation. Regardless, he disliked being thrown off guard.

“Ideas. I've been here a week, when could you have possibly found time to get ideas?”

Arthur was incredulous.

“You'd be surprised to find I do have a brain, you know,” he seemed about to continue, but Merlin glowered. Arthur began again. “...Ideas about you?”

“The Queen,” Merlin answered dryly.

“Victoria or Elizabeth?”

“Mary.”

Arthur winced, and poured more wine.

“You pushed my car,” he murmured. “No one asked you, there was no proposed reward, you just came out in your loafers and helped me.”

Merlin thought back to that night, the sniffles he'd had the remainder of the evening, the mud he had to mop up the following day. “I help people who need it,” he corrected. “The ‘who’ makes no difference to me.”

Arthur toasted him halfheartedly. “‘Sure know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?” His host glanced back to the box of rejected gifts, rejected friendship, and again, Merlin felt a pang of guilt. The distant sound of the party made its way to them, a bass beat that had always been there but had still managed to be forgotten. The clock read two.

Merlin took a drink.

“What do you want from me?” His glass clinked against the wood of the table.

“Are you flattered?” He frowned in confusion. Arthur repeated himself, clearer and more distinctly. “Are you flattered, Merlin?”

“I…”

Merlin didn't know. Why was he here, he thought, what brought him into this situation? Why had he set out tonight, bent to break his promise to his mother? Why did he insist on following that drag of purpose clutching his heart, leading him into danger such as this?

“...I am.”

There was a breath, Arthur waiting for a ‘but’ that didn't come. Again, Merlin was caught in the gaze of an Adonis.

“Would you come back?” Arthur’s tone was low, wistful, concealing. His look didn't waver, daring Merlin to lie, staring into his heart or perhaps just enjoying what he saw- both concepts he couldn't understand. “If I let you go tonight, home,” he sighed, every word sounded like a sigh now and the world was a void, “would you come back?”

The implication that his landlord might not permit him to leave should have been disturbing. Much of this should have been, in fact, he ought to have reported it or left or something--

“Yes.”

What.

“Yes?” Arthur smiled.

What are you doing?

More than smile, he beamed. He tried to hide it but couldn't, the relief overwhelming his composure and Merlin was damned if he saw anyone more beautiful than Arthur Pendragon was in that moment.

“...That's all I wanted,” he said simply.

Merlin was damned.

He knew then that if he took even the smallest amount of momentum towards Arthur, he would do something they would both regret. He would lose a potential friend, although an odd one, of his an admittedly lousy, endearing neighbor. He could always say he had been drunk, which he was, a little- he wasn't -and bank on Arthur being the same- sober, that is -and maybe, maybe then he could get away with it. Dangerous thought, danger, danger--

“Will you stay tonight?”

His heart leapt to his throat to choke him, treacherous thing.

“...Until the party is over?”

The clock read two fifteen, Merlin unabashedly eyeing those red, red lips.

He made an executive decision.

He left.

#my writing #fanfiction #merthur #great gatsby!merthur au #Beautiful Fool #if you don't want to be tagged then lemme know #if you DO wanna be tagged lemme know #bbc merlin #merlin

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hunterartemis · 5 years

Text

The Assistant : Chapter 11 : Midnight in Paris

Chapter Summary: (not much of Maxine X Newt sorry), but what happens when you put two ex-aurors and a magizoologist into the most dangerous prison in all of Europe? There will always be consequences when something involves a Scamander--or two.

Please enjoy these guys, I have put a lot of thoughts in composing the details

Word limits: 6173 (woo my highest)

Chapter Theme : Scotland by The Lumineers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1fGkB9B0eQ

Newt’s eye opened with a start to the usual cacophony of alarm and he sat up to see that it is nearly nine. Surprisingly he found himself at the bottom of his sitting room sofa with his Lanvin couture still on. There was the half eaten bowl of stone cold soup and some vomit and blood on the floor, but nothing else—what a weird dream, he thought he had been arrested for bringing Maxine in his house.

Hurrying to freshen up and dress, he made himself tea and some toast and decided to jot down some ideas that he got from Romania, Dragons—what a wonderful creation he thought. Between the bites and scribbling his eyes fell on the opposite wall next to him—there was a big damp on the wallpaper that needed fixing, he wondered about how he didn’t noticed it earlier.

Maxine walked inside in all punctuality, like always and after her usual crooked smile and a polite greeting of good morning descended downstairs to change into the tunic. Newt was relieved to see her absolutely cherry—but there was something forcefulness about it, and then he remember how strong and optimistic Maxine is, she trying to cope with such a difficult situation with a forceful smile, although it broke his heart, but he was certainly happy that she was trying her best.

“Good morning, glad to see you decided to join me—I thought what happened yesterday,” Newt halted to euphemise the uncomfortable and unpleasant details “you and I won’t be in same terms anymore--” Newt asked her out of the blue.

“What, what happened yesterday? Do you want me out of the job?” Maxine answered with a snap, which obviously disarmed Newt, “No, no... Nothing happened, just—I saw you at the end of the party—you seemed pretty drunk and nearly fainting--”.

“Are you saying that we did something we shouldn’t have--? Merlin, I would have loved to see your face--”Nope, She was definitely his assistant. Without further ado, Newt resumed his days work and for some reason, the whole day he couldn’t concentrate a single bit—in that flawless familiarity of his underground basement, something was off; he couldn’t point it out whether it was the smell of the animal’s excrement or the flowing sound of the River Beauly where the Kelpie splashed and dived once in a while. When it became too unbearable, Newt took a breather upstairs to sit himself down and have a cup of tea.

Suddenly his eyes fell on a rectangular object sitting on his table. Last night he didn’t get to open Dumbledore’s letter so he decided to open the letter now.

My dear friend Newt,

I received the letter the night you posted it from the Leaky Cauldron, the aroma of their pea soup still lingered on the envelope, but I was astonished to see your request. The thing is Newt, the woman working for you is no ordinary one, I have to admit I have seen many complicated student, but Maxine Valois still intrigues me. Really advance for her age, came at Hogwarts at 14, and her intellect compelled us to admit her in the sixth year. I doubt that anyone will exceed her level of excellence, both mental and academic, but her past is completely shrouded by mystery. She took almost half an hour to be sorted, and when she was sorted in Ravenclaw, I was frequently getting other sixth years complaints that something sinister was about her which scared even the older students; but all their complaints were cast aside because I refused to believe them and there were no proof against her. They claimed that they didn’t felt safe around her. As it was a troubled time, I often set up her interviews with ministry officials, highly trained in Legillimency, but no one could penetrate her mind. They claimed she was hiding something but couldn’t say what. It got to a point whenever her interviews came she would lie outrageously to the Legillimens and immediately after that either a student or a teacher would get hurt. Three students failed their OWLs despite being best of their years; although they claimed that they aced the exam, but the papers were found blank. They immediately committed suicide. Of course Miss Valois denied them, but the patterns were conspicuous and no one could prove anything.

When things got out of control, I took matters in my own hands and I am not proud of what I learned. I don’t know either it was my skills or her own willingness but I was able to look into her past. I recognised her mother Audrey Page immediately, as she shared some facial and cerebral features with. Before Maxine came into Hogwarts she was admitted in Durmstrang at the age of seven, and she was already in seventh year of the school when she was thirteen—ready to awarded as the youngest graduate of all times. But the regime of Durmstang was not suitable for a tender aged girl like her, and soon she made a habit out of the Dark Arts and with a prodigious mind such as hers, she slid into completely dark path—and soon it consumed the whole of her mind. An unloving family, a matchless brain, constant evil influences and surrounded by peers who are far older than her forced her easy maturity into a perverted distortion—however no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get the specific details. But in the midst of all the negative, a single positive thing happened in her life, she made a powerful bond with one of her classmate (who was, in actuality four years older than her), someone named Anatole Malfoy—

“Anatole—that makes sense—he sounded like someone who knew Maxine beforehand--” but then Newt continued to read

--who apparently attempted to understand her and supported her uniqueness, but then something awful happened between them, something brutal or shameful, which despite of tireless coaxing I couldn’t get it out of her system, and it caused her expulsion from the school. Apparently the incident was so shameful that it was far more choicely for Hrothgar to out her blood secret which was placed as the excuse for which she was expelled from Durmstrang, instead of the incident that took place as the real reason.

Another conspicuous thing about her was that the younger students were awfully fond of her, and she for them. In fact many younger students spoke that if it wasn’t for her, they would have felt lonely .Most of the teachers maintained a distance from her. However the moment I got to see a glimpse of her true nature I couldn’t help but to feel a little sad about her; she smiled relentlessly when she wanted to but I couldn’t help but to feel that it was her greatest lie. I never saw a better liar than her whose sadness rocked my core. So Newt my friend, whenever you see her smile, just look into her eyes to check if it is real—I hope for your and her sake that it is, because I know someone that reminds me of her.

Albus Dumbledore.

Newt came downstairs with a heavy heart and tried to recall every time she smiled; her smile that felt cold now had a reason. It was made of stainless steel that armoured her heart from the world. Between all those lip and attitude, resided a deeply lonely woman—she was indeed very similar to Leta, but Maxine knew how to mock grief and despair with her crooked sarcastic smile, Leta didn’t.

At the end of the shift, he saw Maxine packing—strange how the time flies; in fact time just vanished in a few moments. He hid himself behind the shed and watched how Maxine stripped off her outer tunic and was wearing her leather gauntlet gloves. Newt came out of the shed and walked towards his assistant.

“Leaving early today--” he commented casually, “makes sense—if I was you, I would have taken a day off, quite a drink you had last night--”

“—what early, it’s nearly 7:30—I think you should check your watch” Maxine tied her buckles of her gloves, and as Newt went to check his watch it looked that it was stopped at 4Pm. He again looked at Maxine, who was humming along as she dressed herself, and that send Newt’s nerves in fire with a frustration of knowing something was wrong but not finding it. He took a deep breath and as gently as possible he asked,

“How’s Anatole?”

“Why did you ask that?” Maxine answered almost promptly, and when she looked at Newt’s face, Newt stomped towards her and grabbed her wrist so harshly that was unlike himself. He could feel the heat slowly building up in his face as a result of the outburst of frustration. He looked at Maxine’s face again and this time, for the first time in his life—Maxine looked at him with alarm.

“What’s the matter with you today—you are behaving oddly...!” Maxine got herself off with a jerk and started to massage her wrist and eyed Newt suspiciously, “you are behaving like a bloody moron you are—why, why are you laughing at me—Newt, you are scaring me, stop doing that--” Maxine took out her wand and pointed at him with her shaking hands

“Give it up now you imposter and tell me who you are--” Newt spoke in a low threatening voice and took out his wand out of his pocket, he was constantly pacing forward, leading his assistant to pace steadily backwards, who tentatively answered, “don’t be absurd, I am Maxine, your assistant--”

“Lie--” Newt spoke steadily, because he now could understand what was wrong with this place, ‘I was sure that something was wrong with this place the moment you entered the building—it was not you who was wrong, but something about that rhythm of yours that was off, turns out, I was so hyperaware that I had been hearing the sound of the watch ticking—not mine, since it is stopped, but yours—it’s not going tick-tock, but tock-tick—like a time turner, very subtle, but why would you disguise a time turner under my roof, the only answer is, I am currently stuck in a limbo, like a ghost condemned to repeat myself over and over again.’ Newt said almost breathlessly, ‘and I also have a theory about the death of my watch—you see, the moment I surprised you, if you were real Maxine, you would have exclaimed in French or spoke a bit in French, since it is only natural that alarm effects the basic instinct, to scream and to exclaim—but everything around me including you are a poorly constructed shadow of my memory—since I don’t know or understand French, a replicator of my memory cannot recreate it--’

Maxine, who was standing in front of Newt lowered her wand and with an almost-Maxine-like smirk she looked at Newt’s way, “well done--” he voice sent a chill to Newt’s spine because whatever spoke underneath Maxine’s mask, if it were remotely humanlike, Newt would not like to meet it. The ice-cold indifference and glassy shrill resembled Banshee’s screech, but there was a melody that reminded Newt of the church organ that plays ominous and awe inspiring tone to the unbelieving public to portray there was something wrathful that could destroy them.

“What are you?” Newt asked, but the creature that had Maxine’s shape laughed sardonically, completely ignoring the question. When its laugh stopped, it looked at Newt with its angular black eyes and said “took you 1789451254422269 times to go through the same day to understand—but remember human, you only made it worse. I could have kept you happy until the job was done, but you had to poke your nose into this business--”

Suddenly everything darkened around Newt, like it does after a play or an opera just ended in a theatre, and he felt that the room shrunk itself around him and all the six walls barricaded him into a small, cemented coffin. The condensed darkness sucked all the air out of Newt’s lungs and within it; he struggled like a fish freshly out of water. However his endless screams and struggles were not in vain—something collapsed near his foot, and a speck of the less dark intruded through it. Newt, with all his energy crawled on his back towards his leg and the space slid him into open.

His eyes were adjusting into the darkness and he found himself a circular shaped hollow, and except the space he just slid from, as he went around, feeling the wall around him blindly, there was no single hole or crack there—the wall felt exceptionally smooth, like solidified butter or rosin, but there was no stickiness of it—Newt’s memory that had been altered in the hallucination was coming back now, he was deported into French soil with Tina and Theseus to be imprisoned in the Geolier Tower of Silence, and right now he must be inside of it—but how is it possible that he was ‘buried’ inside a solid wall which didn’t seem any harder than damp wood, then again—the hallucinations must have been in operation until he was dead. The mere comprehension made his skin crawl—if he was buried inside the wall, so are Tina and Theseus.

So with his bare hands he went thudding and knocking about all around the wall, and when he was about to give up, he heard low and muffled thumps, like that on a damp wood and then with two thuds and groaning, he was sure that his female ‘friend’ and his brother was retrieved.

“Good bloody blooming, this place is dark--” a grumpy male voice spoke out of annoyance, and Newt silently laughed at his brother, “I am glad you are alright Theseus--”

“That was horrible--” Tina squirmed, “I was dining with my dead mother and father, they were about to approve Jacob and Queenie’s marriage--”

“You must be one mean son of a nutter then--” Theseus spoke with a bit of humour.

“Don’t try and sound so smart—it was horrible when I realised my parents are dead and Queenie and--”

“Question is--” Newt interrupted the flow of conversation to know what was going on, “how are we going to get out of here—we don’t have wands--”

“First rule of the book Newt, if you want to get outta here, you first need a good strategy, cannot fight them dementors like naked wee balmies, right?”

“Did you hit your head or something—you sound all weird--” Tina commented out of the blue, but there was one person was not really responding, Newt. He was pondering all by himself, sitting in the dark and suddenly he had a realisation.

“I don’t think there is any dementor Theseus--” he said quietly, “first of all, the presence of the dementor keeps the environment very, very cold, which acts as an immobilizing agent to the prisoners who are lightly dressed—but here” Newt stopped as if to quizzically examine the musty darkness, “this place is warm—and—moist. Anyway—whatever is this place, it is not a prison for the ordinary—all our hallucinations, they weren’t a hostile thing—they were immobilising us, like anasthesizing, until we are done.”

“What do you mean... what do you mean by done? We were sent here to die?” Tina asked Newt, “but we are political prisoners, not murderers--”

“—I think it is apt to say that corruption is not really uncommon in any government in the world. They went on this far on a simple false allegation—the nerve of Maxine, cruel, cruel woman—what I didn’t do for her--”

“—I don’t think it was Maxine, Theseus. She might have been a Duchess and all but this kind of political power!—anyway, it is a matter for later, now we have to think how we are going to escape from here. Whatever was keeping here never had any escapee so I assume that we should think fast and faster because we haven’t our wands--”

‘Lumos’

A sudden burst of silvery wispy light illuminated Tina’s small pale face, and this little incident, no matter how mundane it may seem to the wizarding eye sent sparks of joy in the minds of Theseus and Newt. When they started to laudate Tina, she explained with full self satisfaction that she cleverly replicated their wands when they were being handed in the ministry, and hid the originals in the pockets of her knickers.

“But how did you do that? Moreover, you cannot just replicate wands... the cores and the wood are made in very different manner than the mundane objects--” Newt asked Tina.

“I had some inside help—remember the editor I spoke about? He bribed the prison guard that he would obtain the wands as soon as their cores and woods are checked for authenticity, and after applying some transfiguration charms on normal woods, the prison guard slipped me the wands and I got them in my pockets—oh and Newt, check yours also, I have a Christmas present for you--”

With surprise and humour Newt put his hands on his pocket of his suit, and he felt that the usual depth of his pocket extended far deeper than he expects, and after getting his hands quite down, something firm and leathery was felt under his palm, with immense difficulty when he tried to pull it out, the old familiar battered suitcase bounced from his pocket and landed on the floor of the prison tower.

“Porpentina Goldstein, you are a star--” Newt literally started to jump in his place in joy, and Theseus in all excitement grabbed the two of them hard and tight and gave them an embrace so tightly that they were in danger of dying with asphyxia. After a lot of struggle when he let them go, he sloppily kissed their foreheads and ruffled their unwashed and perpetually dirty hair with such undiluted affection that Newt and Tina both felt that they were, once again, kids—a joy, seldom felt in adulthood.

“I figured that there were no place better to hide Newt’s case in his suit pocket--” Tina elaborated, “I first thought that it will be kept safe in ministry when we are sent to azkaban, but when I turned on lumos, I saw that we were wearing the same clothes—guess they didn’t expect us to even scratch our noses. Makes me think what kind of danger we averted” Tina digressed from enlightenment to a bitter sombreness. Suddenly her eyes fell on Newt, and his blue-green eyes looked drenched in despair in the silvery light of the lumos. When she and Theseus followed Newt’s eyes and looked around to see that there were no single empty space or windows except the three narrow holes they have escaped, their smiles turned into grimaces. Newt rose from his place and started to look at the freshly broken holes in the circular chamber. Suddenly Tina’s scream made him turn towards her.

“What’s that on your shoes?” she pointed and screamed at Newt and both her and Theseus started to look at them. Parts of their clothes and shoes were decayed and something of dirty golden-brown coloured started to form on them like some mould, which broke down into white soft flakes when touched.

“Haven’t you realised?” Newt said sombrely, “they didn’t need any precautions because the moment we were put in here, we were designated to be buried alive. These substances on your body are wax--”

“Wax... how a human can form wax around them, unless--” Theseus started to argue and stopped midway, “wait... wait—wax. I know exactly what is happening. We were being embalmed when we dreamt, so that we couldn’t struggle—and when we will be truly dead, the embalming will be complete and our bodies will be a part of this place--” Theseus said ponderously, “I remember now, someone told me to run away inside my head when the lights went out—but I cannot remember who--”

“So this entire place is made out of human wax of dreaming dead people?” Tina asked with a sense of surprise, hatred, fear and disgust, “and I thought the Death Potion execution was bad--”

“Whoever made this place must have been either the kindest or the cruellest person in the universe—the best prison where you don’t even feel you are being imprisoned” Newt mused with a veil of unknown fear covering his eyes, “now c’mon—off we go”

Newt opened his case and drew out his nasty little buggers, the nifflers. He could have used a hippogriff or an erumpant, as Tina suggested him to use, since both were able to either bust out the prison or melt it down but Newt chose this overtly discreet method. Somewhere in his mind he didn’t wanted to burn the place down, because he felt that within the waxen walls someone was still dreaming—out of his body and out of his own mind—in dreams they were alive. A prisoner, no matter how hideous or cruel he may be in the government’s eyes, deserves at least one chance as a human being. Those unknown creatures that were ‘embalming’ them were not cruel, they were kind—they wanted the deaths of their victims as painless as possible, so they locked them in their happiest, most peaceful state. The prisoners were forsaken by the world, but those creatures didn’t forsake them—that is the reason this prison was so feared by everyone in the ministry, more than Axkaban. It was the place, from where no one ever returned.

They followed the trails of the niffler, in stealthy and gentle steps, through the endless halls of waxen grave, through countless memories, pains, suffering, happiness and victories, leaving behind the peaceful ones whose lives ended unknowingly, and their restless souls, trapped inside the waxen fort like some horcruxed soul in a cursed object. The ghostly paleness of wax hit a dead end from which they were able to burst free into a place that was as musty and wet as the bottom of a pond. After scourging through it, they were faced with a hard cold substance.

“That’s it. I think we are locked in, it’s the dead end--” Theseus inspected from the very front, and Newt looked at his niffler. “No, it isn’t—Theseus, listen” he gestured his brother to use the wand as an amplifier. One end of the wand was placed upon the wall above Theseus’s head while the other end was inside the ear canal. “You’re right...” Theseus said, “I can hear—water, splashing on the surface”

“Is it a roaring current like a river?” Newt asked curiously, because if it were then blasting out won’t be a good option and there was a chance of drowning and letting water in the prison, who knows if that happens the authority might surge into the place and shove them back where they were. However, Theseus shook his head and with an optimistic look replied, “No—it rather sounds like still with mild sounds of pop and crack—if that makes any sense--I don’t think it’s very alarming.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Tina exclaimed, “bombarda maxima”

The hard surface succumbed to the spell and with vigorous quake whatever was holding them and the outside world out collapsed at the bottom. With the effect they had to fall back, but then it gave them the opportunity to inspect what fell upon them.

“Blimey, 18th century marbles—and chunks of ice.” Theseus said disgustedly as he was drenched in ice water was shivering like a naked man in arctic, “of course—fountain! Water never freezes all the way through, when we exploded the bottom, the water collapsed and with the decreasing pressure from the bottom the ice on the surface came down as well--” Newt and Tina looked at Theseus with a stupefied expression, “I had an ‘Outstanding’ in Muggle Studies, professor Merryweather said I was gifted with Physics.” Theseus recalled proudly, and with that, all the three were able to climb up through the said fountain after sealing away the rift they caused in the rendezvous.

“We were under Paris all this time--” Newt exclaimed as he came out of the fountain with his niffler on his shoulder, and case on one hand. Theseus came out after pulling Tina and they looked around confusingly. “Where are we?” Tina mused in an annoyed manner, and in a rather unceremonious manner Newt mused, “it looked different in the daylight—oh yes Tina, I have been here before. Remember I told you I had to visit Romania with my assistant—yes, as a gratitude for this completely unauthorised trip, she showed me the city, her city, and right now we are standing at the Fountain of Innocents, which was formerly a massive gravesite called--”

“Cemetery of the Innocents--” Tina added, “I know this place—all no-maj papers in the US raved about this place because apparently, all European soap companies were scraping off corpse wax from this grave so the French authority had to shut it down, but they weren’t just from the corpses—the wax from the gaoler was leaking and they had to take charges—

“Okay, so a massive body dump in the center of the city, disguised as fountain with the most dangerous prison underneath it will place us in where in the city?” Theseus inquired.

“Why don’t you ask your tourist brother that?” Tina replied annoyedly, apparently she wasn’t pleased that Newt took a trip in Paris with a stranger more beautiful woman “... but what we are going to do right now? We have no money, and right now if we go into the wizarding community, they will hunt us down” she analysed, “if we make the papers again that we escaped the inescapable prison, no corner in the world will hold us”

They all sat down under the frozen fountain. As Newt tried to protect himself from the cold and tried to wrap the coat around him more securely, something rigid felt near his breast pocket. Out of curiosity he took it out. That was the virtue of a big city in the midnight, even with the scant population on, nobody paid attention to anybody. When Newt opened the rectangular piece of paper, it astonished him. It was the same letter by Dumbledore, every word, every punctuation, right from the cover to the back.

“But how is it possible? It was the same letter I read in my dreams--” Newt showed the letter to Tina, and in turns even Theseus had a glimpse of its content. “Perhaps they didn’t want you to go with unfinished business--” Tina replied softly while reading the letter alongside Newt, “they really sound like the Death in the Beedle—peaceful.”

“This fellow, Anatole Malfoy, I knew he was crook from the beginning.” Theseus spoke with disgust in his voice which was enough to attract the attention of the two, “I met him in the party and he didn’t sound like he was for British Ministry or anything of that sort.” Under the dim streetlights of downtown Paris, Tina’s black eyes glimmered with focus, “and something was off when he was announced the Junior Undersecretary—of course it was a position too advantageous to be rejected, and I didn’t know it was his dowry from the French Diplomat.”

“What do you mean by Dowry, he asked Maxine to marry him, didn’t he” Tina countered.

“Yes... and it’s not uncommon amongst British Purebloods, but inside my mind something was really off. So after the party, I went to the Archives Department to find his records, and it was too clean—too conspicuously clean. So I searched differently, and looked for him in the prison records, again, I found no one” Theseus’ face glowed with excitement.

“What do you want to say that he is innocent and you were a little drunk after the party?” Tina replied snappily.

“No, of course not--” Theseus interjected, “I was going in the right direction but didn’t know where to start, so I looked them all.” Theseus said in an accomplished manner “every prison record registered under European Magical Cooperation in the last thirty years, and I found someone registered under Vasily Malakov. The name found awfully familiar—I looked into it, and the papers were written in Russian, obviously. But when I finally decoded it” suddenly it dimmed into a grimace “It turned out to be him. There was no Vasily Malakov in reality; the truth was Anatole Malfoy was convicted under a pseudonym to ensure that he isn’t defamed. I looked into his records and Merlin’s beard it was dark. He has an extensive record of underage murders and rapes during his days in Durmstang, and guess whose name he was being operated by--”

“Who?” Newt asked out of the blue.

“Grindlewald you plum—he and his classmates were the earliest followers of him, the ‘cleansers’ arrested during their final year. Apparently there were five who were involved, but only four were found out—and who did Dumbledore said were in Anatole’s class that time who was expelled?”

“Maxine...” Newt huffed in desperation.

“Yes, she was thirteen or fourteen when she was involved in the incident. It’s wizarding law that a minor cannot be sentenced into Prison, instead their wands get snapped.” Theseus theorised, “but given the fact that she was the daughter of the Diplomat, she was somehow spared.” He paused for a second “but the question is, if Anatole is closely affiliated with Hrothgar, given the fact he must have known what he is since he was his daughter’s classmate—why he is letting Anatole marry his daughter?”

“’Seus, listen to me I have to tell you something--” Newt said urgently “I followed Maxine after the dinner—remember Tina, I disappeared for some seconds—she was afraid all evening, in fact, she had been acting weird since the party was announced—anyway, it seems that Anatole is operating on revenge and apparently he convinced Hrothgar that he is in love with Maxine--”

“__but why him, Maxine could--” Theseus gulped as if to swallow the words he was about to say, “—she could marry anyone she wants, she is a duchess and she is from the most prominent Pureblood family of all times.”

“She can’t--” Tina mused absent mindedly, “here—look, it is said in the letter... her mother’s name is Audrey Page--look” Tina pointed at her letter, “that means she cannot take the Pureblood title because she is an illegitimate—if her mother was married to Monsieur Hrothgar, then she would have been called Audrey Valois” Tina analysed, “even in Wizarding world, getting an illegitimate child married to a good family isn’t an easy task, and if she marries otherwise, it would put a dent on our dear diplomat.” Tina concluded and suddenly she wondered something and turned to Theseus “Theseus, you said Anatole was marrying Maxine for dowry, do you happen to know what he is getting?”

“Of course, the Junior Undersecretary post... why you ask?” Theseus stood up because the frozen marble was getting too cold for him. Tina pondered for a moment and then started to shake his head, “no, no—I think that is just eyewash, a bifurcation—there must be other things he is getting—URGH! This woman is making my life a living hell.”

“Just forget about it—what we are going to do? We don’t even know what day on earth is this, or how long we have been under there—if Maxine gets married to that man, British ministry will come under Grindlewald’s control overnight--” Theseus suggested, “no matter what we have to stop the wedding from happening and the worst this in this world that THERE IS NO ONE IN THIS ENTIRE WORLD WHO CAN TELL US WHAT TO DO!”

Newt was sitting ponderously till now, with Tina eyeing him frequently with an annoyed expression. Suddenly a spark flashed in his drowsy eyes and he started to walk towards the main street. When his brother and his other friend started to chase after him, there was one thing that he said before grabbing their hands and apparating into thin air.

“It is the universal rule of nature, when man does something two people in the world are aware of it—his accomplice and his brother.”

...

‘Where on earth are we?’

Tina, Theseus and Newt apparated in front of a five star muggle hotel, at the dead of the night; the sign told them they were still in Paris, which astonished Newt a bit. He knew there was portkey regulations and everything, and despite that he made a leap—he had no idea of location or proper idea, but there were few emergency exceptions of apparation that he remembered from his sixth year class, that was the specific name and identity of a person. He didn’t know that it would work, and he still wasn’t sure. Apparently this seemingly muggle hotel had some wizards’ suite and anti-apparation charm on effect that was holding them outside. So they stomped head-on and tracing remaining bits of magic with tracking spell, they reached the penthouse, where they knocked the doors down to find a puzzled platinum-blond middle aged man in his silk pyjamas.

“What the hell are you and what are you doing in my room?” he almost screamed at the three people pointing wand at him.

“It’s been a very long day... so start speaking, is you Anatole Malfoy’s brother?” Theseus asked, and with a flicker the lights in the room lit up, which caused the man a close call of cardiac arrest.

“But you’re supposed to be in the Tower of Silence, and dead! How did you--”

“Answer the question you bub!” Tina jabbed her wand into his throat while Newt bifurcated the wand under the pillow the man was discreetly reaching for, “are you Anatole’s brother?”

“Yes, yes... I am. I am his older brother Abraxas Malfoy.”

“Is he married?”

“Sorry?”

“Is your brother married?” Newt repeated his question with a threatening quietness.

“No... I mean not yet. He is getting married--” Abraxas checked his watch in a very nervous way, “—in about five hours--”

“Oh thank Merlin...” Theseus huffed, and gestured the others to turn, but Tina remained and asked the final question, “where?”

“Saint Chappell... I am sorry, but why I am telling you all these? You should be locked up for kidnapping the Duchess--” Abraxas said in an agitated tone, “you tried to sabotage my brother’s reputation--” before he could finish his sentence Theseus grabbed his collar and thudded him against the headboard of the bed, “let me tell you something... it was your responsibility to look after your brother in which you failed miserably. If you or your godforsaken parents had the leash tight on him he wouldn’t have become the son of bitch he is today. He is a fraud and a Grindelwald supporter and I am not letting a sick rapist near my friend or my country, and the best thing you can pray for that we kill him before the ministry does. As you know we are wanted criminals and we have nothing to lose, so stay put when we obliviate you--”

“Stop--” Abraxas put his hands up in a defensive manner, “please, listen to me... I am not proud of what he is today, but please I beg you, whatever you do—don’t kill him, he is my brother--”

“Thanks for the information... Obliviate” Newt whipped his wand swiftly and stomped out of the room. Abraxas remained sleepy and confounded, like they first found him. Theseus and Tina followed him as swiftly as they could. The curtain of the night was slowly lifting from the sky and the frost and snow started to turn brighter under the cold gray of the dawn. The clock was swiftly ticking towards the fall of the Western Magical Civilization and the fate of the Modern Wizarding Europe lied in the hands of three escapee convicts: two ex-aurors and a magizoologist, whose mind and wand was now pointing at the Isle of the City in the middle of Seine, where the tower of Saint Chappell was fearfully awaiting for the historic moment that was going to take place in about four hours and fifty minutes.

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

I had to research extensively to make the Wizarding prison of France more terrible and different from Azkaban at the same time. I don’t know whether I had been successful or not, but here’s the history behind our fictional “Le Tour de Silence”

The Holy Innocents' Cemetery (French: Cimetière des Saints-Innocents or Cimetière des Innocents) is a defunct cemetery in Paris that was used from the Middle Ages until the late 18th century. Under the reign of Philip II (1180-1223) the cemetery was enlarged and surrounded by a three-meter-high wall. Les Innocents had begun as a cemetery with individual sepulchers, but by then had become a site for mass graves. People were buried together in the same pit (a pit could hold about 1,500 dead at a time); only when it was full would another be opened.

This practice continued upto five centuries when the mass graves (because they were buried so close and the body couldn’t rot properly) started to produce a thing called Adipocere or Corpse wax (basically human fat transforming itself into an wax like encasing preventing the rot forever). These corpse wax were scraped off and sold out to soap and candlemakers during the pre revolution era, and you can guess what happened. So it gave me a brilliant idea to construct the French prison out of it-- a place made out of Adipocere, and people who are sentenced to death are brought in here so that their life would be slowly extracted from the body, and when it’s done their body and soul will be trapped in the waxy architecture. How to prevent resistance? simple, trap them into their happiest state.

The fountain of Innocent, from which the three broke through was built over the real Holy Cemetery of Innocent by Louis XVI as a memorial, when he closed the unsanitary gravesite (good man he was!), I gave it a little bit symbolism. In Roman myths, when injustice reaches it’s peak, the Goddess of Truth, Veritas comes out of the well, naked to scream at people. So I used the same method with the three.

#newt x oc #newt x tina #newt x reader #newt scamander x oc #newt scamander X reader #theseus x tina #theseus x reader #france in midnight #paris in midnight #prison break #character rants #suspence #danger #les halles #fountain of innocent #midnight #cliffhanger

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ditavonchaos · 3 years

Text

[Solo for @RedLipsRedSoles — Mr. Face]

There was nothing like an opening night for a new show. There was raw energy that permeated every inch of the building, from the freshly mopped floors up to the cable hooks that held up chandeliers and rope pulleys far overhead. The curtains billowed with an unseen breeze, like the very theater itself was taking a deep breath in anticipation.

From where I stood back stage, I could hear the crowd slowly building. The soft scrape of chairs and tables being moved, the din of laughter and voices building, and the smell of alcohol slowly getting stronger was enough to set my heart racing. I always got nervous before a set, my mind racing through my choreography, silently praying to whatever gods may be paying attention this evening that I wouldn’t fall on my face and make a mockery of myself and my fellow entertainers.

I stepped closer to the fall of heavy velvet curtains, fingers slipping down the thick soft fabric to curl around it, pulling it back so I could peek out with a little bit better of an angle. This part was a ritual for me, I needed to choose my mark from the crowd. I needed a face and a table to dance for - someone I could woo with eye contact and winks, smiles and blown kisses. I usually didn’t get blessed with a solo customer sitting at a table in the closest section to the stage but something was playing on my side. He sat there, sticking out like a sore thumb, in a brown suit and bright green tie. He even had a matching hat, I couldn’t quite discern if it was a fedora or a homburg from this angle, but it made me think of all the old movies I loved to watch.

Men just didn’t seem to wear hats very often anymore, which was such a shame. I always thought they added a certain flair to a man’s look.

I had him, my Face. He wouldn’t know until the show was well underway, something that always put a wicked gleam in my eyes. I left him there, Mr. Face alone at his table, and turned to head backstage to finish putting my makeup on and the final touches to my hair and costume. As I walked away, heels quietly clacking on the wood floor, I heard my friend Luke making the introductions and setting the mood for the evening’s entertainment.

Luke’s suave voice carried me back to my ramshackle dressing room, nothing like the one I’d left behind so long ago in a burnt-out building, but mine nonetheless. The lights flickered on, the old stench of stale cigarettes still lingering in the faded flowery wallpaper that decorated the upper portions of the walls. Wrinkling my nose, I did what I’d gotten accustomed to doing and picked up my perfume bottle and spritzed towards the corners of the room to freshen the air.

Behind me, outside the door, the music kicked up and the first round of welcoming applause drifted through the curtains and down the corridors that made up the backstage area. I was the third act, so I still had a few minutes but I still moved with hurried gestures. A few swipes of powder, freshened lipstick, hairspray to hold my curls in place. The cloud of it was so thick that I was thankful I didn’t have any lit candles in the confined space or I may have just set off another fire.

Whoopsie.

I checked myself in the mirror, sequins sparkling in the reflection. I checked for dull spots where sequins may have fallen off or gotten pinched. Those pesky little imperfections that could make me feel less than perfection on stage… but I was happily rewarded with no such spots. I slipped into my heels, the top of my hair and feathers no longer in the frame of the mirror. I gave myself a nod of approval and left the room, following a few others as they scurried towards the stage entrance. Music was winding down and the little beeps that were our personal signals were leading the way, guiding us into place as the next act went on and the first one came running off, trailing her costume between her feet with the sounds of laughter and cheers following her.

The second act, two dapper gentlemen who had somehow mastered the art of stripping and tap dancing at the same time, made their way onto the stage. I stood in the shadows, waiting my turn while I sought out Mr. Face one more time.

His table had been taken by a group of beautiful ladies and I couldn’t help feel my smile falter for a moment. Maybe he’d moved? Given up the full table for a single seat elsewhere?

Yes. Yes, that was it. I found him, two tables over, sitting on the stage side of the table with his back to the others there. He wasn’t talking to anyone but I could see him looking around and enjoying the scenery. Between the entertainers, servers, and other employees moving across the floor through the crowd, the crowd itself was dressed to the nines. Women were sparkling and glowing under the lights and the men were all handsome devils with bright smiles and gleaming eyes.

My Mr. Face, however, was in his own little world. It was as if he was glowing from the inside out, his skin just a shade brighter than everyone else’s and his clothes almost as if he’d just pillaged them from a vintage store moments before arriving. But I didn’t care, he was my Face for the evening. That point was driven home when, by some miracle, we made eye contact. His features seemed to sharpen for a moment before I saw a cloud of confusion come over him.

I couldn’t focus on that right now, though. It was my turn to shine on the stage.

~TBC~

#Roleplay #Mr. Face #Writers block is a terrible thing #This is the first thing I’ve written in ages

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sabraeal · 6 years

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Could you write something with obiyuki plus getting themselves into awkward situations, cuz honestly these dorks have no idea what's going on 95% of the time.

(Part 2 of If Thy Set Thine Heart to Wooing)

It’s never been Obi’s job to be the center of attention, not as long as he’s been with Master. Not before it either.

He might have caused a distraction or two – knocking over barrels, setting free horses, and on one memorable occasion, scaring a whole coop of chicken – but his place has always been the shadows, unnoticeable as wallpaper. It’s been him that would wander into the kitchen for a hot bun and the freshest gossip, or share a drink with the off-duty guards and come back with a head full of the latest rumors. He’s the one people talk to, the one they trust with their thoughts and forget about when he leaves.

He’s not supposed to be the one rumors are about.

He’s not supposed to be seen at all.

Obi only suspects when he walks into the mess one evening and all conversation hushes.

That’s not – not strictly true. He had noticed the guards‘ chatter hitting a lull when he passes them on the walls, how ladies he passed would lean toward each other and whisper behind soft hands, how –

How suddenly he would walk into the pharmacy, and all that would greet him were glares.

“Obi!” Miss’s smile pulls tight when she sees him, clutching her books to her chest. Things have been different between them of late, almost awkward. He’s not sure what’s changed, but it’s like – like he has too many limbs around her and not enough words. There’s a gulf between them, and he doesn’t know how to fill it, how to cross it.

“I didn’t –” She ducks her head, cheeks flushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was just on my way to the – the stockroom!”

“Oh.” The word falls dumbly from his lips. His hands sit by his side, useless. “I could go with you. Reach the things on the high shelves.”

“I –” Her eyelashes flutter like frantic heartbeats against her cheeks. “I’ll be fine. Izuru said they fixed the ladder.”

He laughs, and even to his own ears it sounds forced. “And you trust it?”

“Ah…” Her gaze skitters around him, settling somewhere past his shoulder. “I should – I’ll see you at dinner.”

He grimaces; tonight is his extra session with Haki. “I took an extra shift –”

“Right!” She slips right past him. “You’re – busy. Of course. I’ll…see you.”

Obi stares after her, lost. He’s not quite sure how he cocked up that conversation, but clearly he’s got a gift.

“What are you doing?” Suzu mutters, grinding his seeds with more force than Obi thinks is strictly necessary.

He blinks. “What?”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” He’s never seen Suzu angry – upset, yes, dramatically wailing in front of the university bulletin, of course, but angry? Never.

He’s not, not now, but there’s a hint of it in the way he looks at Obi, like he’d glare if he didn’t like him so much.

“With Shirayuki?” He sighs, shaking his head. “I wish I knew. She won’t –”

“No,” Suzu snaps. “With Mistress Haki.”

“Oh,” Haki yawns, offering him one of the mugs of chocolate her ladies have brought them. “You hadn’t heard those?”

“Wha?” He gapes, accepting the cup with boneless hands. he hardly even noticed how the ceramic burns at his finger tips. “You did?”

“It was bound to happen.” She shakes out her hair. It’s too long for anything but a civil fight, but Obi knows Haki’s more likely to take a roll with a stable boy than cut it.

“Bound to happen.”

“Of course.” She shrugs. “You’re a handsome, young, inappropriate man. I’m a beautiful, young, proper lady.”

He snorts. “Humble too.”

“False humility is not a virtue,” she snips, savoring a sip of her chocolate. “In any case – you’re my guard, people see us alone together, we get on…it was only a matter of time before someone suggested that your extra hours with me were spent in bed.”

He groans.

“Figuratively, of course,” she assures him. “The rumors put us as quite adventurous. You wouldn’t believe –”

He holds up a hand with a wince. “I’m pretty sure I’d rather not know, your ladyship.”

“Boo,” she says, lips twitching. “You’re no fun at all.”

“You should do something,” her ladyship says, as he makes for the door.

“Hm? Do what?”

She sighs, rolling her eyes aloft. “Do something about Shirayuki.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “My lady –”

“Obi,” she says, carefully setting aside her mug. “I will be most disappointed in you if our lessons stretch long past these rumors.”

“That doesn’t –”

“Of course it does.” She gives him a warning look. “Sometimes, Obi, humility itself is not a virtue either. Just stupidity.”

Raised voices seep through even the thick door to the walls. Obi hesitates, hand hovered over where he keeps his knives – if he’s about to walk into an altercation, it’s best to be prepared for the worst –

Only to find Jirou standing over two recruits, spitting thunder like an angry god.

“W-we didn’t mean to, sir,” one of them stammers. they both stand a head above their commanding officer, but they cower like he’s twice as tall, wincing as he claps his hands to startle them into looking at him.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant to do, now does it?”

The other recruit swallows hard, rubbing sweat from his brow. “We didn’t – we didn’t know Lady Shirayuki –”

Obi throws the door open, making sure it slams against stone. “What’s that about Miss Shirayuki?”

Both their eyes go wide. “C-captain!”

Jirou frowns at the both of them. “You’re both on late shift for a month. And I don’t want to catch you two at this again.”

Obi trusts his second, but he still has to stop himself from calling the boys back and demanding answers. “What’s that all about?”

“Mistress Shirayuki was waiting for you down at the door to get off shift,” Jirou tells him.

He raises his eyebrows. “Shirayuki?” She’d been doing her best to all but avoid him for weeks now.

“Yeah. And apparently those two idiots have heard the latest rumors –” Jirou sends him a meaningful look – “and were…indiscreet with their words.”

“Indiscreet?” One day he’ll be able to do more than act as his second’s echo, but it’s not today.

“There was some speculation about the nature of your service.” Jirou clears his throat, lips twitching. “And a little about the position and duration.”

Obi scrubs a hand over his face. Ai yai yai. “And Miss heard all that?”

“It was flattering, at least,” he assures him, like somehow that will make it better. “I found them at it, didn’t even know Miss Shirayuki was there until she made a run for it.”

He stares. “Miss? Make a run for it?” She was more likely to give recruits an earful about spreading gossip.

“It was…graphic,” Jirou allows, with the sort of expression that tells Obi he’s feigning thoughtfulness to disguise his needling. “Maybe it upset her delicate sensibilities.”

Obi snorts. Miss is fresh out of those.

“Well, as you wish,” he sighs. “Though I have to say, she looked pretty…overcome by the whole thing.”

“Overcome?” He remembers her, out in the snow, the face she made when he called Haki mistress –

His mouth curls in a grin. “You don’t say.”

This late, the labs are empty, all the lamps extinguished – save for the one on the fifth storey, where he can see a slender shadow cast against the glass.

Obi huffs out a laugh, swinging from grated window to the next, boots digging into the icy stones of the university for toeholds. If his miss doesn’t want to be found, she might consider making her habits less obvious. After all –

He hesitates. But what if – what if she want to be found?

What if she wanted to be found by him.

He nearly misses a handhold thinking about it.

A mixture of snow and wind make opening the window with any level of stealth impossible. Instead he rolls into it, letting the wrought-iron frame bang noisily against the wall, watching her jump, whirling to see him crouched in the window –

And nearly dropping her beaker.

“Ah, it’s a good thing I’m here, Miss,” he sighs, setting the sloshing glass safely on her bench. “You’ll lose hours of work if you’re not more careful.”

Her mouth works soundlessly as he circles back to the window, flipping the lock shut. “Obi – what –?”

He leans, so casual, against her bench. “I hear you were looking for me?”

“O-oh.” She ducks her head, and in the chiaroscuro the lamplight casts, he can’t tell whether her cheeks pink shyly or not. “I thought you were still o-occupied…” Her gaze flicks up as she adds, “with your mistress.”

He grins.

“My mistress?” he manages, so even, as he steps closer. “Oh yes. She’s certainly been putting me through my paces.”

Her pained expression almost makes him give up the game; he doesn’t want to hurt her, not even if the cut is fictional, but –

She tosses her head, lifting her eyes to meet his, and all he can see in her is a challenge. “Good. I’m happy for you, Obi. That you’ve gotten what you want.”

He hums, taking yet another step closer. “You know, Miss, I’ve been chasing her for years,” he admits, conversational. If she could hear his heart, she’d know it was anything but.

She shuffles back, gaze faltering. “Years?”

“Oh, yes.” His mouth twitches. “I just always thought she was unattainable. Meant for far better than me, to be sure.”

Her mouth pulls flat, eyes taking that determined shine that had compromised his heart, so many years ago. It would have been easier not to love her, if what he loved wasn’t the core of who she was. “No one is better than you, Obi. You’ve always been – deserving.”

He falters on his next step, and there must be something about him that seems stricken, since she quickly changes tack.

“And she is…” Miss’s lips pinch. “Very beautiful.”

“Mm,” he says, closer. She hedges back. “That’s true. Though I’ll admit, it’s not what drew me to her.”

“And she’s very tall.”

“To some, I suppose.”

“And – and womanly.”

His gaze drags over her, for once letting himself linger at the slim curve of her hips and the gentle slope of her breast, showing the barest hint of his desire. “I’ve never had any complaints on that front, sure.”

His miss, of course, doesn’t notice.

“And –” her mouth twists – “and blonde.”

“Oh,” he murmurs as her back hits the table. “I don’t know about that one.”

She glances up at him, brow furrowed, but undeterred. “And it seems like you enjoy –” she licks her lips, awkward – “servicing her.”

Her cheeks flush as her words catch up to her. “I mean, being in her service.”

“Oh, Miss,” he purrs, resting his hands on either side of her, bending close. “I haven’t gotten to that yet, but I’m certain there’s no one else I’d rather…yield service too.”

She’s red from neck to brow when she hazards a glance at him, and for a moment all he sees is heat, and then she lowers her head again, and he –

He takes his chance.

Her lips are just as soft, just as sweet as he had thought they might be. She stiffens at first blush, fingers clenching in his coat, but in the next she melts, she blossoms, and she – she –

She opens her mouth against his, surging up to meet his kiss. He staggers back to hold her, hands flexing against her hips, drawing her in closer. Her arms lift, winding around his neck, every soft part of her resting against a hard part of him, and he can’t help crushing her close, his hands stroking her back, burying themselves in her hair.

Her breath stutters across his lips as he pulls away, eyes fluttering open to half-mast.

“Shirayuki,” he murmurs, hand palming down her flank. “I only have one mistress.”

“Then…” Her face is the perfect study of pleased confusion. “We haven’t been talking about Haki?”

He leans in, relishing how her head tips to meet his. “No.”

Zakura makes his excuses after a single bout.

“I have important work to be doing, Your Majesty,” he reminds him with a grin, mopping the sweat from his brow. “You’re to be married in a week, if you haven’t forgotten.”

“Ah, thank you,” Izana drawls, sheathing his blade. “Seeing as Mother hasn’t reminded me in the last quarter hour, I have drawn dangerously close to forgetting.”

His aide sweeps a dramatic bow. “All part of the many services I provide.”

“Just go.” Izana waves at him dismissively, in the way he knows Zakura hates. “You’re boring me with all this wedding talk.”

“I live to serve,” Zakura deadpans, sauntering out the doors.

The room is cavernous now that it is empty, and Izana presses a hand to the weapons rack, steadying himself. A king rarely has time for leisure, but with the wedding looming close, and having started the preliminaries for his brother’s own political courtship dance – he’s hardly had time to breathe.

A king does not have the luxury of falling apart. Not when he has so much yet to do.

The door barks on it hinges as it swings open, and in a single breath Izana is whole again, turning with a smirk. “Honestly, is there no one else you can annoy at this –”

The words quickly die in his throat. His visitor is not Zakura.

“Oh my.” Boot heels click enticingly across the marble floor. “We are not even yet married, and already you tire of me, Your Majesty?”

“I…” His wit is his sharpest weapon, but it abandons him now as his fiancée strolls across the floor, not in her usual fashionable gowns, but in – in buckskins and blouse, waistcoat expertly tailored to sit at the top of her hips, drawing his gaze between the curve of her breast and the curve of her –

“Of course not, my lady.” Heat gathers beneath his skin, and he – he is irritated at his own distraction. Lady Kiki wore mens’ clothes as well, and yet he never – “What is it that I can do for you?”

“I thought…” She’s far too close to him, the scent of ginger and spice enveloping him as she runs her hand along the rack, fingers lingering on the pommel of one of the swords. “That we might spar.”

He blinks, expression flattening into a polite mask. “Spar? You and me, my lady?”

“Yes.” Her smile tilts up at the corner. “Do you happen to play for forfeit?”

He is unprepared for her being capable.

From the first moment, she surprises him, pulling sword from the wrack like she was born to it.

“Your brother never mentioned you studied the blade,” he observes as they circle each other. She’s cautious, perhaps too much so. But there is an eagerness in her too, one that makes him wonder if he can wait, make her try to land the first blow.

Her mouth shifts into a smirk; he wishes the sight did not make his heart clench so. It’s…inconvenient. “It is a recently acquired hobby of mine.”

She steps to him, and it is him who makes the novice move, who goes to block only to find it is a feint, a way to throw him off guard as she dances in close. Her blade darts in, inches from his side, but he is fast as well, parrying well before she slips away, circling him so she is always at his back.

“Your style is…unique.” There’s no other word for it. She’s not experienced, to be sure, but she fights clever and careful.

Her teeth flash in a grin. “I had a unique teacher.”

She’s toying with him, trying to wear him out or dizzy him with these antics. An intelligent tactic, to cover up her inexperience, but he did not best the finest swords in his kingdom to be undone by a pair of buckskins.

He stops turning, and when she lunges for him, he is ready. A single parry gives him time to break distance, to bring her into a space he can control, heaving heavy blow after heavy blow to keep her on guard, to make her falter, and –

He goes to land another, expecting her blade beneath it, but she sidesteps, and while he over extends she cuts in close, not with blade but with –

The pommel strikes his hand, leaving it nerveless. It’s no feat at all for her knee to come up, tapping the blade from his hand up into hers.

“I want my forfeit,” she says, so even.

“We didn’t discuss terms, did we?” He swallows. Foolish.“What is it my lady desires?”

“I…” For the first time since she has entered the room, she wavers, cheeks flushing pink. “Tell me…” She licks her lips. “Tell me you want to marry me.”

“I do.” It wouldn’t have been a lie before; he needed the North, and she was a pleasant concession to make for it. He’d always liked her, that sly wit she let slip through when her polite mask began to crack. He’d thought she would be interesting at least, a comfort if not entirely an ally, but now…

Now he is…intrigued. How could he not be, when she’s come in here dressed like a man and beat him so handily.

“Tell me…that you cannot wait.”

“I cannot,” he agrees. He’s surprised to find he means it. “I’m eager to be told that I can take you as a wife.” He lifts a brow. “Especially if you plan to keep those trousers.”

Now that is a pretty blush.

He leans in, lifting his blade from her boneless hand. “Another,” he breathes, far less controlled than he wished.

Her eyelashes flutter in confusion. “I – excuse me?”

“Another match.” He pulls away, smirk slanting his lips. “After all, anyone can win once.”

Her eyes narrow. “If that is what Your Majesty wishes.”

“Oh yes.” He looms close once again, relishing how her breast rises faster when he nears. “And let me name my forfeit now.”

“Of course.”

His gaze drops pointedly to her lips. “If I win, you’ll allow me to kiss you.”

Her chest stutters for a moment, and then she is closer still, mouth perilously close to his own.

“Husband,” she murmurs, breath caressing his lips. “If you want a good match, you have to make your forfeit something I don’t want to do.”

His hand seizes her waist, dragging her body flush to his. Distantly, he hears steel clatter to marble, and then her fingers grip at his cravat, tilting his chin the barest hint down.

“Oh my,” she sighs, palm curling up over his shoulder. “It seems you have me disarmed already.”

He grins, letting it grow sharp, grow wolfish. “I’ll have you more than that, if you aren’t care –”

Her fingers wind into his hair and tug.

His groan echoes off every surface of the room. He’d be humiliated, if he wasn’t beyond caring.

“If you keep doing that,” he warns, mouth so close to hers that he is no longer sure which breath is hers and which is his. “We will have to call the Justice now, or you will not make it to the –”

Her palm presses tight along his skull, buries beneath the thong that ties back his hair, and she pulls.

“Oh hells,” he murmurs, and then there is no room for thought.

Neither of them call for the Justice.

#Anonymous #obiyuki #hakizana #my fic #Holiday Promptathon #ans #I jokingly refer to this #as the timeline where Haki does not make it to her wedding night a virgin #IF THAT ANSWERS SOME PERTINENT QUESTIONS YOU MAY HAVE #ABOUT THE ENDING

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connorrenwick · 4 years

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Design Milk Travels to… St. Moritz, Switzerland

Switzerland’s St. Moritz has long revelled in its reputation as the premiere destination for royalty, celebrities, and the well-heeled to escape from the depressing cast of grey winters in other parts of the world for the elegant ambiance of alpine living. It is in fact the birthplace of winter tourism – the brainchild of visionary hotelier Johannes Badrutt, whose Kulm Hotel first wooed and wowed English vacationers in 1864 with a “love it or your money back” guarantee. Word of mouth would eventually spread to kickstart what would snowball into the glamorous snow-ladden culture now associated with the chic alpine destination in the most expensive country in the world.

Today, the elevation of wealth and landscape on display in St. Moritz continues to extend to extraordinary heights, with opulent accommodations, decadent dining, and death-defying winter pastimes attracting vacationers with promises of 5-star stays graced by 320 days of sunshine a year.

Where to Stay

With its noble Neo-Baroque silhouette standing against the towering sawtoothed Upper Engadin Valley and just a short cross-country ski ride from St. Moritz proper, the Grand Hotel Kronenhof could be mistaken as an anachronistic time capsule of alpine luxury. There’s no denying the hotel is unapologetically grand in demeanor, old world in its charm. A glowing crown atop of its domed front cues all intending to enter, beauty rules this roost.

And indeed, the hotel’s history spans over 170 years – the survivor of two World Wars, weathering a succession of owners alongside the ebbs and flows of the global economy – emerging impressively intact as a magnificent example of a bygone era where resplendent artisan craft embellished rooms from floor to ceiling.

Photos by Gregory Han

The echoes of festivities past are to be found throughout the hotel’s winding hallways, including an antique single lane bowling alley (complete with a totally awesome retro boombox delivering the jams), a newly redecorated smoking room, and a secret speakeasy basement bar embellished with remnants of the hotel’s historic ties to wine and skiing.

Yet the Grand Hotel Kronenhof is in the process of inviting a degree of modernity within, only recently revealing 13 rooms and suites awash in the tastefully calculated contemporary efforts of interior designer Pierre-Yves Rochon. The hotel’s efforts have struck the balance between respecting the wishes of generations of returning guests desiring tradition, while also satisfying a new generation of alpine guests appreciative of the hotel’s history, but also demanding of a contemporary experience.

The Grand Hotel Kronenhof’s historic past lives comfortably in harmony with a contemporary spa and indoor pool wing where guests can wade in the warmth of a heated pool on the most frigid of alpine days while watching ice skaters glide by just out its windows. Photo: Gregory Han

Even if you never intend to stay at the Tschuggen Grand Hotel, you may want to book a treatment at Tschuggen Bergoase, the hotel’s architecturally conspicuous 4-floor wellness center. Designed by Swiss architect Mario Botta, the hotel’s adjoining spa and pool facility (free for hotel guests) is housed within erections of Duke White granite stone sourced from the Alps, topped by vertical sails of of glass that take on the glow of enormous lemon slices at night.

If you do have reservations as a guest, you’ll be treated to rooms executed by interior designer Carlo Rampazzi, who has finished each grade of room with a pastiche of colors and textures bordering on the whimsical – a warm and showy effect emphasized against the snowy serenity of the nearby alpines.

The Tschuggen Grand Hotel also stands out as a completely carbon neutral property, designed and constructed for minimal CO2 emissions, offering guests four tiers of pricing intended to offset emissions generated by their journeys to and from the hotel, while also offering complimentary pick-up service for guests arriving by train (a highly recommended and easy mode of arrival and departure from St. Moritz.)

Tucked in the topography of the Engadine Valley, the Nira Alpina’s glass and slatted timber exterior leaves a contemporary and minimal imprint against a mountainside just outside the borders of St. Moritz. Geothermal power keeps the entire interior warm.

If we were to imagine the typical Nira Alpina guest, it would be a *Wallpaper reading vacationer; an avid hiker, skier, mountain biker, and all-around outdoor adventurer appreciative of the veneer of sedate luxury, but most desirous to be outdoors enjoying all the Swiss Alps can offer.

Rooms are finished with a contemporary confidence, with wood and earthen tones giving precedence to the awe-inspiring views of the Engadin Mountains framed by windows spilling out to balconies and terraces, and an eclectic selection of vintage and contemporary artwork decorating public spaces.

Photo: Hotel Hauser

If luxury ranks secondary to experience in your travel plans, the Hotel Hauser St. Moritz offers an affordable and contemporary home base for the budget design traveler, centrally located in the heart of St. Moritz and just a bus ride and ski lift’s journey from exploring the Upper Engadin.

The hotel’s origins has a tasty past, originally founded as a family operated bakery-confectionary shop in 1892 before slowly transitioning to a modest 18-room hotel in 1955. The hotel’s distinctive exterior is the work of architect Robert Obrist, a self-supporting structure set on pillars, built upon the foundations of the original modest, traditional structure. The 51 rooms are tastefully simple, furnished with moon-phase-harvested larch or mountain pine, supposedly imbued with lunar-aided properties of questionable scientific repute (but undisputedly fragrant and beautiful).

Notable mentions: Kulm Hotel St. Moritz \\\ Auberge Resorts Collection St. Moritz (slated to open in 2022) \\\ Badrutt’s Palace Hotel

Where To Visit

Now its third Swiss iteration, Nomad St. Moritz‘s reputation as a prominent and focused design fair was built upon equal parts far-flung exclusivity and chatter spilled forth from attendees impressed by the intimate experiential installations housed within the event’s 16th-century built, Chesa Planta mansion.

Artist Carsten Höller’s enormous mushroom replica sculpture welcomes guests entering Nomad’s reception “cabin”. Photo: Gregory Han

Established in 2016, the traveling art fair is prominently attended by the set hardly prone to bat an eyelash at artwork, collectibles, and unique contemporary furniture pieces priced in a stratosphere of figures normally associated with car and homes (I on the other hand batted my eyes so often, I eventually just kept them closed). It is at Nomad where collectors and sellers convene to establish the vocabulary of luxury later echoed by media.

The building’s intimate, modest sized rooms present an obvious challenge for those invited to display collections within the classical architecture setting, but there’s an undeniable pleasure in witnessing the skillful efforts used to create an in situ ambiance using the mansion’s pre-existing interior features in relation to a gallery’s temporary display of objects.

Nomad’s “by invitation only” nature makes a ticket in attendance a special thing indeed. So to quote a most mischievous sage, “If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.”

Pritzker Prize–winning architect Norman Foster has left his imprint across St. Moritz, most notably in his bulbous timber clad Chesa Futura, followed up a renovation of the Kulm Hotel’s 110-year-old Eispavillon overlooking the historic five-star hotel’s winter ice skating rink and summertime park. Photos: Foster + Partners

Notable mentions: Chesa Futura \\\ Kulm Eispavillon \\\ Parkhaus Serletta and St. Moritz Design Gallery

Where To Shop

The wide swath of international luxury brands lining St. Moritz streets clearly informs of the clientele who come to holiday in the Swiss Alps, with no dearth of options to test the credit limits of even the platinum carded. Only recently the efforts of Parisian architect Luis Laplace bestowed St. Moritz with their own Hauser & Wirth gallery outpost and retailers like esteemed Swiss watchmaker, Bucherer continue to put their best foot forward for shoppers seeking the best St. Moritz can offer.

Photo: Läderach

But personally, I’ve found St. Moritz’s most coveted gifts can be procured in a couple shops only a few blocks from one another at a more reasonable price. Firstly for the sweet tooth: as an avid lover of all things chocolate, I highly recommend leaving enough room in your luggage to come home with a wide selection of fine artisan sweets from Swiss chocolatier, Läderach. I regretfully only purchased two boxes during my last visit, immediately regretting a rare instance of self-control. Confections are made with an eye for design and presentation, making them ideal souvenirs, but as good as they look, they’re exceeded by their immensely satisfying spectrum of flavors.

A two minute walk from Läderach discreetly located in a quiet alleyway is Glattfelder, a family-operated shop dedicated to loose leaf and bagged teas, alongside coffee, caviar, salmon, and spices (apparently covering all of the necessary dietary needs of the average St. Moritz citizen.) Mixed in with the usual assortment of black, white and green teas, a selection of herbal blends made from flowers and plants sourced from the Swiss mountains offer an aromatic gift to bring back home in remembrance of this high altitude paradise.

Photos by Gregory Han

Final Thoughts

St. Moritz’s reputation is built upon its appeal as a wintertime destination, but summertime adventures in this alpine region of Switzerland offers another wholly different yet equally unforgettable experience for those drawn to hike ever upward. In warmer months, mountainside trails are garlanded by alpine flowers, misted by glacial-fed streams, and occasionally garrisoned by sure-footed ibex, greeted by melodious marmots, and most ignored by emo-coiffed Highland cows.

If it’s your first time visiting St. Moritz, consider booking a train ride from Zurich. The four-hour journey will afford you an unceasing opportunity to fill your Instagram with Switzerland’s most picturesque landscape from the comforts of a smooth riding train. If you’re planning to stay for an extended period, a Swiss Travel Pass not only permits access to the Swiss Travel System’s trains, buses, and boats, but also gives free access to over 500 museums and mountain excursion up to Rigi, Schilthorn, Stanserhorn, and Stoos.

If you’ve traveled to St. Moritz, Switzerland and have any additional favorite spots or recommendations for first time visitors, let us know below so we can share (and also check it out ourselves the next time we’re there).

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