#now I think I finished the chapter of the manor on the hill | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greytabbydreams · 1 year

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Honest Confessions: (16+) warnings include curse words and slight sexual content. It’s mainly fluff and Arthur being shy and awkward lol.

Summary: Set in chapter four of the story, right after Jack is saved from Angelo Bronte. Arthur gets drunk and reveals a secret. 🤭

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Honest Confessions ~

The evening was as optimistic as it was humid since we had just saved young Jack from Angelo Bronte, earlier that day. Although, from the sounds of it Jack didn’t seem to be in too much trouble. Talk of sleeping in some lavish room and eating Italian food. What did he call it again? Spaghetti? In any sense, the gang was in rather high spirits. Javiar is playing his guitar and singing, while a part of the group did their best to sing along overlooking the fact nobody could understand a word of Spanish. I laughed to myself watching my friends smiling faces flicker in the campfire light. I turned around to face the table I was resting on, there was an opened box of liquor. I reached in and grabbed a bottle and took a drink. A warm tingling feeling instantly sent a calming sensation into my face and chest. The drink was definitely some good whiskey. On a normal occasion, I wouldn’t want to over-drink, but since tonight was so great… What the hell, when isn’t there a better time to get drunk than being surrounded by friends? I finished my first bottle and grabbed another for walking around while chatting with everyone around the camp…

…

A couple of hours had passed, and the party was starting to slow down. But I think I might be on my… third?... probably fifth bottle of whatever alcohol I was sipping on, it honestly doesn’t matter I was feeling incredible and surprisingly chatty.

“J-John,” my words were tumbled out, “I, just wanna tell ya’ you doin’ okay.”

“Aw thanks, Arthur.” The stringy man replied with a goofy smile.

“You’re a good dad, you’re gonna do right by the kid.” I slurred while giving a little smack to the back of John’s shoulder.

“I hope you’re right.” He said while pushing me away from him.

“You should probably stop drinking now, and eat something though Arthur.”

“Alright, Marston.” I reply giving a dismissive wave as I turn around to face the entrance of the Shady Belle manor. I squinted into the darkness, did I just see something move? Could that be… Charles? He’s still on guard duty during the party? How absurd is that! I quickly began to stomp my way up the hill to confront the man.

“Wh-wat da’ hell are ya’ doin’ up here all by yourself?” I clumsily question the large man who didn’t seem too startled by my company.

“I’m on guard duty this evening. And you’re pretty drunk my friend.” He replied in his normal stoic yet warm tone.

“Come on Charles,” I wine, “ we’re c-clearly havin’ a party.” I gesture back to the campfire that was now being put out by Abigail, while other members of the gang were cleaning up the rest of the mess.

“Looks like I missed out.” Charles replied letting out a little chuckle.

“Aw shit…I think you’re right.” I said with a sigh.

“Well, I haven’t talked to you ALLLL night! So come on, take a little break and sit with me.” With that, I plop right down in the dirt beside Charles. Charles lets out a little sigh in protest but then sits down next to me.

“Okay, what’s on your mind, Morgan?” Charles asks.

“Well, I’m just really happy you’know?” I hummed while looking up at the stars that barely shined through the branches above.

“Things are just going our way at the moment. We got Jack back, I have faith in Dutch’s new plan, and I’m… I’m just in a great mood tonight.” I close my eyes for a moment allowing my head to hit the back of the stone wall that sat by the entrance of the manor. Maybe I was oversharing, normally it was hard to talk about any type of feelings I had. Could it be the whiskey? Or Charles’ calming presence? I shake away the thought, what was I talking about again?

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, even if it ends up being just a fleeting moment.” Charles breathed as he moved to stand up. Reaching his hand down to me.

“Let’s get you to bed now.” Charles said looking down at me with his twinkling hazel eyes.

“Alright Mr. Smith, let’s go.” I respond grabbing his calloused hand and pulling me up with ease. We wandered over to the entrance of Shady Belle, Charles holding onto my ribcage to keep me from stumbling. However, his touch put my nerves on edge. Not because he was making me uncomfortable, but more because I was uneasy with human contact that lasted for this long. Once we had made it to my room, I pushed off him and face-planted into the pillow on my bed. Charles turned away walking towards the door.

“Good night Arthur.” He said quietly, trying not to disturb the others who were trying to sleep on that floor.

“W-wait Charles, c'mere I wanna talk to ya’,” I say slightly muffled by my face still practically covered by my pillow. He turns back around to me, crouching at my bedside.

“What?” he sounds in a hushed tone.

“Oh Charles, you’re so talented, a-and strong!” I mumbled “So handsome too, but you work soooooo hard. You need to let loose every once in a while.” Charles suddenly looked a little flustered as a small ting of pink filled his cheeks.

“Uhm, yes I’ll keep that in mind, Arthur.” Charles tries to move away again but I reach out to grab his arm. What has gotten into me?

“Where are you going?” I stammer as confidently as I could. Charles snorts looking at my hand that was on his arm.

“Back to my post cowboy.” He answered in a playful tone.

“Didn’t I just say somethin’ about workin’ too hard? Why don’t you stay here with me, and we can talk.”

“I don’t know about that Arthur, by the way you’re talking, you might say something you’ll regret later.”

“What do you mean by that?” I say gripping his arm a little tighter and trying to draw him closer to me.

“All I’m saying is that you’re clearly very drunk. Maybe we should talk in the morning.” Charles finishes breaking away from me and walks out the door. Dread and embarrassment immediately washes over me as soon as Charles exited. What did I just do? Did I make a move on Charles? Am I imagining things? No that definitely happened. I pulled my blanket over my face like a child cursing myself for acting so oddly. I’d always known I had a fondness for some men, but I hadn’t acted on any of those urges. Too afraid of being found out; especially by any of the gang members. Oh God, I’m sure I freaked out Charles, he probably despises me. FUCK.

…

The sun begins to peak through the window and onto the table in my room. My vision was blurry, as my eyes fluttered open. My head ached, and nausea flowed over me instantly.

“Oh God… what the hell did I do last night?” Memories of the party last night, and walking around camp came back to me. Memories of me and Charles. Shit, Charles. The feelings I had of embarrassment came to me again. Why did I act like such an idiot last night? I swear to God I hope Charles doesn’t say anything, or– just forgets about it and just assumes I was just drunk and didn’t mean anything by it. Fuck, I need to get out of here for a couple of days. I jolted out of my bed and moved to retrieve my satchel and pistol, head still pounding from the previous night’s liquor. I moved into the hallway going down the stair almost bumping into Hosea as I passed him.

“What’s got you moving this fast my boy?” Hosea questions in a slightly annoyed fatherly tone as he would speak from time to time.

“I just need to get some fresh air, Hosea.” I say a little more irritated than I intended

“Okay, don’t let this old man get in your way,” he replies sarcastically

“Maybe while you’re out try and get some deer, we’re running a little low on supplies.”

“Fine,” I nodded at the older man. I continued to rush down the rest of the steps and walked outside stepping onto the porch. I trek over to the edge of camp where Tobacco, my horse, was standing grazing on a patch of grass.

“Come on boy,” I say swinging myself on the back of the Arabian. I ride out of the camp, but as I passed the gate, I noticed Charels’ horse was also missing from the herd. Maybe that was a good thing, he wasn’t going to say anything to the gang about me.

…

I made my way into a clearing a few miles away from Rhodes where I knew I could find some deer for camp. It felt good to be far from camp. I can think a lot clearer when I wasn’t surrounded by people. I could see a large stag grazing atop a hill a couple of paces away from my current position. I took aim with my rifle, breathing in, and out slowly. The sound of my rifle shooting reverberated across the field the stag fell over dying instantly.

“Nice shot,” a filmier voice said behind me. I practically jumped out of my skin.

“OH, MY FUCKING–don’t-don’t sneak up on me like that!” I erupted turning to see Charles who had a slight smile on his face looking down at me from his horse Taima.

“Oh, I’m sorry Arthur, didn’t realize you would react so intensely.” He replied, obviously finding the whole situation to be very funny.

“What are you doing here?” I ask calmly, trying to stay relaxed while in his presence.

“Went hunting early this morning, Hosea mentioned we were running low on food.” Charles gestured to Taima, who already had a large deer strapped on. How amusing Hosea, I thought, what did he think he was playing at?

“Well, guess we had the same idea.” I say shortly moving away to retrieve my fallen stag. Charles seemed a little taken about by my tone. I didn’t particularly care, I just needed to get away before I embarrassed myself again.

“Hey, do we need to talk about something?” Charles asks sharply trying to catch my attention. My hair stood up on the back of my neck, and the same feeling of dread I felt last night washed over me. I cleared my throat before I spoke again.

“Alright,” was all I could muster before turning back to face Charles.

“So, about last night… I–uhh– it didn’t mean anything I was really drunk.”

“You’re sure?” Charles asked,

“Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Okay, as long as you’re sure,” Charles reacted emphasizing the “sure” in his sentence, a twinkle behind his eyes. Why the hell is he acting so weird?

“ I’m confused Charles,” I blinked in confusion.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“That depends, are we on the same page?” Quickly, Charles moved towards me and pushed me up against a nearby tree. My face immediately flushed, eyes darting unsure of where to rest.

“Hm, seems like you were lying Mr. Morgan,” Charles said in his calm and patient tone. I was frozen, I didn’t know what to say.

“It’s alright Arthur, I’m not angry with you,” Charles spoke in the same tone, changing his position on me slightly by relaxing his hand on my shoulder.

“You’re not?” I asked, begging to let that feeling of embarrassment drift away.

“No, of course not,” Charles smiled warmly

“To be honest, I wanted to tell you I was interested but I wasn’t sure when would be the right time.”

“What?” I say stunned, could Charles really be interested in me— like in that way?

“I felt like I would have been taking advantage of you last night. That’s why I thought it would be better to talk when you were sober.” I couldn’t believe what Charles was saying! This handsome statue of a man was really saying he was interested in dirty, ugly me?

“So…” I start, straightening myself up against the tree.

“What now?” I ask trying to regain some sort of confidence. Charles hummed a moment before leaning in and giving me the lightest peck on the lips. My body felt like it was lit on fire, and this small action from Charles unexpectedly made me ache for his touch. I reached for the back of his head and drew him into a deeper kiss. I felt the hand that was on my shoulder shift to the base of my neck, while his other wandered down to my waist. I let out a sharp sigh as I felt Charles thrusting my body closer to his. Things seemed to be escalating pretty quickly, and I was still unsure of what was really happening. The last couple of minutes felt like a long-awaited fantasy of Arthurs. I turned my body slightly in hopes of finding a more comfortable spot against the tree. Instead, I lost my balance and started falling back down the hill.

“Shit!” I spat out before me and Charles started tumbling down the golden mound. We fell for quite a ways until we hit the dip between two hills. Charles and I lay still staring up at the sky.

“God Arthur, you really know how to make a man fall for you?” I could hear Charles’ smile spread over his face.

“Oh, shut up Charles!” I erupted laughing. I pushed myself up off the ground and reached my hand down to Charles. He grabbed my hand and I lifted him up to his feet.

“Maybe we’ll pick up where we left off later,” I say, trying to regain composure.

“I’m sure we will,” Charles replied with a gentle demeanor while brushing dirt from his shoulder.

“I should grab that deer I shot before a wolf gets it.” The two of us walked up the hill and retrieved the animal carcass and then made it back to our horses.

“I’ll meet up with you back at camp,” Charles said while turning Taima in the direction of the camp.

“Alright, I’ll meet up with you soon,” I smiled at Charles tipping my hat as a sorta wave goodbye. Charles’ trotted off. I took this moment to take a deep breath. My heart must have been beating out of my throat with how hard the thumping felt.

“Come on boy,” I say to my horse who began to move in the direction of camp.

…

The sun was starting to set over the Shady Belle house. The usual faces of friends, and Micha, were gathering around the campfire. Javiar was playing his guitar, John was poking the fire with a stick and Hosea was sitting next to Jack teaching him to read with some fantasy tale. I sat down on a log next to Charles, who was carving what appeared to be a little horse out of wood.

“How was hunting today boys?” Hosea asked, pausing Jack’s story when he noticed I had sat down.

“Great, we shot two bucks a little past Rhoads,” Charles replied calmly, as usual, so as to not hint that any other activities had occurred. I could only nod awkwardly after flashes of being pinned against a tree came back to me. Hosea smiled in response.

“Anything else happen while you were out?”

“No, just the deers.” I reply as plainly, as I could.

“Okay.” Hosea said with a shrug of his shoulders a hint of suspicion behind his tone. Why was Hosea so suspicious of us? Did he see us together up on that hill? No he couldn’t have, he almost never leaves camp by himself. Maybe it was best just to forget about it for the moment.

…

A couple of hours had passed, and members of the camp were starting to retire for the night. I had finished a sketch of the deer Charles and I shot today in my journal, every drawing I did seemed to get a little better with practice. Something I was secretly sorta proud of. Charles placed a hand on my shoulder leaning to whisper in my ear.

“How about you get ready for bed and I’ll meet with you in a little bit?” His warm breath on my ear sent a shiver up my back.

“Uhm–okay,” I say with a swallow. I sat for an additional moment, waiting for Charles to leave. I proceeded to get up from the log walking to the manor and eventually the door into my room. I began taking off some of the extra weight I had been carrying all day. First my satchel, belt, and gun holster, then my jacket, and lastly I removed my hat placing it on my shelf. A soft knock came on my door. I quietly moved to the door, opening it as silently as I could making sure not to wake Hosea, John, and his family in the nearby rooms.

“That’s you Charels?” I whisper through the crack of the door.

“Let me in Arthur,” Charles replied in a similar hushed tone. I pulled the door open wide enough for Charles to slip in.

“C’mere,” Charles said grabbing the collar of my shirt and pushing me onto the bed. He pulled me into his kiss once again and I replicated the motion pressing my lips into his. Charles pulled away from the kiss to set my body into a more comfortable position, parallel to the bed. I could hardly believe what was happing to me right now. If this was some sort of dream, I hope I never wake up. Charles brought his hands to my chest, removing my blue button-up, and I began to do the same with his shirt pulling it off onto the floor. Charles then moved his hand down near my crouch.

“This alright?” He said in a thick soothing tone.

“Yea’ that’s alright,” I say, heart, beating out of my chest, bringing my hand to his. He began pulling down my pants while maintaining partial eye contact with me. Just then the audible sound of my pistol hitting the wooden floors thudded. I had forgotten to take it off the bed and move it to my table.

“Shit,” Charles whispered through gritted teeth. We both froze waiting for someone to come and ask what all the ruckus was about.

“I think we’re in the clea–” I began before the sound of a door creaking opening could be heard. Shit, I thought still frozen with Charles on top of me, his hand motionless on my inner thigh. Footsteps could be heard coming in our direction.

“Are you alright in there Arthur?” Hosea asked, his voice dense with sleep.

“Yes,” I grumbled out “go back to bed, I just dropped my gun.”

“Okay son, try and get some sleep.” Hosea replied, his footsteps were getting quieter as he retreated to his room. I let out a breath of relief as I heard his door shut behind him.

“Would you like to pickup where we left off?” Charles asked, leaning into me.

“Of course darlin’,” I reply bringing him down to kiss him again.

…

The morning sun once again came pouring into my room. I blinked my eyes open, turning to see Charles who was still sleeping underneath my arm. The both of us were squished together because of how small the bed was. I turning over onto my side, staring at the man who layed before me. How unbelievably handsome he was; his muscular body, soft black hair, his eyelashes, everything about him was absolutely beautiful. I wanted to badly to grab my journal and draw him asleep the way he is. Although moving would only disrupt this prefect image that sat so peacefully. Some movement could be heard outside my door. It was Johns voice moving closer. Not again! I nudged Charles on the shoulder waking him up.

“Good morning Arth–” Charles began before I placed my finger to his lips signaling him to be quiet.

“I’m comin’ in Arthur,” John stated turing the door knob

“NOWS NOT A GOOD TIME MARSTON!” I shouted, but it was already too late. John had stepped into the room.

“So I was just letting you know I borrowed your–” His demenor suddenly shifted to stunned and dumbfounded. His mouth stayed opened as he stared at me and Charles laying completely naked next to eachother.

“Wow, uhh, I-” John spoke in totally bewilderment.

“Please, leave.” I spoke in a tense but calm tone.

“Shit, Arthur,– I– i’m so sorry” John said turning bright red with embarrassment. Right before he was able to escape this awkward situation. Another voice rang though the hallway.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Hosea shouted from the room across from mine. Why was this situation getting worse and worse by the second?

“NOTHING!” John and I shouted at the same time.

I quickly leaned down and grabbed my underwear that was laying on the floor slipping it on. I then pushed John out the door and shut it with a slam. Charles and I as quickly as we could scrambled to put our clothes back on. I stubbeled outside my door into the hallway where a still stunned John and a confused Hosea stood.

“Who else is in that room Arthur?” Hosea questioned

“Well–” I started desperately trying to think of a away out of this situation.

“Charles.” Hosea answered his own question gestuing to my shirt. I looked down noticing that I was wearing Charles’ shirt. What an idiot.

“I had a feeling you two were up to something.” Hosea said, who then shifted closer to me placing his hand on my shoulder.

“It’s okay son, I don’t care who interests you.” Hosea said giving me a warm smile.

“What?” I say staring blankly at the older man.

“I had a feelin’ you and Charles had something going on. I noticed Charles leaving your room a night ago.”

“WHAT?” John exclaimed mouth still agape.

“How long–how long has this been going on brother!?” John questioned in disbelief

“I guess I might have made a move after the welcome home party for Jack. But nothing really happened until yesterday.” I answered shifting from one foot to the other.

“Oh my God,” John said with an exhale.

“I mean, it’s totally fine, but shit–entirely unexpected,” He said scratching the top of his head. Just then Charles slipped outside the door behind me.

“Excuse me.” Charles said moving me gently to the side.

“Everything okay?” Charles questioned the group of men.

“Yep,” John replied nodding and giving a little thumbs up as he twisted around to his room. Hosea let out a little chuckle.

“I know you’ll treat him right,” Hosea says also nodding and walking away. Once the men had disappeared I turned to look at Charles.

“Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about anyone finding out now.” I say shrugging.

“That sure made things a lot easier,” Charles said turning to look at me.

“How bout’ we ride outta here for a little bit?” I asked the taller man. Charles’ face warmed with a smile.

“That sounds like a good idea Mr. Morgan.” Charles replied giving me a little kiss on the cheek.

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 #charthur fanfic #charthur #arthur x charles #red dead redemption community #red dead redemption 2 #fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #fluff #arthur morgan #charles smith #lgbtq

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deejadabbles · 2 years

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The House of Anubis (Atem x Reader Halloween special)

Part Four: The Darkness

One //// Two //// Three //// Four //// (Five coming soon) ///

Summary: The house was large, a manor, really. Imposing, yet striking more aw with every turn of a corner. You had never thought you’d be dragged back into the family business, but your brother needed you, and so too did his latest project. It stood alone among the trees, yet, you never felt alone when inside. Hairs prickle on the back of the neck, shivers run down spines, and hands fidget with every unoccupied moment. And the thing- or rather, person, who simultaneously eases and worsens these feelings? Atem, a man who was just as mercurial as the house itself, all smirks and light comments one moment, then lingering stares and strange musings the next. So the real question remains, will you uncover the secrets both the man and the manor are harboring?(A Halloween mini-series inspired by the show ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ and the movie ‘The Frighteners’. The Reader x Atem themes are, admittedly, light as this mostly focuses on a spooky haunted house story, but the romantic undertones are there. Gender-neutral reader.)

A.N. Okay, how many of you wanna take bets on whether or not I'll actually finish this before Halloween of next year? I'll try my best, but for some reason, all I seem to get motivated to do is one chapter every Halloween -.- Maybe the next one being the last will motivate me! Either way, I hope you guys like the new chapter, and have a good Halloween!

...

The woods, seven years ago.

All the horror movies were true.

All the scenes of children tucked into bed, holding their breaths in fear at the shadows on their walls. All the images of branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, ready to rake and claw at unsuspecting victims who thought they were tucked away safe in their homes.

Those scary movies her older sister were obsessed with had perfectly captured the visage of old gnarled trees casting terrifying shadows. That was all Clare could think as they drove through the thick forest.

“You really think it’s a good idea to go out this far?” she asked, only now barely able to rip her gaze away from the barren branches reaching out for their car. “Haven’t you listened to those pod casts about people going missing on the backroads because of hill billy psychos?”

Jon, one hand on the steering wheel, one holding a contraband cigarette courtesy of his mother’s purse, actually scoffed. “There you go again, told ya she’d chicken out right before we got there!”

“I’m not-” Clare grit her teeth, “I’m just saying we should be careful! Heck, not even about axe murderers, you know how many people get into car wrecks from deer and shit jumping in front of them on roads like these?”

“Stop being an dick, Jon, she’s just worried your shitty driving is gonna to land us in a ditch,” came Dylan’s voice from the seat behind her. She heard a shift and his head came peeking between her and Jon. “Where are you even taking us?”

After taking another drag of the cig, and passing it to Dylan Jon said, “Let’s just say it’s not inbred machete maniacs that we have to worry about.” Taking his eyes off the road, he gave Clare that look. The look he got in their kindergarten class right before nap time, the look he used when their backyard bonfires lit up his face in an eerie glow, the look before he jumped out at an unsuspecting friend. “We’re going to an actual haunted mansion.”

Dylan groaned throwing himself back into his seat, “Yeah fucking right, there’s just a mansion sitting out in the middle of the woods? Come on, man, you spent all of middle school dragging us to cemeteries and abandoned buildings, I thought you were done with this.”

“This is for real, dude! It really is a creepy ass old mansion,” Jon started digging around in the small space between his seat and the center console, “and, get this, the old dude who owned it, died mysteriously a couple months ago.” He withdrew a piece of paper that Clare recognized as one of their town’s desperate attempts to cling to the past. “Read it yourself!”

After getting it shoved into her hands, Clare glared as she unwrinkled the newspaper clipping. The small article did indeed tell about some professor who died in his family home, but…

“A heart attack?” Clare rolled her eyes, “An elderly man dying of a heart attack is ‘mysterious’?”

“It says right there that he was in perfect health, though!” Jon insisted, but interrupted himself with an “oh shit” as he jerked his wheel to avoid missing a turn in the road.

Now with the trees more sparse than the dense decrepit woods from before, Clare felt a little more at ease. This was all just another one of Jon’s poor attempts to scare them, she hardly had to worry.

“Look,” Jon continued after straightening out his car, “my uncle says he knew the guy who died, and that he was starting to get all weird in the end. Talking nonsense, locking himself away in the mansion more than usual, and, warning people never to come visit him at his house. Dude went nuts like a professor in a Lovecraft story!”

Again Dylan’s head hovered between the front seats, “Doesn’t seem a little…you know, disrespectful or- or ghoulish to go through this dead guy’s house? He obviously had mental issues.”

“God damn, you two are no fun,” Jon accentuated his claim by blowing a raspberry.

And, given that he wasn’t careful to watch the road while he rambled about ghost hunting adventures, Clare took it upon herself to watch the road for him. The night sky was at least visible now, and the full moon overhead gave her some comfort. Ha, a full moon, that must have been why he chose tonight in particular to practically drag them out of bed with no warning just short of midnight.

She was just thinking about telling Jon to watch the road better when something made her stiffen. She saw it in the corner of her eye first, a flash, a spark, and she felt her chest hold back a gasp as her head whipped to the right. Clare leaned forward, trying to see past Jon’s head as she scanned the trees for, what, she wasn’t sure.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dylan nudged her arm, seeing her search through the darkness.

She swallowed. “I…I don’t know I think I saw something-”

A squeal of tires as she slid forward, her elbow making painful contact with the dashboard when the car came to a hard stop.

“Ow! What the hell, Jon!?” In a rare fit of anger, she punched Jon in the arm, before using the same hand to cradle her sore elbow.

To his credit, the driver actually did sound sincere when he said, “Sorry! Sorry, I think I missed the driveway, so I panicked.”

Dylan muttered “driveway?” under his breath as he twisted to look out the back window. “Holy shit, you’re right, I think it’s right there.”

Clare squinted her eyes at where he was pointing, though her view from the passenger front wasn’t great. In the moonlit dark, she thought she could just barely make out a mailbox on the roadside.

Before another word, Jon wrestled his junk-on-wheels car into reverse and veered into the opposite lane as he backed up. There it was, on the same side of the road where she thought she saw something in the trees: a long, unlit, winding driveway.

Jon had that look again, that smile, and he wiggled his eyebrows at them before turning into the driveway.

Despite herself, Clare swallowed hard. The twenty-year-old headlights of the rusted Toyota only cut through the shadows for a few feet, and again she felt like the darkness and trees were pressing in on them. Thankfully, the rocky path wasn’t as long as she had thought, because the woods soon broke into a clearing. There on the right, it stood, probably the biggest house she had ever seen in person, and that included the mayor’s place.

Towers, arching windows, vines woven over brick, it looked like it belonged on the cover of her sister’s old gothic romance books. Moonlight made some of the windows glint in the dark, and Clare realized that that must have been what she saw in the trees earlier.

“Hold shit,” Jon mumbled, “Uncle Tim wasn’t kidding, it’s fucking awsome!”

“And you’re sure no one still lives here? Like the dude's wife or something?” Dylan asked.

“Nope. My uncle said he just has a granddaughter left, and she lives in LA doing computer science shit.” With that, Jon killed the engine and popped open his door, leaving them both to do the same as he approached the house.

The front porch added to the spooky air, no doubt. Spiderwebs in every corner, wicker seats toppled over, and to top it all off: a rocking chair creaking in the night breeze. The old wood steps groaned and a blanket of leaves crunched underfoot as they walked up to the large front door. Immediately, Jon grabbed the handle and turned it hard.

Nothing happened, besides Jon banging his shoulder on the dark wood.

“Come on, you didn’t actually think they’d leave it unlocked, did you?” Clare teased as she turned to the arched, paned glass dotting the front of the house. “Maybe we could try a window?”

Jon gave one last annoyed look at the door before nodding. Dylan had already gone to the closest one, moving the broken wicker furniture to get close enough. A mighty lift, but the glass didn’t budge.

“Dude, give me a hand,” he waved at Jon and they were standing shoulder to shoulder, trying their damndest to slide it up.

While they heaved and pulled, Clare wandered back to the door. There was a fan-shaped pane of glass near the top, so she pressed herself against the wood and stood on her tiptoes. The view was hazy, dust or maybe the glass was simply warped from age, and the moonlight through the windows didn’t help too much. From what little she could see, the door opened into a large entry hall of sorts, and, if she squinted, she thought she could make out a large staircase.

A shadow in the darkness shifted. Clare felt her heart skip a beat, eye’s frozen on the spot where she swore the light from the window wasn’t shining. She made herself look behind her, at the trees surrounding the clearing, and gave a sigh of relief when she realized it must have been the branches swaying in the path of the moonlight.

She leaned back on her heels and turned towards the boys, who were still trying to open the same window. “Guys, I think you should try another-”

Click.

The creak of old wood filled her ears, as the door beside her opened.

It only stood ajar an inch or two, and she didn’t see anyone on the other side, but it still caused her to take a step back.

“Awesome! How’d you get it open?” Dylan asked as he and Jon came to her side.

Again, Jon wasted no time in taking the lead, he grabbed the edge of the door and pushed it open. They could practically hear his eyes go wide, “Holy shit!”

Clare tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat as Dylan crossed the threshold. It…it must have been unlocked the whole time, and just got stuck like old doors did. Yes, yes that had to be it. And it finally opened after she leaned on it for so long.

With that thought to calm her, she followed her friends. They took cautious steps inside, surrounded by old walls and creaking floorboards. She was right, it did open into an entry hall, with a grand staircase on the other side, but this wasn’t anything like the old houses they saw in movies.

“It looks like a set for The Mummy.” Dylan ran his hand over the thick layer of dust covering the sand-colored depictions of hieroglyphs and ancient gods.

“Yeah, Uncle Tim said the guy was some sort of Egyptologist. Guess he was waaaay obsessed with his job.”

Clare took her index finger and traced the face of a winged woman. “I thought you said he only passed away a couple months ago,” she asked, frowning at the dust coating her fingertip.

Jon shrugged, “Maybe he wasn’t big on dusting.” He turned and wandered to the doorway on the left side of the hall. “Man, he’s got even more Egypt stuff in here!”

Clare heard Dylan walking over to where Jon stood, but she was still transfixed by the wall. Something cold ran up her back like an icy spider, making her want to wrap her arms around herself. She turned to look behind but found nothing, just open, dusty space.

The chill didn’t stop at her spine though, it slithered down her arms till she started rubbing them through her hoodie.

Creak.

She heard it above her, and her eyes snapped to the ceiling.

Thud.

“Guys,” her call came out a hoarse cry, “Guys, I think someone’s upstairs!”

The boys, who had barely gotten to the next room, turned to face her again, “Huh?”

She was still watching the ceiling, listening, straining to see or hear any sign to tell her she wasn’t overreacting. The ceiling, web coated and peeling, was dark, and she blinked when she thought he saw a section of it…swelling.

No, her eyes weren’t seeing things in the dark, a tile in the bronze ceiling was swelling like a bubble. She watched as it got bigger and bigger- then screamed when it split open to reveal a large bloodshot eye.

Clare fell to the ground, still screaming as she crawled back backwards to the door, watching as the eye got bigger and the bulge in the ceiling slid like dripping ooze to the closest wall. The boy’s were calling her name, and just as they began pulling her to her feet something large on the stairs fell with a deafening bang.

Even with that and her screams, they still heard it.

“What are you doing here!?”

The deep, almost inhuman voice caused their heads to snap towards the staircase.

There, on the landing, back lit up by the marvelous stained glass, was a man with wild hair and eyes that seemed to pierce the darkness.

“Get. Out.” His voice was as deadly as a snake’s hiss, and even Jon gripped the doorway as he backed away. “Get Out! Now!” the figure roared.

They didn’t need to be told a third time. Dylan had a firm grip on Clare as they scrambled across the porch and down the stairs. An arm’s length from the car they heard that same baritone call out to them again: a warning.

“Never speak of what you saw here tonight.”

Jon didn’t even bother putting the car in reverse, and did the sharpest U turn of his life, peeling out of the driveway as if the devil himself were on their heels.

Atem watched them go, still standing sentinel at the top of the stairs.

Then his eyes snapped to the bubbling thing that had slid its way across the wall to the front door. The frame of a skeletal hand was visible under the wallpaper, reaching out in hunger at the meal that had gotten away.

Atem’s anger flared anew.

He was not a cruel man, even scaring those children hadn’t pleased him, but for that thing, he could find no mercy. Especially after Arther.

“If you think,” he took a step down the stairs, “that after everything you’ve put my friend through,” another step, “that I would ever let you harm another innocent,” his foot clicked against a hard floor, “then you are sorely mistaken.”

Atem was not a cruel man, but for the darkness infesting this house, he had no mercy.

The front door slammed shut on the creature's screams.

The manor, present day.

Music was never something that the old thief Alexander Hawkins had indulged in often, only when company graced his house did he allow his wife to fill their halls with the croon of a radio or record. Even his son Arther, who quite liked the birth of rock and roll, rarely turned the volume high. Today though, today a pair of siblings played a scratched up CD as loud as their old paint-stained stereo would allow.

Your head nodded along with your favorite track as the song blared against the tile walls. You remembered this setlist well, it was one of the first mixes your dad bad copied for you and your brother: a rite of passage in helping him with his work.

Laying tile was one of the few tasks you had struggled with when learning your family’s craft, making sure every square was ruler straight, pipping the grout just thick enough that there weren't layers and layers of clean up. It had taken many bathrooms and kitchens less grand than this to get proficient at all that.

So, the professional work you were doing now filled you with some pride.

The downstairs bath had been in desperate need of new tiles- both on the ground and the wall, and a road trip to some antique furniture stores in the area had yielded the perfect replacement pieces. The gold imitation of marble tied in well with the decor of the rest of the downstairs, lavish enough to not feel like an afterthought, but not so garish that the small space might make you cringe.

Unfortunately, your music was drowned out for a moment, the scream of a saw whirring down the hall as your brother finished cutting the tile needed for the edges of the room. When the sound died down again a new song was playing and at first you started humming along again; but when the lyrics started, the tune made you pause.

Usually, you paid no mind when this, one of your brother’s favorite songs, popped on, but today, in this particular house…

You flicked the little dial on the side of the radio, turning the volume down to a murmur as you turned back to your work.

In truth, the day spent shopping had been a much needed excuse. The last day you spent in this house, the day you had stayed till nightfall, had shaken you and your brother more than either of you wanted to admit. And the worst part was, looking back, you couldn’t even say why that night had scared you so much. Nothing had…happened, not really. Neither of you had said anything about the strange feeling of urgency felt when leaving the house, the sudden sensation that something was wrong.

Even still, the next morning your brother had suggested the shopping trip, as if the bathroom were some pressing issue that needed mending by the end of the week. Not that you complained, a day away from the House of Anubis was welcomed by that point. Something about this place just felt…heavy at times.

“Blasphemy, kiddo! One does not turn down the volume on Don't Fear the Reaper.”

Big brother had come back down the hall and set the bag of freshly cut tile by the door before he leaned down and turned the volume back up.

“I couldn’t hear it over the saw anyway,” you countered, and he put his hand over his heart dramatically.

“Well, see if I try to make myself useful again with that attitude!”

A playful roll of your eyes and you went back to your work. He did make himself useful again by refilling your drink from your stash in the kitchen, which was nice. It was almost completely drained again by the time you were finally done with the tile but at least the work was done.

Needing a break from the damp muddy smell of grout and that strange oppressive air of the house in general, you told him you were stepping outside while he mixed the paint for your next job.

Instead of going down the little hallway that led back to the entry hall, you took the door that opened into the study, then the next door that got you into the conservatory. Green was still bursting to life in every free space of the glass-domed room, and you made a mental note to double-check that there weren’t any vines digging into the rest of the house when you got the chance.

The glass doors at the front of the conservatory opened to a small side porch with a nice view of the woods. Said trees were beautiful this time of year, your view was an endless ombre of reds and oranges and yellows. The crisp autumn air filled your chest as you took in a deep, cleansing breath and closed your eyes.

After letting the cool breeze wash over your face for a while, you took a step out into the yard and looked up at the house, letting your gaze travel across it. There was a small balcony where the glass roof of the conservatory met the rest of the house, connected to the master suite.

As you gazed over the upstairs windows, you noticed that the outside walls had some strange angles to them, ones you hadn’t noticed when staying the night in the master room all that time ago. You found yourself tilting your head in confusion, no, that wall shouldn’t jut out like that. Maybe the room next door, but…hold on, that wasn’t right either…how could…

You were unceremoniously drawn out of your reverie by the sound of a car door slamming shut.

A blink as your mind traded one confused train of thought for another and you turned your head towards the sound. A car? Then the thought of Atem crossed your mind. Perhaps he had finally recovered from his mysterious illness and had come back to see you.

Though, you didn’t ever remember seeing him use a car.

The trek through the overgrown grass beside the house was a bit much, but you soon made your way to the side of the front porch, peering out at the driveway. There sat a nice-looking car, small, silver, and near it, stood a bespeckled blonde woman. She was staring up at the house, eyes a bit blank as she kept her arms folded tight over her chest.

You made sure to make your next steps out into the open a bit loud before you called out with a “Hello, can I help you with something?”

The effort not to spook her was in vain, and she jumped a little as she turned in your direction, “Oh!” a shake of her head, “Sorry- I didn’t mean to just stand here and stare.”

You had crossed the distance to her now, and up close, you could see that she looked to be in her late thirties, maybe early forties. Now at arm’s length, she finally untangled her limbs to hold out her hand.

“I’m Rebecca, Rebecca Hawkins, I think you bought this house from me.”

Ah, so this was the granddaughter. “Actually it was my brother who bought the place. I’m just here to help.”

She made a little ‘oh’ sound, her eyes darting back towards the house before quickly snapping to you again. “Well, I was passing through the state and I thought I’d come by and see the place one last time before it’s sold off to another family.”

You nodded, but didn’t miss the way she instantly folded her arms after shaking your hand. “He said that you lived in California, I guess you didn’t get much time to see it before you sold it, huh?” you pressed, remembering how odd it seemed to you, that she would leave behind so many things in the house.

The woman scoffed, digging her heel into the gravel as she gazed at the grand front door. “Honestly? I haven’t been here since I was a teenager. My parents moved to another state when they got married, so we only came back here every couple of years for the holidays. I don’t really have much attachment to this place so when I inherited it, figured I’d just let someone else deal with it.”

“Ah, so that’s why everything was left inside,” you mused out loud, “I understand, if you weren’t that close with your grandfather, it would be more a headache than anything.”

Rebecca’s head didn’t turn from the house, but her eyes did shift back to you out of the corner of her glasses. “Well, we were close, there for a while, but, towards the end he just…”

Her eyes had snapped to the manor once again as she trailed off, and the gaze stayed there for a moment, seemingly transfixed. Then she seemed to shiver from an imaginary breeze.

“Anyway, it took a few years to sell, but I think it's for the best.”

“Do you want to come inside? See what we’ve gotten done for the place?” you offered, before an awkward silence could settle.

The heel that had been worrying a spot in the gravel slid forward, towards the porch, but she quickly shook her head. “No, no, I think I should get going. I just wanted to see the old place with my own eyes before I moved on.” She gave you a smile that was a bit forced before shaking your hand again. “Thank you, I hope you and your brother can make some good money off it.”

And before you could insist she at least come in for some coffee, she was opening her car door. However, before she fully shut it, she apparently had one final thing to say.

“Oh! I also wanted to ask, has a man named Atem shown up at all? He lived in the area, so I thought he’d be curious about who finally got the manor.”

Your eyes went a bit wide at the mention, “Oh! Yes, he has, he actually told me all about the house's history.”

Rebecca smiled, “That sounds like Atem, he’s got to be, what, fifty by now?”

“He’s really inter-” You began, but then your mind froze when her words sank in. Fifty…what? “E-excuse me?”

She went on, not hearing your confusion, “Yeah, he was probably in his twenties last I saw him, though, I was a little girl at the time.” She shook her head as she closed the car door, and through the down window she said, “Well, tell him I said hi, grandpa always talked about him, so I hope he’s doing okay.”

And with that, she turned the car on and pulled out of the driveway leaving you standing frozen on the gravel path.

The drive to the hospital was unusually quiet on your end. Your brother talked, especially when you mentioned your morning visitor, but almost everything he was saying was nothing but a buzz in your head.

You couldn’t have heard Rebecca correctly. Atem had to be in his twenties now, not when she was a kid. Or- or maybe she was confusing Atem with someone else her grandfather knew. Or…

“Hey,” you started when there was a pause in whatever your brother was saying, “Do you know if Atem’s dad lived here too? …And if he’s maybe named after his dad?”

He let out a confused noise, but his mouth twisted in thought for a second, “I don’t know, I can’t remember him ever mentioning his parents. Why?”

You had to let out a sign before answering. “Oh, nothing. Just something weird Rebecca said before she left. I must have just misheard her though.”

Big brother hummed again, “Well, like I said a minute ago, everything about her visit was weird. I mean, who goes out of their way to come by this little town to see a house for less than five minutes?”

He had a point, her odd behavior should have been the most troubling thing about her visit. “She didn’t mention where she was going but, if it was any decent-sized city nearby she still would have had to drive, what, almost an hour off the major highway?”

Nodding his head, your brother added, “Not to mention when she sold me the place, her realtor said she’d had the place for years and specified that she had no interest in coming out to the house before the sale was final. Kinda weird to change her mind now.”

“Guess she just needed some last-minute closure,” you finished as you pulled into the hospital parking lot.

After dropping him off, you spent the drive back to the manor trying to get your mind off of the strange meeting. There was no use reading into something that, in the end, likely had nothing to do with you.

Still, you wished that Atem hadn’t been gone for so long, it could have taken your mind off of most of the things plaguing it once he gave you some simple answers. With that desire in mind, once you got back in the area, you actually spent some time going down several roads near the manor in a half-hearted attempt to find this little house Atem mentioned living in.

It was half-hearted because you didn’t actually go up to any of the houses to see if he lived in any of them. It felt too odd or random to just show up on someone’s doorstep asking about a strange man you didn’t even know the last name of.

So, in the end, after not seeing him on a front porch or driveway of the few houses you found, you turned the car around and went back to the manor. Work was sure to take your mind off things. You’d play some of the CDs you loved most in your brother’s collection and zone out on your next project.

Or at least, that had been the plan.

You spend no less than fifteen minutes sitting in the driveway, telling yourself to put the mystery away then dwelling on the thoughts once again in a vicious cycle.

Thankfully, as your eyes drifted over the house while you thought, you remembered another small mystery that had cropped up that morning. That’s right, you had been in the middle of figuring out why the walls of the upstairs didn’t match the inside when Rebecca showed up.

Figuring that solving one small mystery could help you forget another, you slammed the car door shut with determination set on your face.

You marched through the front door and didn’t waste any time grabbing the floor plans from the main workstation in the drawing room. With them rolled up in hand, you ran upstairs to the master suite and spread the papers on the lavish bed.

Even before you lifted the layer of clear plastic your brother used for notes, you could see that your suspicions were right. There, beside the balcony, the master bedroom was supposed to have an alcove about four feet deep.

“Okay,” you clapped your hands together, turning to the flat span of wall beside the balcony door, “according to the floor plans, you should not be here,” you said to the wall as you ran your hand over it. Now, what was the best reason to cover up a section of a room? Secret passages were a staple of old houses, after all.

It was all smooth planes, if they had covered up the alcove recently, they did a good job. No fancy bookcases to hide a door, no strange seam hidden by the pattern of the wallpaper, but… there was a walk-in closet beside the mysterious missing space.

Thankfully there were hardly any clothes left in it, so you only had to slide a few suit jackets aside as you crouched near the right wall inside the closet. If you were going to hide a secret door, this would be the spot you’d choose for sure.

Your heart was actually thudding a bit hard in your chest as you ran your hand along one edge of the wall, then up to the top and around the other side.

Then a breath caught in your throat as your finger caught on a very, very thin vertical line. Taking the light on your phone, you shone it over the spot and that’s when you saw it, barely perceivable: the outline of a small door.

With fumbling hands, you grabbed the keys from your pocket and carefully wiggled them into the seam, then pushed on them like a mini crowbar.

Pop!

The panel swung open just an inch or two and stale air met your senses, but you couldn’t care much as you tried to push the door open. Excitement made you give up halfway through, and you hurriedly shone your light into the hidden room.

The beam dragged across cobwebs and windowless walls that were a bit distorted from neglect. Then the light traveled across thick layers of dust, stained hardwood, and- and something sitting at the very center of the small space.

It was a pedestal.

Somehow you ignored the vague sound of something creaking inside the room as you squinted your eyes. A pedestal? You placed your hand on the doorframe as you started to lean forward, thinking that you saw something metallic glinting atop it when the light played across the space. Cramped and dark and tiny, you thought staring into that wrong-feeling void was the reason the hairs were standing up on your neck, until the door slammed shut on your hand.

A scream of pain tore your throat apart as something- something inside the room was pressing the door hard against your hand. You struggled, feeling the skin on your knuckles tear open as you tried to pull your hand free, even using your free one to push against the force behind the door.

Then, you heard a frantic call of your name, and someone was kneeling behind you.

A frantic cry trailed off in the air as you turned and saw Atem, glaring at the secret door as he put his hand next to yours, “Push!”

As if you had stopped trying. Together both of you pounded on the door and even over that noise and the pain, you could have sworn you heard something like claws scratching at the wood on the other side.

Whatever it was, it relented and you were sent falling back out of the closet and into Atem’s arms.

Still frantic and screaming and crying, you both scrambled to your feet, Atem practically dragging you out of the bedroom.

“Wh-what the hell!?” you were barely making sense, but when you both reached the stairs, Atem let you go.

He looked just as sick as the last time you saw him as he leaned against the railing, and waved a hand down the stairs, “Go-” he paused, seeming to catch his breath, “go downstairs. To the kitchen. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Despite the million questions resting atop your near-panicked state, you couldn’t seem to find it in you to argue. You took the stairs two at a time, cradling your bloody hand gingerly the whole time. When you finally made it to the kitchen, you couldn’t calm down enough to sit, even as you tried to rationalize what just happened.

Maybe there was a shutting mechanism on the door that made sure it shut behind whoever entered? Or, maybe, maybe something inside the room fell and-

Or, maybe you were just going insane inside this house that caused mirrors to crack and brothers to have heart attacks and doors to slam shut on their own.

“Here.”

You hadn’t heard Atem come in, but there was a first aid kit on the kitchen counter now, and he looked up at you almost sheepishly.

“You need to take care of your hand, it could get-”

“What the hell just happened?” Your voice was more quiet than anything, but it was firm as you looked up at him, still cradling the hand he was so concerned with.

He looked away then. “I don’t know,” his back was actually turned to you as he said, “I came to visit like usual, and I heard your screams. I was just-”

“Cut the bullshit, Atem,” your voice was higher now, all your confusion and irritation and pain pouring out in your tone, “something insane is going on in this goddamn house, and I think you know all about- hey! Don’t walk away from me!”

He had started stepping towards the door, but in your anger you closed the distance between you both, reached out your hand, and-

And you fell through thin air the moment you touched his back.

The fall to the ground didn’t hurt much, but maybe your mind was just reeling too much to register it. In a scramble, you rolled onto your back and looked up at Atem. Or, at least the space he had been standing.

Something dark and smokey, like black mist curled and coiled in the air where you had fallen through Atem. Slowly, the shadow smoke merged back together, until it once again resemble the man. His face, slowly returning to a full, fleshy color, looked down at you with something like resignation in his eyes. You stared back at him for a long, silent moment.

Then, for the second time that night, the house filled with your scream.

#atem x reader #yami x reader #yami yugi x reader #yu-gi-oh reader insert #Atem #series: the house of anubis

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soopsiesdaisies · 2 years

Text

i mean, technically, (y)our marriage is saved - 3

Chapter summary:

Mor makes a quick, expected stop, and then something changes

Read on AO3 + Tumblr chapters overview

General warnings: Rhys, Mor, 7.1k

~*~

It felt as though the rest of breakfast slipped past us like dust motes on the breeze, almost unnoticed.

Rhys ceased to mention my magic and upcoming lessons, and I tried my hardest to forget they had been mentioned at all. His firm, explicit promise to protect me had managed to dissolve my panic in some capacity; still, I found it difficult to calm myself fully, considering the gravity of it all.

I had magic. Whether it was stolen or unwittingly given, my body had all but snatched droplets of power from under the High Lord’s noses, and I couldn’t help but rack my brain for possibilities of what now. I wondered what it would mean for me, how the magic would present itself — and I wondered, with the kind of intensity that worsened my headache, what on earth Tamlin would think if he learnt I might have a piece of his magical prowess.

Would he be proud? Glad? Terrified? Would it convince him that I really did belong to him, body and soul, and would he urge me to hide it? I was not allowed to leave the Manor without being accompanied; would me having High Lords’ magic be only the more reason to have me guarded by sentries?

Rhys had waved away his little hill of bread not soon after I’d picked out a new fork to eat the melon—which was his doing, mind, considering he’d been staring at me quite gravely before I felt urged to grab another utensil. It was only then that he grabbed a pastry and ate as well, as though he refused to eat if I didn’t.

He was lucky his presence, more than anything else, urged me to fill my stomach until I felt sated.

There was something different about him, compared to Under The Mountain. He was gentler in a way, a little less confident and a tad more willing to share information I was certain he actually wanted to keep to himself. Perhaps his actions from last night and early this morning had embarrassed him and now he was unsure how to act in front of me; perhaps me being aware of our bond had changed our dynamic. Or, perhaps he was simply less intimidating to me now that I wasn’t human and the eeriness of the fae had faded.

But whatever it was, and whatever had caused it, it made me feel more at ease around him than I ought to be: he remained the High Lord of the Night Court, master of deceit and destructive, subtle violence. He, above all other fae, was not a male I should trust with my life.

And still I couldn’t bring myself to worry too much, despite the lingering feeling that these changes were a ploy. Rhys apparently tried to ensure I was fed and somewhat comfortable whilst residing in his Court, and he seemed to have zero urge to harm me, be it physically or psychologically. The fact that I even had the opportunity to relax made me significantly less fearful of the situation at hand.

I was just finishing up my second cup of tea when footsteps started to echo through the hall. Rhys’s entire body tensed; I shot him a questioning glance, but he didn’t even look at me, glare trained on his empty plate.

And then an absolutely dazzling female graced our presence.

If Rhys was the most beautiful fae male I’d ever seen, she was his female equivalent. I took her in with a feeling I could only describe as awe: her hair was long and golden, tied back in a simple braid; her large eyes were a rich, warm brown; and her face was so delicate and even it took my breath away. She was tall, at least a couple of inches taller than me, and the turquoise of her clothes — fashioned like my own — offset her sun-kissed skin in a manner that made it appear she glowed.

“Hello, hello,” she chirped, full mouth pulling into a beautiful, dangerous smile. “Good morning!”

“Feyre,” Rhys said stiffly, still not looking up from his plate, “meet my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet my lovely and motivated mate, Feyre.”

I twitched at his casual mention of our bond, before the sarcasm behind his words hit me and I contemplated throwing the remainder of my tea in his face. But then Mor strode towards me, each step telling me of her self-assurance, her confidence, her groundedness; she walked as someone who was perfectly well aware of how powerful she really was, someone who did not need weapons—or at least, need not bother sheathing them at her side.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushed when she was close enough, smile softening.

I awkwardly stood to shake her hand, but she disregarded my attempts entirely and instead pulled me into a firm, bone crushing hug. She smelled of citrus and cinnamon, the stray hairs coming from her braid tickling my cheek. Then she pulled back and grasped both my hands between her own.

My heart did a little swoop and for a moment it felt as if I was floating, wobbly and uncertain, entirely out of my element.

Morrigan simply squeezed my hands.

“It’s so nice finally meeting you,” she tittered, nearly bouncing in place. “I hope this doesn’t sound too weird, but I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversations with Rhys—you’re constantly getting under his skin. I love to see his balls nailed to the wall, so I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

I glanced at Rhys, who was gaping at his cousin, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. Then I turned back to her, trying to stop the smile pulling at my mouth from appearing.

“It’s, er, nice to meet you, Morrigan.”

“Call me Mor, please.” She pushed me back down in my chair and released my hands, stepping around me to take a seat of her own. “And you’re a liar. You want nothing to do with us, do you? Especially after Rhysie was so charming while ‘inviting’ you to visit. I’m sure you were just overjoyed to come here.”

She’d seen right through me. I wondered whether I’d turned translucent.

A muscle under Rhys’s eye twitched. “Mor.”

“He didn’t exactly invite me,” I said, though I knew that that was exactly what she was implying. “Just whisked me away.”

Mor nodded gravely, reaching for the teapot. “A thief in the night. Did he at least allow you to finish your vows?”

“Mor.”

“No, he didn’t.” It likely did not matter, anyway, considering I’d been about to say ‘no’. I flinched at my own thoughts, despair settling, and played with my fingers to hide it. “He hasn’t been very nice.”

“Rhys has difficulty being a respectable male around those who make him nervous,” Mor supplied, grinning maniacally. She poured her tea, adding a dollop of honey. “And you make him—”

“Mor,” Rhys snapped. I spared him another glance, spotting a reddish hue right at the tip of his ears; his eyes flickered to me briefly, and when he saw me looking, he immediately turned his gaze back on his cousin. “Can you not?”

Mor raised her eyebrows. “Forgive me for being excited about having company for once.”

“You could be attending to your duties,” he said testily, grabbing his teacup and bringing it so close to his mouth I thought he was attempting to drown himself in it. “You know, the paperwork you’ve been complaining about since my return?”

Mor waved his words away. “I needed a break, and you told me to come here whenever I liked. Now that you’ve finally gotten your head out of your arse and and managed to get my new friend here, what better time than now to meet her?”

My brain whirred as I stared at her, heart thumping. It was odd how such a simple sentence was able to douse me in surprise — not because of what she’d said, exactly, but what she’d implied. It was one thing that she seemed genuinely excited about meeting me; it was another that she’d been given the chance to be excited about meeting me, suggesting Rhys had spoken of me at least more than just once.

Which meant…

“You’ve considered calling in the bargain before?”

Rhys’s face jerked in my direction, eyes the size and shape of saucers, and his mouth parted. From my peripheral, I could see Mor’s smile brightening even further.

“I… well—”

“Yesterday,” I started, “you told me you never wanted to call in the bargain, and wanted to leave me alone. Earlier, you said you coerced me into making the bargain just to be able to see me again. And just now, Mor implies you’ve been talking about me since your return, which tells me you’ve wanted to call in the bargain more than once. I understand,” I said, “you might have changed your mind between the start of our bargain and the end of my final trial. I can imagine you might have seen something that made you decide against calling in the bargain. But if you truly wished to leave me and Tamlin alone, I can’t imagine you would’ve spoken of me often.”

He simply gaped at me.

Mor tried and failed to hide a snicker with a cough.

“So,” I continued, “what is it, exactly? I’d like to know.”

The only indication he’d heard me — or, at least, processed what I’d said — was him staring at me like an overgrown owl. Then he shook his head, as though he needed to shake off the shock, and tried to smirk at me.

Key word being tried.

“Couldn’t I simply miss your wonderful personality, darling?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Try again.”

Rhys appeared to hesitate for a moment before he slumped in his seat. “It’s not important. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” Another attempt at a smirk; and again, it was wholly unsuccessful, simply making him look slightly constipated.

“I’m sure it matters a lot to you,” I said. “It must be so exciting to teach an illiterate former human how to read. Such entertainment is difficult to come across these days.”

He huffed, not engaging like I expected him to. “Certainly.”

Sighing, I looked at Mor, whose grin was as sharp as anything. Her eyes flickered to me for a moment.

“I have heard a lot about you, if you must know,” she said, and Rhys slumped even further, groaning. “And I’m certain he did consider bringing you here earlier. He was simply torturing himself. That’s all.”

Rhys glared at her, obviously betrayed, and she simply smiled back with all the confidence in the world. They seemed like such a juxtaposition so far — Rhys so smouldering and dark, Mor so easy-going and sunny — it almost hurt my brain.

“Are you even related?” I asked, glancing between the two of them.

Rhys’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Mor is my cousin in the loosest definition,” he told me, granting me a tiny, if stiff, smile. “But we were raised together, and I’m quite certain our fathers were distantly related—third cousins, if I remember correctly. She’s the only surviving family I have left.”

I didn’t have the nerve to ask what happened to everyone else—or remind myself whose father was responsible for the lack of family at my own Court.

“The only surviving family he likes,” Mor corrected. “My father is still alive, as is my brother. Not that either of us care about them.”

Rhys grumbled something inaudible.

I ignored him, squinting at Mor against the glare of sunlight. “I don’t think I saw you Under The Mountain.”

Mor raised her eyebrows. If she was startled by my question she didn’t show it, but her smile did dim a little. “No,” she said, “you wouldn’t have. I wasn’t there.”

The confusion was probably painted all over my face, because she laughed rather forcedly. “Rhys went alone to the gathering almost fifty years ago,” she said. “He didn’t want us to accompany him. And when the magic took hold…” she shrugged, though her body language spoke of a carefully hidden pain. “Well, let’s just say I was glad to see him again, when you broke the curse. And I’ll be grateful to you for the rest of my life.”

I looked down at my plate for a moment, rather overwhelmed.

“I didn’t break the curse, you know,” I said quietly. “The bargain—it was just to free Tamlin. He killed her, which freed all the other High Lords.”

Mor didn’t smile at me. She didn’t laugh. She just leaned in a bit closer, citrus and cinnamon wafting in my face. “Without you, Feyre, Tamlin’s spell never would have been broken, and he would never have gotten the opportunity to rip her throat out. That’s still all you.”

I had the urge to believe her. I wanted to believe her.

I looked back down at my plate.

Silence fell, awkward and oppressive. I drove one of my fingernails into the pad of my thumb, watching the skin come back dented, and then rubbed my fingers together to get rid of it.

Mor cleared her throat. “I’m sure you’re wondering what I did all that time?”

I raised my head to look at her. Her smile was gentle and understanding, and slowly, I dipped my chin into a nod.

“Right. Well, I’m sure you’re aware that Rhys, as High Lord, rules the entirety of the Night Court,” she told me, grabbing a muffin from one of the baskets and placing it on her plate. “But there are some parts of the Court he’d rather not deal with—the Court of Nightmares, for example.”

I blinked, nodding. “Rhys said last night that it’s separate from the rest of the Court.”

“Rhys also wishes you’d stop talking about him as if he’s not here,” Rhys muttered.

Mor ignored him. “I handle the Court of Nightmares, also known as Hewn City,” she explained, cutting the muffin in half with an ease and precision that truly hammered home she was proficient with a dagger. “I rule it in all official ways, though my father is the steward. And if I’m indisposed, or Rhys wishes to visit, he is its ruler.” She waved a limp hand at her cousin. “Now you can have your moment.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “I don’t often need to visit Hewn City, thank the Cauldron,” he said, wrinkling his nose in an almost childish manner. I hated how endearing it was—how human it made him look. “It runs itself, more or less. Mor oversees it for me personally, so that I’m aware of what’s happening. They don’t particularly like me.”

“I can’t imagine why.” I pursed my mouth, frowning. “You’re a delight to be around.”

Rhys eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth slowly pulling into a wry smile. Next to us, Mor choked on a piece of muffin, spewing out bursts of laughter in between her violent coughing.

“No,” Rhys said, leaning over to shove Mor’s teacup into her hands. “Can’t imagine why, indeed.”

“Well, most High Fae don’t have wings,” Mor said, after she’d finished coughing up a lung and catching her breath. She took a sip of her tea, calmly, and quirked an eyebrow when she noticed me staring. “You’ve noticed that, haven’t you?”

I had. Of all the High Fae I’d seen, none bore wings, though I’d assumed that if they did, they hid them with magic.

Without me wanting to, the image of the Summer Court faerie entered my mind, bases of its wings little else but bloody stumps. The memory of its anguished cries tore through me and I had to swallow down the bile rising up in my throat.

“I’m a half-breed,” Rhys said suddenly. “That’s why I—you’ve seen my wings.”

He was watching me intently when I looked up at him in surprise, though he looked away as soon as our gazes crossed. I wondered if he saw what I saw; if he’d spoken because he wanted to take me away from the memory.

“My mother was an Illyrian, a winged race who are looked down upon by the High Fae.” Rhys shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if half his heritage being considered lesser was somehow acceptable. “And as I’m not fully High Fae, those down in Hewn City consider me unworthy of my title.”

“That’s…” I paused, trying to look for the correct word. “Absurd.”

Rhys looked at me, surprised, eyes big and round. “I suppose.”

“There are a lot of things wrong with our Realm,” Mor said. “But one of the main things is how wrongly the ‘lesser faeries’ are treated.”

“Illyrians are considered to be useful for fucking and fighting only,” Rhys said. “We—they’re considered a warrior race, violent and strong, but not very bright.” Another wry smile. “The Hewn City inhabitants may be terrified of me, but most of them still consider me to be no more than shit under their shoe. All because of my heritage—they look at me as though I’ll go on a rampage when they say something I don’t understand and will kill them all by the sword.”

“High Fae are violent as well,” I said quietly. “As are humans. Acting violently is a conscious choice.”

“And a choice oft taken through expectations set upon you by others.” Rhys picked at his nails. Then he sighed, rolling out his shoulders. “This is dreary subject matter for breakfast, actually. Let’s leave it be.”

Mor snorted. “She’s allowed to know about you, Rhys. Especially considering your bond.”

“I don’t think,” Rhys said, voice suddenly quite icy, “that my and my family’s violent history is a happy little story to tell whilst we’re eating.”

“You’re not eating,” Mor replied. “Neither is Feyre.”

“My point still stands.”

With a funny little smile, Mor leaned back in her chair. “What’s wrong with telling your mate about your and your family’s gruesome past? I’m sure she can’t think any worse of you.”

It was incredibly difficult to not look too interested, too affected. I hunched my shoulders and poked at some crumbs on my plate.

Rhys glanced at me briefly. “I’m sure that’s the case, but let’s not test that now.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because she’s just arrived.”

Mor bared her teeth, eyes flashing. “You and I both know you’ll end up procrastinating until it’s almost too late.”

“Mor.”

She ignored him and turned to me. “Say, Feyre,” she said, swirling her teacup coyly, “what exactly has Tamlin told you about his history with Rhys?”

I startled, turning my head to look at her straight. Her eyebrows were raised in what seemed like genuine interest, her smile kind. Rhys just looked irate and flustered.

“Tam hasn’t told me anything, really,” I answered, after a moment of hesitation. Rhys’s entire body tightened. “I know that Rhys’s father killed Tamlin’s family, but only because Rhys told me. Though, Tam and Lucien did say that the Night Court is, erm,” I winced, “filled with moral corruption and sadistic killers.”

Rhys sighed angrily, muttering something that sounded like, “Of course they did.”

Mor’s expression hadn’t changed.

“It is amusing they said that,” she murmured, head cocked slightly to the side, “considering their own heritage.”

Of course, Tamlin’s family history and Lucien’s family history would be known around Prythian; considering how slowly the fae aged, I wouldn’t be surprised if it all were still relatively fresh memories.

I inclined my head in reluctant agreement.

“Tamlin and Rhys are enemies, despite having fought for the same goal through the centuries,” Mor said. Her eyes flicked to Rhysand. “I’d say it’s ridiculous if I hadn't known why, exactly, they despise one another. I know Rhys hasn’t, but has Tamlin informed you of why, exactly, Rhys’s father killed his family?”

Rhys shot Mor a glare so intense I would’ve withered away, had it been directed at me. “Morrigan.”

I tried to ignore him, despite my eyes wishing to focus on him, and curled my hands into fists. “No,” I admitted, barely breathing.

I didn’t want to say that Tamlin was glad, in a way, that his father and brothers had died; that he’d escaped the abuse and the sadistic, iron fist his father had ruled with. I didn’t want to say Tamlin hadn’t wanted to become High Lord and that Rhys’s father had, unwittingly, forced his hand.

I didn’t say anything else.

“Why don’t you ask him,” Mor told me. She smiled at me again, a bit brighter, but her eyes were hard. “When you return to your Court, you should ask him. Even my uncle, a bastard as he was, wasn’t a fan of needless violence and killing.” She took a bite of her muffin, chewing shortly before swallowing. “I can assure you that the Night Court isn’t any more violent than any other.”

A bit shaken, I looked down at my plate.

Rhys bristled. “That’s enough, Mor.”

She waved his words away, casually, as if he wasn’t the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. “I won’t let you spoil any chance you have of an amicable relationship with her,” she said, voice hard. She looked at him, and I could’ve sworn a glint of challenge flashed through her gaze. “Not if everything we’ve done can be explained by telling the truth.”

“I—”

“You know what I think,” she continued, “and you know that you cannot change my mind. Maybe consider bowing to me, for once.”

Rhys stared at her, nostrils flared, before he bared his teeth and looked away.

“Fine,” he gritted out. “Fine, I’ll be more honest. But not now.” He stood, his movements harsh and jerky, and extended a hand towards me, palm up. “Shall we begin your lessons?”

I raised an eyebrow, defiant. “And if I don’t want to?”

“You need to,” he said tightly, and he did not move. “Let’s go.”

I sighed and stood, ignoring his outstretched hand pointedly; his face grew darker. “I’ve told you before,” I said, “I’m not a dog. You can’t snap your fingers and expect me to follow.”

“But you will this time,” he insisted. “This is not up for negotiation. You agreed—”

I crossed my arms, irked; I could hear Mor exhale in amusement.

“Did I?” I asked. “Did I agree? Or did you just tell me what you wanted to do, and ignored me when I told you that it wasn’t going to happen?”

That was the right thing to say—or the wrong thing, because I could feel something snap and a flood of frustration and another feeling, one painful and constrictive, spilled forth and out into my body. They weren’t mine: I’d only felt defensiveness thus far, and these feelings were far too subtle to come from me.

Rhys’s face forecast thunder, eyes so violently violet they appeared as though they glowed; his breathing had become shallower, quicker, chest heaving. His outstretched hand retreated, instead curling around the top rail of his seat, knuckles white with strain.

Then, through gritted teeth, he hissed out: “Why, by the Mother—Why are you being so Gods-damned difficult?”

I looked him in the eyes. “I don’t know what gave you the impression that I’d be easy.”

He exhaled heavily through his nose, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “I don’t have endless amounts of patience, Feyre.”

“You don’t have any,” I retorted sharply, “when you aren’t getting what you want as soon as you demand it.”

“Just come with me,” he snapped, and he released the chair to extend a hand towards me—quickly. Too quickly.

The wood stuttered on the stone, clattering, and though his hand — palm up, fingers loose — was at least two feet away from me, I still recoiled.

In less than a second, Rhys visibly flinched, stumbling back until he hit a pillar. He looked as though I had struck him again, yet this time unprompted; shock, mainly, but also devastation. Guilt.

A hand curled around my upper arm with the gentleness one would ensure holding a baby bird.

“Don’t pay him any mind, Feyre,” Mor said calmly, squeezing my bicep. She swung her other arm around my back, hand on my shoulder; I didn’t realise I was shaking until the tremors suddenly started to cease. “He’s hungover, horribly embarrassed, and out of his element. That always makes him particularly bitchy.”

Rhys said nothing. All of his anger had vanished; he now looked, more than anything, lost and untethered.

“Considering your reading lessons aren’t up for negotiation,” Mor continued, “and you don’t wish for Mister Tall-Dark-and-Dickish over there to teach you, I’m going to offer myself.” She smiled at me, gentle and patient. “I won’t be able to teach you good shielding—Rhys is the only daemati in our group, so I won’t be able to test you. But I can teach you the concept of mental shields, and perhaps, by the time you’ve got those down, the Lord of Nasty will have gotten his temper under control and be able to help you without being an twat.”

She shot Rhys a meaningful look, eyebrows raised and mouth pursed. He flinched again, hands shoved deep into his pockets and eyes on the floor.

I blinked at her. It took a couple seconds before what she was saying registered, and when it did, relief washed through me like a tidal wave. “Okay.”

Mor squeezed my bicep again. “Okay,” she repeated. “Let’s go.”

It didn’t take too much nudging from Mor before I finally broke through whatever had been holding me hostage, rooted in place, and took my first step. I could feel his stare burning little holes on my back, had to resist looking over my shoulder, as if I wanted to confirm he was watching us go.

And when I finally dared to look, no more than a subtle glance, he’d vanished.

“I was serious, by the way,” Mor told me as she took me down the winding staircase to the level below. “He may be particularly testy today, but he usually isn't.”

“I guess my presence makes High Lords testy,” I replied, voice low. I allowed her to tug me past the doorway leading to my bedroom, trying to hide my curiosity at the environment; I hadn’t been particularly observant when Rhysand accompanied me to my room last night, too occupied by him and how infuriating he was.

“You may get under his skin, but I can assure you it is not for the reasons you may think.” Mor granted me another one of her dazzling smiles. “He’s so used to being in control and not letting his emotions get the better of him; and now, not only did he crash your wedding without any kind of plan, he did so while drunk, let it slip to you that the two of you are mates, and continually pisses you off. I’m sure he just doesn’t know what to do.”

I bit down on my bottom lip. I didn’t know how to feel about her words, that Rhys had difficulty feeling in control around me. He’d seemed so… oddly kind Under the Mountain, in his own weird, morally grey way; if it had lasted any longer, if he’d visited my cell just a bit more often, I would’ve considered him a friend.

Now, it felt more like a corrupt king having a soft spot for his jester rather than something pure and genuine, like one misstep was enough for him to send me away for my execution. Where did his instability around me come from? Did I truly annoy him that much?

“What is this level for, exactly?” I asked, instead of asking the questions that laid hidden under my tongue. “Rhys said that this palace is his private residence, but it seems rather large.”

Thankfully, Mor didn’t appear confused by my sudden change in subject.

“Rhys told you the truth, but not wholly,” Mor said. She motioned at the little alcoves dotting the halfway, and the array of closed, wooden doors I assumed hid similar bedrooms as to mine. “The Night Court mainly uses the Moonstone Palace for guests of other Courts, who would like to visit Hewn City but not stay there. This entire level is specifically for those who are closer to Rhys.”

“And let me guess,” I muttered. “It rarely gets used?”

Mor snorted. “You’re right on the nose, there. Only the more politically powerful fae of the Day and Dawn Courts tend to visit; but I admit that hasn’t happened in at least a century now.”

“I didn’t know there was trust between the three Courts.”

“There’s not,” Mor said. “Not much, anyway. But Lord Helion is fond of us, and Lord Thesan tolerates our chaos better than most; Rhys appreciates their presence in return. Us Solar Courts are like that. We stick together, if possible.”

The rest of the walk was held in silence, but Mor guided me through happily. Soon, the closed, wooden doors stopped appearing and we passed several empty seating areas, each as richly and comfortably decorated as the last, open to the hall and the world with large archways. I couldn’t stop looking: I’d never seen anything like it before.

Eventually Mor slowed, pushing me through another of those countless archways and into a decently sized, secluded spot with a curtained view of the mountain range. A large and dark wooden table stood in the center, its top worn with use; the chairs surrounding it were high-backed and appeared to be upholstered with a dark green, suede-like material. Large bookcases stood against the walls floor to ceiling, filled to the brim with thick tomes and thinner, more brightly coloured books. There were large plants and a plush rug and though the air was still warm, it smelled more icy, dusty, like a room that hadn’t been exposed to open air until the first hint of frost.

“It’s not an office,” Mor said, releasing me with one last comforting squeeze, “but it’s far enough away from His Highness that we’ll hear him coming if he can’t control himself.”

The thought of Rhys joining us made me uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure why. It felt like embarrassment, yet coiled in my stomach like nerves; it would indeed be good, I decided, if I had at least some moments to prepare for an unwelcome arrival.

Without further ado, Mor waved her hand. The table instantly filled up with stacks of thin books, paper, and leather-bound journals, an almost careless display of magic.

I took a careful couple of steps towards it all, brushing the very tips of my fingers over a fountain pen that appeared to have been made out of silver and stone.

“I just want to know how far you are with reading and writing,” Mor told me, bounding towards one of the chairs at the head of the table and sitting down. “I don’t think you’re fully illiterate…?”

“I know some words,” I admitted with flaming cheeks, quietly taking a seat as well. The chairs were plush and comfortable, as if made for extended use. “And I know the alphabet. So usually I can… figure out words by recognising the letters and trying to put them all together in my head.”

Mor smiled. “Like a puzzle?”

I nodded hesitantly.

“Reading is like puzzling until it becomes second nature to you.” She reached for a piece of paper and a pen, pausing for a moment before scribbling down a sentence, smiling to herself. Then she slid the paper towards me. “See if you can read that.”

I looked at the words, blurred and foreign. Her handwriting was a lovely and elegant print, but there was absolutely no way I could read this.

“Just try,” Mor said gently, undoubtedly having spotted my hesitance and insecurity. “You can read some words, and you can puzzle others together. There’s no pressure here, no time limit.”

I inhaled shakily and squinted, thinking hard. The first word was… the.

“The ro—roy—royal… prick?”

I glanced at Mor, and she nodded encouragingly, smiling wide.

“The royal prick,” I repeated, “has a mass… ive. Massive egg—no, ego?” I paused, staring at the sentence in wonder. “The royal prick has a massive ego.”

Mor barked out a laugh. “Doesn’t he?”

The corners of my mouth tugged upwards and I raised my hand to press it against my mouth, warmth spreading through me. “He does.”

“It’s disgustingly large.” Mor chuckled, still grinning. “I love Rhys to pieces, truly, and he deserves to have one with how much he can do—but sometimes I want to press a needle against his massive head and watch it deflate.”

“I’d like to watch that happen,” I said quietly.

Mor’s grin widened. “I think you’re more than capable of doing that yourself,” she said. “And I’m glad to know you’re more advanced at reading than I thought. Now, the shielding… I can only tell you what to do and how it feels. It’s theoretical, because I won’t be able to invade your mind and force you to raise your mental shields; I also won’t be able to tell whether they’re solid or not. That’s what Rhys is good for, in this case.

“But regardless of what might happen in the future, I’d like you to imagine your mind as a labyrinth with only one entrance; all you need is an impenetrable gate only you have the key to.” Mor nodded at me. “Try it. Close your eyes if need be.”

So I closed my eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to have Rhys’s voice in my head, how talons had scraped against the flimsy natural shield I had in place already.

And I tried to cut them off.

It took a while, but eventually a wall of gleaming, onyx stone rose up, firm and solid and adamant. I could almost feel it click into place, blocking my mind off.

I opened my eyes, rubbing my temples.

“Is it up?” Mor asked.

I nodded.

“Now lower it, and when it’s gone, raise it again; quicker, this time.”

I squeezed my eyes shut again, frowning, and pushed until the stone fell down. And then, taking almost all of my remaining energy, the wall flew back up, so quickly I winced.

My eyes snapped open and I heaved in a breath, rubbing at my face. My forehead was damp with sweat.

“You should keep raising and lowering your shield,” Mor said. “Practice makes perfect—it became easier, didn’t it, the second time you raised it?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“See?” she offered me a sunny, excited smile. “It should become as easy and natural as breathing, having your shield up at all times and only lowering it when you wish it to. And it’s the same,” she continued, tapping the paper with a manicured fingernail, “with reading and writing. Here,” she said, sliding another piece of paper towards me, “I’ve written out the alphabet. Copy the letters for about an hour, keep trying to lower and raise your mental shield, and then I’d like to try another sentence with you.”

With a hesitant hand, I reached for a pen. “What will you do in the meantime?”

“Just paperwork,” Mor answered, waving her hand again. A large stack of journals, loose papers, and files appeared next to her, and she carefully eased a particularly thick, leather-bound journal from the pile. “If you need help, I’ll be right here.”

“Okay,” I replied quietly. She put another journal in front of me, with my name written in cursive on the front. “I can do that.”

“You can,” she replied, shooting me another smile before her head bowed and she focused on what I assumed to be numbers and requests.

I took her example, bowing over the table to do my tasks. My head ached again, a solid pounding behind my eyes, and I was still shaky from the effort I’d put into shielding myself so far. But Mor seemed to believe in me, and for some reason, I did not feel dead-set on inevitably disappointing her; even though she admitted she expected me to do certain things, I did not feel pressured into doing them until I was ready.

So, with my mental shield sliding up and down and the pen awkwardly held in my fingers, I set to work.

I couldn’t say that I spent the entire hour focussed. The palace was filled with noise: servant’s footsteps, the rustle of sheets being changed, the hum of a haunting, beautiful melody. And below that, more dulled, the passing of wind and swaying of trees below, down the mountain. If I listened carefully, I could hear the chatter of birds and the flap of wings; and on one of the potted plants opposite me, a midnight blue butterfly basked in the palace’s unnatural warmth and the outside’s bright sunlight.

It was unnerving how pleasant being here was. The place bustled with life, yet offered solitude; it was so very different from the hushed silent and forced noise of my own Court, still so scarred by Amarantha’s reign.

I hated that there was some semblance of comfort here. That I could, quite easily, consider the Night Court to be cosy. I’d expected my days here to be agonising and filled with torture, all for Rhys’s wicked entertainment, but all he wanted was for me to read.

And he’d introduced me to a fae female who wasn’t a servant, who wasn’t obligated to be kind to me out of duty, who wanted to be around not out of pity or because her High Lord was there.

Tightening my grip around my pen and copying the w for the umpteenth time, I realised I had no idea how to feel.

By the time Mor told me the hour had passed, I was exhausted. My hand ached under the strain of unfamiliar movements, and the side of the first knuckle of my middle finger was raw and red. The state of my head wasn’t much better, feeling as though it was stuffed with cotton and being hit repeatedly with a hammer.

But the alphabet was more recognisable now that I could write it down myself without too much difficulty. The letters no longer smudged together in a terrifying ball, and the shapes felt familiar to me for the first time in my life; I had an inkling that this meant reading, no matter how illiterate I still was, would be easier as well.

And the shielding, to my shock, had become appallingly easy.

Mor nodded thoughtfully as I told her my observations, that encouraging smile still playing on her lips. When I’d finished speaking she sat up straighter and whipped her braid over the shoulder with a smug flick of her hand.

“Rhysand was right when he told you these are essential skills,” she said. “I heard you talking when you were discussing it. And I’m sure he’s desperate to help you learn; he can, and he will, if you’ll allow him. But now we know that he’s not the only one who can teach you how to read. And,” she continued, throwing me a wink, “you might be more receptive to me, someone who is a lot less annoying.”

Though I wished to smile, I couldn’t, not really. So I nodded instead, hoping that my thankfulness shone through anyway.

“Right,” Mor said, grabbing my journal and flicking over to a blank page. “Here’s another sentence I’d like for you to read. Keep raising and lowering that shield, if you please.”

She wrote a bit slower than she did while doing the paperwork, though the sentence was still written down before I could blink. Then she slid the journal back towards me. “Read that.”

The first word was my name.

“Feyre,” I began, hesitantly, “m—mack—makes… r—r—”

I peeked at her. Mor was grinning mischievously and nodded in excitement.

“rice… rice—and? Rhysand?”

“Yes,” Mor said, “very good. Continue.”

I took a deep breath. “Feyre makes Rhysand… ins—inshred—”

I paused, shaking my head, and pointed at the word, silently asking for help.

Mor’s eyes flicked to the page. “Incredibly,” she said.

“Incredibly,” I repeated, reaching for my pen to copy the letters, as if that would etch it into my brain. “Feyre makes Rhysand incredibly… ner—nervous?”

Mor’s smile could’ve split her face.

“Feyre makes Rhysand incredibly nervous,” I read, and heat flew to my cheeks. My hands slapped against my face as I scrambled to cover the blush and I glanced at her. “That’s not funny, Mor.”

“It is to me,” she giggled, “because it’s true. He’s completely and utterly racked with nerves around you; it’s incredibly amusing.”

I blinked at the sentence, brain stuttering. It felt so… odd, that I made him nervous. I thought it was only annoyance.

“It doesn’t feel true,” I whispered, watching Mor’s smile fall and laughter stop in its tracks. I didn’t know why I felt urged to tell her, and though so much in me was screaming not to, a stronger part pushed me along. “I feel I just annoy him, and it feels as if everything he does has an ulterior motive. To antagonise, mainly.”

Mor inclined her head, eyebrows pulled together just far enough that the skin between them creased, and pursed her mouth. “Listen,” she said finally, “you’re not entirely incorrect. You make him nervous and that annoys him, but I’m quite sure it’s not because of you: he’s annoyed at himself. And, regarding his ulterior motives… a lot of Rhys’s decisions hinge on whether or not the outcomes are useful. But it’s not just him.” She leaned closer to me, eyebrows slightly raised in sincerity. “High Lords and their trusted advisors play a game of politics. Rhys does, I do, and Tamlin and Lucien do as well. Beron, Kallias, Tarquin, Helion, Thesan, and the fae from those Courts you saw and may have met Under the Mountain: their Ladies and consorts, their courtiers, their seconds, their generals and spymasters. Almost every single thing they do has an ulterior motive, and if the decision was impulsive, its usefulness will be decided after the fact. Kindness in this world,” she said, “is rarely offered without reason—and it is always paid back in full.”

I bit my lip. “Aren’t you supposed to convince me to like him?”

“No,” she told me, eyes soft. “I’m not. I would like it if you did—that one day, you might come to realise our world is far from black and white, and that, though Rhys can be mean and cruel, he is only mean and cruel to those he believes deserve it. That you might end up agreeing with him, sometimes. But I’m not going to force you to like him, Feyre.” She smiled at me then, that bright, hopeful smile. “That should be your decision, and yours alone.”

#feysand #feyre x rhysand #feysand fanfiction #feysand fanfic #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction

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madeofcc · 2 years

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July Update 🌞

Hello everyone and welcome to all the new brave and awesome soul that have been following me 🎉 you're almost 900 people potentially reading this (you won't be that many but anyway, you're still here).

As usual, here's a little update about the blog and my life and how both influence each other. I have some annoucement this month so think about reading the blog part to know what will happen during this summer ...

Otherwise and as usual, thank you all for being here and happy summertime to everyone ♥

LIFE UPDATE : Well well ... June was full of surprises, either good or bad. I finally turned 30 last month and never felt better in my life (though I’m a bit terrified to be like super old and alone one day haha but I also always think about how lucky we will be if we actually become old one day with global warming ...anyway). I’m still working full time, and still struggling each month with money (this inflation is a real nightmare I swear T_T) but I feel way better than before. I think it’s because I expose myself a lot more to the sun than I used to before to stay “whitish” as fuck and avoïd police control or racist slurs all the time but now I’m like “Look how tan I am bitch ♥” and I never felt more confident weirdly.

Last week, I also kinda broke my neck a bit. It’s not broken but I still have to make further exams to check if everything is indeed fine but I feel a bit better each day so fingers crossed ... I have few days off next week and I really look forward this moment to finally relax a bit. June was full of content with the DH special and pride edits. I wanted to do more but didn’t had time, especially with all the updates that basically turn a simple 1h photoshoot into a 3 days nightmare just for one pic >< Considering all that ... Here’s the blog update !

BLOG UPDATE : HOLIDAYS ♫

Yep, that’s right, I’m sorry my dear followers but I really, REALLY need, at least, an entire month of break to organise my next moves here.

I’m thinking of a new way to continue and finish DH2. I knew this part of the story wasn’t that essential but it will tell you a lot about Destiny and who her mother was and some characters will have some pretty important change as well (spoilers in the DH Random at coach !). I also want to talk about capitalism and global warming so I have to finish this season. The idea I have is to make 1 post with like 10 important shots from the entire episode and post a long text with every event, including some important lines. Would you be ok for a new DH ?

I want to post it between August and September so I can totally focus on October, aka the best month of the year, and especially Simblreen. I noticed that you were a lot more to enjoy Another Side than DH so I decided to stick on the idea of a new story. This time, it will be a horror story, totally inspired by Hill House/Bly Manor and focused on .... the iconic Behr sisters ! As their background story has a loooot of potential for that kind of story (2 sisters that lived with their grandma ... What happened to their parents ?! Why do they both seem fakely happy ?) I want to write about trauma, family and sisterhood, also want to go back to a full horror story. I’m warning you already, it will be scary and tense ! I can also tell you that the story will be like the Goth one, tell in chapters but it will be way longer than the Goth one. I’ve planned a lot of sidestories inside the main plot, full of characters and dark secrets to discover hehe. Both sisters will also be older as I love to write about YA/adult messed up because of trauma I guess ...

After that it will be .... SHOWTIME ! Not that awesome ts3 EP sadly but I’ll finally start working and posting DH Melodia (the Musical Special) and DH3 that we’ll have all the Coach special vibes and a lot more darker ones. The story will finally get really serious this time, with fun part though don’t worry, but the season will be horrific, gore and violent and most of the plot will focus on sisterhood VS toxic masculinity, including serious issues like rape and harassment so ... Just be prepared ^^” Anyway, I’m already preparing some characters for this part of the story and I can introduce you here a new one you’re going to love I think : Meet Mindy Perez

She’s going to be very important in DH3 and will be introduced in Melodia, with another new character that should been made by @aniraklova this time ♥ We’ll tell you more about it later.

I’m also planning a huge casting call for this part of the story, but this time kind of reverse as I’ll tell you exactly who and what I’m looking for. Just like a real casting call in which everyone apply for the same character you see ?

But plan, plan, plan, I already have to remember myself that I’m on a break and that I can actually play a little for a change :)

I wish you all a great summer. I’ll be reblogging most of the time during this month and will probably catch up on a lot of stories. Sending you all the good vibes that I can and remember to have fun, enjoy life a bit and relax my dears ♥

#July 2022 Update #Blog update #this is so long !#so sorry #but if you read it entirely ! I love you!#anyway #time for fun and play I guess ^^

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batcxves · 2 years

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a battinson pic, fem!reader, reader insert, riddler is conspiring against reader, reader has a budding relationship with b. wayne, as well as an established business-ish relationship with the batman, ongoing/not finished.

synopsis: A doctor of criminology, Y/N has been secretly conspiring with the masked vigilante of Gotham, the Batman. Despite her secret, she has rose to a sort of fame within the police department, and at a banquet honoring her success, she is shot. Bruce Wayne rescues her, and fights an ever-growing attachment to her. Meanwhile, she conspires with the Batman to catch the perpetrator that is targeting her. As tensions rise and she discovers that the shooter is much more dangerous than she previously believed him to be, she fights internal battles of complicated feelings towards the two banes of her existence: Bruce Wayne, and the Batman.

content warnings for this chapter: murder stuff, some daddy issues, kind of angsty, this slow burn is agonizingly slow I know but we will get there I promise

a/n: I am sorry for the wait, but I have been working really hard on this I promise! we will see some intense bruce x reader very very soon and that is not a threat, it’s a promise :)))))) enjoy !!

. . .

CHAPTER ELEVEN -

She couldn’t remember when it had started to drizzle; her adrenaline was keeping the entirety of her body from feeling the world around her. All she could think about was the knife in the envelope that she had now clutched so tightly that it was beginning to rip. It wasn’t particularly cold out, but it wasn’t very warm either. The sky was overcast and grey with a few rays of bleak sunlight pushing through the blanket of clouds in the sky. Her long brown overcoat was starting to make her sweat, but she didn’t care.

All she could think about was Mr. Wayne.

The Riddler had stabbed him the night prior. She wondered what Mr. Wayne had really been doing near her side of town that night. But it was unimportant. He had fallen right into the palm of the man who wanted her dead, and therefore, wanted everyone she cared about dead. Any fool could tell that she and the billionaire had a sort of connection; he had helped save her life for God’s sake. If he hadn’t been there to catch her when she tumbled off of the stage at the banquet, she would have most definitely suffered severe head trauma on top of her gunshot wound. Her shooting was the perfect crime, but he had kept her head from hitting the ground.

She was running through the streets of Gotham, eyes set on the Wayne Manor atop the hill that overlooked the city. She had to tell him the truth. He needed to stay away from her; stay away from everyone. He was in danger. She could possibly handle the burden of the mayor’s death lying in her hands, but not him. Not Mr. Wayne. Anyone but Mr. Wayne. The hill to the manor was steep, and her legs were burning with the desperate wish of stopping. But she couldn’t. She was running as fast as she could, though in the back of her mind she knew him to be in no immediate danger. The danger, for the most part, had passed. He suffered the stabbing the night prior. He was fine, almost unfazed, even. She wondered what he was hiding behind all of the toned muscle on his bones and jagged scars on his skin.

She ran straight into the large doors of the manor and pounded on the door with every ounce of her body screaming desperation. Perhaps a part of her was just tired of hiding. Perhaps a part of her was just tired of hiding from him. She needed to tell him. Everything. Somebody had to know. The thoughts, the images, the guilt… it was all eating at her like a parasite that had no cure. She knew it to be unfair to place her guilt unto him, but she couldn’t help it any longer. She needed the release. She needed to be free from the poison of all the secrecy built up behind her weary eyes.

It wasn’t very long until she found herself looking into the soft, friendly eyes of a gentleman that she didn’t recognize. She had almost believed herself to be at the wrong house, until she realized that it was the Wayne family’s butler. She had only heard of him, had never seen him. He seemed to be the complete opposite of everything Wayne. Gentle, gray eyes and a warm, comforting aura about him, he seemed as if he wouldn’t be so much as within a fifty-foot radius of Mr. Wayne.

“Doctor L/N?” He greeted her with an astounding amount of confusion in his voice, and for good reason. No one visited the Wayne Manor. It was an unspoken rule of sorts. She was surprised there was an answer to the door at all.

The way he knew her name made her falter. The words died on her tongue, and it seemed that all she could do was gape with an open mouth at the gentleman. “Mr. Wayne,” She finally managed, “I need to speak with him, sir, it’s very, very urgent.” She didn’t need to emphasize the word very to allow him the knowledge of the importance of the matter; the speed and panic in her voice spoke the volumes that accentuation of words could not.

“I’m afraid he’s not in.” The butler frowned deeply and the disappointed look on his face told her all that she needed to know: he was in, he just wasn’t in.

“Why not,” Her voice broke then, wavered as she felt a wave of strong emotion come over her. She was about to vomit all of the words that she had been holding back for weeks, all of the secrets and the lies, and the poor butler was about to bear witness to it. Her breaking point was nearing. She had never wanted anyone to die, anyone to get hurt, especially not him. “Please,”

“I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat and resumed the original professional state he had previously exuded, and just as his hand moved towards the large door’s handle, she saw a tall, dark figure approaching in the hallway behind him.

“Alfred,” Mr. Wayne’s raspy, tired-sounding voice floated through the air between the hallway and the doorway. As he came into view, he tilted his head to see past the butler. “Doctor?”

“Mr. Wayne, please, I need to talk to you.” She noticed the dark circles under his eyes were much more prominent than usual; perhaps he had just woken up. He looked at the butler, Alfred, and gave him half a nod, and that was enough. He moved his body, granting access to the manor. He took her coat instantly, and she could tell that he had been serving the Waynes for years. She politely thanked him, though part of her wanted to keep the coat on in the stagnant, cold air of the manor.

Everything about it screamed Mr. Wayne. It was dark, the large windows drawn shut with large, fancy-looking blackout curtains. Hell, it would have been completely dark if it hadn’t been for the dim lighting of an ancient-looking chandelier that hung quite a few feet above them. The entire place had a cold, dry air to it. It wasn’t comforting, not in the slightest, but she felt much more comfortable inside than outside in the drizzling rain. She quickly ran her fingers through her wet hair as she followed Mr. Wayne through the hallway that he had emerged from. He had the slightest limp, and she never would have missed it, grimacing as she thought of the story behind it. Her eyes were watching his hips as he walked in front of her, swiftly, of course, because nothing about Mr. Wayne was slow-paced. Except maybe his emotions.

It wasn’t until the pair of them had entered what appeared to be the library, that the adrenaline had worn off. Taking in a deep, ragged breath, everything came out all at once: “Mr. Wayne, you’re in danger and it’s all my fault, and it is such a long story but all you need to know is that the mayor was killed and that might be my fault too and the man who shot me is behind all of this. He wants you hurt, wants everybody I know hurt and it’s all because he knows that I am working with—mmph—”

His hand was covering her mouth before she could have even registered the fact that he was moving towards her. His eyes were telling her everything that she needed to know; he was calm. He didn’t appear to give half of the damn she thought he would, and something about that had an ache growing in her heart. He didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend the severity of it, she was sure.

“Shh,” He shushed her lowly, cupping her cheek with his hand as soon as he was sure that she was done rambling. “One thing at a time, darling.”

If he were any other man, she would have slapped the shit out of him. Darling. The way the word came off of his tongue was so rough, so foreign, but felt so right, nevertheless. She almost hated the way that he made her feel small; the hot shot doctor of criminology brought to her knees by the brooding man with money. But at that moment in time, she found herself nodding into the palm that was holding her jaw, agreeing to take everything nice and slow for him.

In an instant she had herself collected, though his hand on her jaw was threatening to pull her apart. She shrugged him off and moved past him, nearly ripping the envelope in half with the speed and force at which she was trying to open it. She dumped the note out onto a table that had been propped against a bookshelf, the knife clanging against the surface of it in the dim light. “This,” She said slowly, “Look familiar?” She inched closer to him, bringing the blade down towards his hip, simulating the action of him being stabbed. “I don’t know a quarter of anything about you, Mr. Wayne, but I know that this knife was in your body last night. Conveniently, it has been gifted to me, God bless, by the man who killed the mayor bright and early this lovely morning.” The blank look in his eyes as she spoke was egging her on; she was determined to learn something, anything about the man before her. “I don’t know what you were doing last night, Mr. Wayne, but you’ve gotten yourself into something that is much bigger than you know, and now you have made yourself into a target.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doctor, I’m sorry.” His response was dry, and he tilted his head back, easing it in each direction to crack his neck. He took a step forward to examine the note that lie on the table, inching himself closer to her. He was hovering behind her, she could feel his eyes raking across her bad shoulder, could smell him. God, there was something so familiar about him. “It looks like you’re the one who’s made yourself into a target, Doctor.” Her fist clenched and she willed herself not to turn around and snap at him, because her nose would certainly touch him, he was that close. She was almost uncomfortable at the proximity of their bodies, and the fact that she had begged him to kiss her the night prior wasn’t any aid to her. He had resumed his professionality, or perhaps it wasn’t professionality to him at all. Perhaps he always had that arid, awkwardly silent presence about him. Unspeaking, unwavering, and uninterested, everything about him was almost bland. His eyes, on the other hand, his story, his scars… there was something more to the front he put up. There had to be.

“Inadvertently, Mr. Wayne,” She paused to side-step away from him, unable to stand his closeness to her any longer. “Your… relationship… to me,” She paused again, physically cringing at her choice of words as his eyebrows lifted suddenly upwards. “You’ve made yourself a target.” She concluded, turning away from him with a sour look on her face, frustrated. She ran her hand over an expensive but old looking armchair that sat against one of the large bookshelves. It looked awfully dusty in the dim lighting, and she allowed herself to wonder if he ever put it to use.

“It was my father’s,” He must have noticed her thoughtfulness as he approached her from behind once again. He ran his hand against the bookshelf it sat against, quickly clapping his hands together to rid them of the dust that he had collected. “He was a doctor, too.”

“Dr. Thomas Wayne,” She quickly nodded, looking over her shoulder at him. “An actual doctor of medicine.” She didn’t miss the slight upward twitch of his lips and prided herself on it. “It’s beautiful.” She whispered. “And impressive.” She took a step back, feeling the space between them growing smaller. She tilted her head upwards and looked in awe at the hundreds of books that filled the bookshelves. All for naught, she thought, he has no one to read them.

“Alfred reads the books, don’t worry.” He had read her mind. “When he finds the time. If you ever want to borrow one, you may.”

Her heart warmed. He was so sweet when he tried to be, though how hard he had to try to effectively be sweet was beyond her. He shifted awkwardly behind her, putting his hands in his pockets. She knew that everything in her was itching to be back on task, grill him some more over his whereabouts during his stabbing, but she found tremendous peace in participating in the arbitrary conversation.

“My father was a cop.” She felt the need to reciprocate the talk of parents, though she never talked about her parents. “In a faraway city.”

“Is that why you’re a cop?” He asked, and for a moment, she met his eyes and chuckled.

“I’m not a cop, Mr. Wayne. I don’t work for a police department.” She tilted her head, mimicking his actions as he crooned his neck to look at the temporary badge that Gordon had given her to go into the mayor’s house. She plucked it off instantly, feeling nervous. “That’s different.”

“Then why do you do what you do?” It was a much heavier question than he could have ever known, she thought.

Her father was a cop in a faraway city. Just not a very good one. He was a dirty cop; he was involved in the very drug ring that he was meant to be busting, and the instant that they suspected he was no longer on their side, they ordered her mother to be killed. Her father was quickly found out and he was in jail no longer than a month before he was murdered by another inmate.

“Just trying to do some good.” She replied after a few moments, thinking about her mother. She was young, hardly old enough to any better about her mother or father, and so instead of feeling a heavy ache in her heart where the love of her parents was meant to be, she felt only emptiness.

Some good she was doing. What was she now? An investigator that owed her success to a vigilante. A liar whose hands were covered in the blood of the mayor. A puppet of a deranged murderer looking for his piece of justice. She was hardly any better than her father.

She saw his eyes flicker for the slightest moment and realized that he probably knew exactly what she felt. But they were not the same. His father was a hero, and hers was the villain.

“Mr. Wayne?” Her voice was quiet, and she sighed. His eyes met hers attentively and a chill ran down her spine. A wave of déjà vu washed over her mind, and she rubbed her weary eyes as images of the Bat flashed in her mind. Their eyes were strikingly similar, tired and worn-down, yet still strong and cold as ice. She chalked it up to her exhaustion. She couldn’t remember the last time that she had a good night’s sleep. She had only ever seen the Bat in the darkness, anyways. “How is your stomach?”

“I’m sorry?” His lips parted and his eyes darted back and forth, and she nearly laughed out loud at how animated his thinking process was.

“Your stab wound. God, Mr. Wayne, are you really that desensitized to it?” Her eyebrows came together in a frustrated state of confusion. “I just can’t figure you out.”

He didn’t reply, and she took that as an opportunity to gather her things. The air had grown a bit colder, and her hair had become frizzy after air-drying from the rain in the stagnant air of the manor. She was a doctor, after all, and she could tell when she had overstayed her welcome. She saw his lips open, and then close again, as though he wanted to say something and then decided against it. She hurriedly tried to gather her paper and folder from the table when she felt him suddenly grab her wrist. As she struggled in his grasp in an attempt to keep the Riddler’s note from him, he easily overpowered her with one arm and plucked the paper out of her grasp. She struggled to get it back from him. “That’s confidential.”

“This is from the mayor’s house?” He looked at her with the same concerned face that he had worn at the banquet when he had caught her. The look gave her shivers; he could be so concerningly serious looking at times. She didn’t reply, and he took her silence as a confirmation to his question. “This is about me,” He narrowed his eyes as he read it again. He shook his head. “He’s targeting people close to you. But why?” She tried again to snatch the paper out of his hands and tore a piece of it off in her attempt.

“Mr. Wayne.” She said again, much more sternly this time. He digressed and returned her the paper, flashing her stone-cold eyes with lips pressed in a firm line. “I’ll be leaving now, Mr. Wayne. I just…” She trailed off, remembering the panic that had ripped through her the instant that she realized the purpose of the knife. She adverted her gaze and chewed on the inside of her lip. “Please don’t stop by anymore. Thank you, for everything. Everything.” She emphasized the word, hoping that he understood that she wasn’t shrugging him off. Business was business, and if there was anyone that would understand such a concept, she assumed it to be Bruce Wayne.

Without another word, she rushed to the door of the library and heaved it open. She mimicked Mr. Wayne’s movements from when he had originally led her there and found her way back to the entryway of the manor. As she tried the knob of the door and pulled it towards her, it didn’t budge.

“Please, let me drive you.” Mr. Wayne’s voice came from behind her, his large hand holding the door shut as she tried to open it. “You’ll catch a cold. It’s pouring.” He removed his hand and allowed her to see for herself; the door came creaking open and large raindrops found her immediately, splashing onto the stone sidewalk and into the manor, gathering at their shoes. She could already imagine it now: if she would walk home in such conditions, be seen with matted hair and running makeup after being shot, the media would eat her alive. Drug use, mental illness, anything negative that they could think of, they’d apply to her. They were in the business of bullshit, after all. And Mr. Wayne, as much as she would rather part from him in order to keep him safe, was her only option.

“Mr. Wayne, please,” She shook her head, wanting nothing more than to not be a burden to him.

“I’m insisting.”

#battinson #battinson x reader #batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne #Bruce Wayne x reader #reputation #the batman

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iam93percentstardust · 3 years

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i was about to ask you to continue your marvels unsolved ‘verse but then i saw your specific ships so i’m going to ask for a fantasy au with winteriron!! but tbh you should do whatever makes you happy it’s your birthday month!!! (happy birthday! your writing makes me so happy thank you so much for it)

Thank you so much!! I’m so happy you like my writing!!!

I ended up being inspired by the magical flower shop AU I wrote last August, but that’s not necessary to read to understand this fic. Since tumblr is still having issues with links, I won’t include the link here but if you’re interested in that one, it’s Chapter 27 of AU-gust

As always, this fic can be found on my ao3!

Roses and Rowan

It’s storming when Bucky drives past Ravenspoint’s limits. The rain is coming down hard enough that he almost misses the sign for the little town in all the gloom, but then there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating the foreboding faces of the town patriarchs glaring down at those who would dare enter their town. Bucky shivers, resolutely turning away as he continues on his way.

He’s not here for them anyway. The patriarchs are long dead, their only descendants long since fled. There’s another flash of lightning, this time illuminating the hill off to the left and the old manor on the hilltop. From what little bit he can see through the storm, it looks like it was once a stately mansion but it’s falling into disrepair now. Bucky blinks and suddenly he can see the golden glimmer of the wards around the whole hill, sealing the house and grounds off from the would-be adventurers brave enough to test their mettle against the ghosts of Rosewood Manor.

Another shiver runs down his spine. The magic is strangely familiar, though he can’t place where he might have seen it before. He blinks again and the golden glimmer of the wards disappears from his view. “Spooky,” Bucky mutters. In the passenger seat, Alpine mraows her agreement. He reaches over and scratches under her chin, grinning when she purrs loud enough to drown out the music coming from the car speakers.

They pull into town a few minutes later, only knowing it by the stoplight Bucky just barely manages to make out through the sheets of rain pounding down. He would have missed it otherwise, the storm too heavy and the buildings too dark to see in the night. Ravenspoint is a small town with a population of only three thousand people, exactly one stoplight, and two streets that run the length of town, connected by a series of smaller cross streets. It’s exactly the last place Bucky ever thought he would find himself and yet here he is, searching for someone who had made it clear he didn’t want to be found.

“What am I doing, Alpine?” he asks the cat. “He told me he didn’t want me to come after him.”

Alpine can’t respond but she rolls over, exposing her belly to him, and he gets the sense of reassurance through their bond.

“I know,” he responds. “Tellin’ people he wants to be left alone when that’s usually the last thing he wants. But let’s be real here, this place is pretty far off the beaten track.”

Another pulse of reassurance.

“Well if you ask me—” the helper figment starts to say.

“I didn’t,” Bucky interrupts before it can say anything else. Damn figment’s been more trouble than it’s worth this whole trip. “Where’s the turn?”

The figment gives him a sullen look. “In five hundred yards, off to the right.”

Even as the figment says it, Bucky spots the glowing lights of the shop in the distance. He slows down and pulls over into one of the parking spots off the street, peering up through the rain at the shop sign above the door.

“Bluebells and Belladonnas,” he reads. “He always did like alliteration.”

“Great,” the figment says waspishly. “Can I go now? I got a hot—”

Bucky flicks his fingers and the figment disappears back to whatever dimension figments come from. Alpine flicks her tail lazily, giving off a sense of amusement and a little bit of hunger. Bucky laughs and scratches her chin again.

“Yeah, I would’ve let you eat it if it wouldn’t have given you indigestion,” he says. “’nother couple of minutes. I’m sure he has fresh tuna for you.”

He sighs and looks at the shop again. The sign on the front says it’s closed but there are lights on inside both in the shop itself and in the apartment above the shop, telling him that the owner is probably still working.

“So what’re you doing sitting out here?” he asks himself. He gives another baleful look at the stormy clouds and the rain still pouring down, groans, and then shrugs his hood up over his head. Nothing for it. The rain isn’t supposed to let up for another couple of hours and Bucky doesn’t feel like sitting in the car that long.

“You gonna be good out here?” he asks Alpine. She blinks slowly at him. That’s a yes, then.

Quick as he can, he gets out and dashes for the cover the awning provides. Once there, he throws his hood back and then knocks on the door. He waits about a minute before knocking again, this time a lot louder. It takes a moment before he sees a person-shaped blob behind the water-streaked glass. He knocks for a third time. The person gets larger as they move closer and then the door unlocks and swings open with a wave of the person’s hand.

“What—”

“You know,” Bucky says, stepping over the threshold. He bites back a shiver as a wave of magic washes over him, verifying that he has no ill intent. “You are a hard person to find.”

“Yeah, some people would take that as a hint,” Tony Stark states flatly, crossing his arms over his chest as he glares at Bucky.

Bucky is born with the ability to see magic. Or, at least, that’s the sfigmentlest way to explain it, if not the most accurate. Just about everyone can “see” magic but what they see are actually just the effects of magic—what was produced or what was done. Bucky has the ability to actually see the threads of magic. It’s a Barnes family gift, although none of the Barnes mages have had this ability in nearly two centuries. Bucky is the first in a very long time and because of that, he ends up having to go to school rather than being trained at home by the family mage (also known as Ma to Bucky and his sister).

It's at school that he meets his best friend, Stevie, and Stevie’s other best friend, Tony. Tony is a bit of an oddball, not that Bucky and Steve are incredibly popular either. Steve should be popular because of his dragon heritage and the power that brings him but he comes into his inheritance late and has a strong sense of morality and that gets him into trouble, more often than not. And Bucky just ends up following behind him.

But Tony—Tony is hard to pin down. He has incredible amounts of power, which is unusual in a mage from the Jarvis line. He’s a lot younger than most of the other kids, which isn’t so unusual for people with a lot of power—Bucky can think of a couple examples off the top of his head of people who went to school early because of their powers—but all those people went to school early because they didn’t have control, and Tony is nothing if not controlled. He doesn’t much look like either of his parents and the way he acts sometimes… it’s clear that he’s been through a lot, is all.

It’s not until their fourth year that Bucky starts putting the pieces together, and it starts when he finds out that Tony doesn’t actually get his powers from the Jarvis line but from the Carbonell line instead. He wasn’t supposed to overhear that but he and Steve had gotten in trouble again and were sitting outside the Headmistress’s office while she finished up a meeting with the Jarvises.

That’s when he’d heard it: “The Carbonell magic is strong in Tony,” the Headmistress had said, and that had been all Bucky had heard as the pieces had started falling into place. It had always puzzled Bucky how Tony’s magic, so suited to big things, had come from the Jarvises, both of whom were more skilled in household charms and enchantments, but if Tony was adopted… Adoption was rare in magical families, as magic was so often tied to filial lines, but it wasn’t unheard of, and that explained so much about Tony.

He spends some time in the library after that, researching the Carbonells. They’re an old line, originating in Italy, before coming to the Americas in the late sixteenth century. They’re known for producing powerful mages with the exact same proficiency in metallurgy that Tony’s always demonstrated. The last of them, Maria, had married one of the Starks, a newer family with a proficiency in elemental magics—another of Tony’s skills, Bucky realizes—and that’s where the trail goes cold. He never finds another mention of the Carbonells, or the Starks for that matter, in any of the old history books.

But there has to be more to the story, Bucky knows. Because there’s Tony, who looks just like Maria Carbonell, and that means there has to be more. However, he never brings it up. That’s Tony’s story, and if he doesn’t want to tell them, he doesn’t have to.

He never stops hoping that Tony will, though.

Tony is looking at him now, eyes dark and arms crossed. Bucky has changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt he’d brought with him as his clothes had ended up drenched, even from just the short run from the car and back out to grab Alpine and his travel bag. His clothes are drying by the fire now as Alpine explores the apartment, sniffing around curiously. Bucky is curious as well, but he’s been so busy drinking in the sight of Tony after almost two years of nothing that he hasn’t taken the time yet to look around.

“What are you doing here, Bucky?” Tony asks eventually.

He shrugs. “I came to find you.”

“Thought I made it obvious I didn’t want to be found.”

“I thought we had unfinished business,” Bucky says quietly. He gazes at Tony steadily until Tony squirms and turns away, busying himself with the coffeepot on the counter. He prepares two cups of coffee, one with more sugar than most people can stand and one with more milk than coffee, and hands the one with milk to Bucky.

Bucky takes one sip and blinks in surprise. “This is decaf,” he says.

“Yeah, and?”

“Tony, you don’t drink decaf. You called it the devil’s brew.”

There’s a hint of a smile lurking around the corners of Tony’s mouth as he raises his own cup to his mouth. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Seems like you’ve forgotten a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how I promised you I’d follow you anywhere.”

Tony stills for a moment before he puts his cup back down on the counter. “Bucky—”

“Tony, why?” Bucky asks, not even bothering to hide the anguish in his voice. It’s how he’s felt every day since Tony disappeared two years ago. “You told me we’d talk the next day, only I woke up to find you’d run. Did I push too hard? Was it not what you wanted?” He stops, frustrated and upset, and scrubs his hand over his face.

“Bucky, no,” Tony says, dismayed. He moves forward, taking Bucky’s hands between his. “It wasn’t you. You have to believe me. It was never you.”

“Then what was it?”

Tony bites his lip, hesitating. Even without using his Sight, Bucky can see golden magic swirling under Tony’s skin, pooling at his hands where they’re touching Bucky’s. He blinks and now he can see his own magic, cool silver, gathering at his fingertips, aching to reach out and touch Tony’s. Their magic has always been compatible, always stronger when they’re together, even before Bucky figured out his complicated feelings for Tony.

“Doll?” he asks, immediately regretting the pet name when it makes Tony flinch. He doesn’t take it back though. This is who he is, a little old-fashioned and a little flirty and a lot in love with Tony Stark.

“It’s me,” Tony eventually admits, looking down at their hands as though he can see the magic too. “I got scared. It’s—I’m not who you think I am.”

“Not what? Not a Jarvis? Tony, I’ve known that for ten years.”

Tony’s head jerks up so fast Bucky’s own neck aches in sympathy. “What did you say?”

“Tony, I know you’re not a Jarvis,” Bucky says again, patiently. He’s never admitted this to anyone before, let alone Tony. He can afford to be careful right now.

“How did you know that?” Tony breathes. “We’ve never told anyone.”

“Except for the Headmistress,” Bucky points out. “You prob’ly had to tell her so she could help you with your abilities.”

“We did,” Tony whispers.

He shrugs. “Stevie and I overheard her one time. She said your magic came from the Carbonell line. I got curious, thought it might explain why you and the Jarvises are so different, so I looked it up.”

“You didn’t think that was invading my privacy?”

The words are harsh but Tony doesn’t look upset. He looks—hopeful, almost, like he wants to believe Bucky knows everything about him and doesn’t judge him for it. It makes Bucky bold and he steps forward, right into Tony’s space, as he tugs one of his hands free and uses it to tuck one of Tony’s curls behind his ear, fingers brushing against his cheek.

“You are a puzzle I’ve only ever wanted to solve,” Bucky murmurs, bowing his head to rest his forehead against Tony’s. His hand cups Tony’s cheek for the briefest moment and then falls to his shoulder. Tony closes his eyes and inhales shakily. “But the moment the trail went cold, I stopped looking. It didn’t seem right to keep digging.”

“What did you find?” Tony asks.

“Two names: Howard Stark and Maria Carbonell, that’s it.”

Tony nods. “Those were my parents.”

“Were?”

“Could be are. I don’t know where they went after they left me, but I stopped calling them mine the moment they were gone.”

“What happened?” He feels Tony tense under his hand and quickly adds, “If you want to tell me. Don’t feel like you have to.”

“No, it’s—I want to,” Tony says, sounding frustrated. The space between his brows furrows in irritation. “I’ve just never told anyone and—I’m not sure I’m ready to tell the full story yet. It’s a lot.”

“Whatever you’re ready for, then. And when you’re ready for the rest, I’ll be right here to listen.”

Tony takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “I was born at Rosewood Manor,” he says quietly.

“That place outside of town?”

“Mmhmm. That’s my magic you probably saw guarding it.”

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony, that place looks like it hasn’t had anyone living there for fifteen years.”

“Over twenty actually. I was three when—when that happened.”

“You were three? And you had that kind of control?”

Tony laughs humorlessly. “Believe me, that night I had no control at all.” He falls silent. Bucky waits for more, but Tony seems to be done talking for tonight, so he turns his head and kisses the corner of Tony’s mouth instead.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says.

Tony grimaces. “Not like I told you much of anything.”

“You told me what you were comfortable with. Believe me, doll, after two years of nothing—”

“You keep doing that,” Tony interrupts. “Calling me doll.”

Bucky hesitates. “I thought you liked it when I did that.”

Tony looks away, a bitter twist to his mouth. “I left.”

“Yeah…”

“I left right after you kissed me because I was scared and couldn’t face up to what was going on between us even though I promised we’d talk.”

Bucky waits, sure that if he stays silent, Tony will explain further. It’s a trick that he’s used in the past and it’s always worked. Sure enough, after another couple moments:

“You know, I was so sure you were dating Steve? Let me finish please,” Tony says calmly, holding up a hand when Bucky opens his mouth. “You don’t know what it was like. I might have met Steve first but it was so clear that you two were a lot closer than I would ever be with him. So yes, I was convinced you two were dating and that I was alone in my feelings and when I found out I wasn’t, I panicked. I thought it was Tony Jarvis you liked, not—”

“I like you,” Bucky interrupts, unable to keep hearing Tony talk about how he’d thought Bucky wasn’t serious about him, when he thinks maybe it’s the only thing he’s ever been serious about. “I like you as Tony Jarvis, Tony Carbonell, Tony Stark, or just plain Tony.”

“Like?” Tony asks shyly.

Bucky grins and kisses the other corner of Tony’s mouth. “Do you think I would have kept searching for you for two years if I didn’t still like you?”

Tony leans back for a moment, searching his eyes for something before he eventually says, “And what about Tony Barnes?”

Bucky’s heart about stops. He wheezes out, “You—”

“It’s not—I needed a name when I came back to Ravenspoint. I didn’t want anyone to know who I was and it’s a small town. People know every other name I go by, but—I didn’t think you’d mind or I wouldn’t—”

Bucky can’t stop himself anymore. He frames Tony’s face in his hands and kisses him soundly. It’s closed-mouthed and chaste and it’s still the best damn kiss he’s ever had, next to the only other time he kissed Tony. Tony’s hands flutter in the air for a second before wrapping around Bucky’s waist, clutching him to him.

“I love you calling yourself by my name,” he says hoarsely, pulling away long enough to get the words out before he kisses Tony again. “And one day, I swear I’ll give you that name for real, forever and always.” This time, it’s Tony who whfigmenters and kisses him again, sucking Bucky’s tongue into his mouth as Bucky’s hands slide back into his hair to hold him right where he wants him.

“Wait,” Tony pants, struggling against Bucky’s grip to move away. Bucky lets him go reluctantly, gratified when Tony only moves a couple inches. “How did you find me?”

“Your magic,” Bucky tells him, trailing kisses across every inch of his face. “It’s been callin’ out to me since the day you left, leavin’ me a trail to follow.”

“Lucky me,” Tony whispers.

And as Bucky kisses him again, unable to resist for a single second, he thinks to himself, No. Lucky me.

#alle writes #winteriron #birthday prompts #if you like please consider reblogging #alle answers #jkirk09

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ghostbustermelanieking · 3 years

Text

tma fic masterpost

love letters (of a sort)

(jonmartin, seasons 1-5, fluff, angst, wc: 13k)

Want to grab dinner later? I know you're going to be working absurdly late anyway, and there's a new Italian place I've been wanting to try. — M

Yes, that sounds nice. I'll try to be finished by 7:00. — J

Oh, yes. God forbid you don't work absurdly late. ;) — M

Or: The notes and letters Jon and Martin have written each other, through the years.

cracks

(post mag 200, tim & sasha, jonmartin, wc: 1k)

Sasha finds a tape on her kitchen table. A new one. The last one. She doesn't even need to listen to it to know it's the last one. And she has a voice-mail on her phone from Annabelle Cane.

She calls Tim first, right then, at one a.m., and he picks up. She knew he would. She knows he felt the change, too. "We have to go," she says. "Right now. We've got to go back. Something's happened."

microfics: tender, trembling hands, drastic

in the moonlight

(wtgfs, pre-canon, fluff, wc: 2k)

6. things you said under the stars and in the grass

Or: Georgie and Melanie on a late-night ghost hunt (in an "unromantic" field).

after words

(jonmartin, mag 102 au, hurt/comfort, wc: 3k)

things you said prompts: "13. things you said at the kitchen table."

Or: After Jon's escape from the Circus, Martin offers for Jon to stay with him.

warm

(jonmartin, scottish safehouse period, wc: 2k)

things you said prompts: "1. things you said at 1 am"

Or: Huddling for warmth after the Lonely.

reunions

(post mag 196, canon divergent, jonmartin, wc: 2k)

Martin and Jon find each other again at the remnants of Hill Top Road.

cursed grounds

(bly manor au pt 1, jonmartin, ensemble, slow burn, wip, wc: 14k)

When there's a lull, Martin speaks up, because he has to, he knows he does, he won't get a better opportunity. He says, "I've got a story," and when they look at him with interest, he adds, "A… a statement, really. It might be hard to hear, but… I think we all need to hear it again."

He shifts in his seat, sits up straighter, clears his throat and looks out at the lot of them and begins. "Statement of Martin Blackwood," he says, "regarding the Magnus Institute, and everything that happened there." He takes a breath, hears the familiar words in their familiar cadence rattle through his mind: the Archivist is taking a statement. He says, "Statement begins."

Or: In 1985, after the disappearance of Gertrude Robinson from the reclusive grounds of the Magnus Institute, Jonathan Sims is brought in as a replacement. As he adjusts to the new job, and begins to bond with his new coworkers, the strange happenings on the grounds that the Magnus Institute sits on become harder to ignore.

Years later, Martin Blackwood makes a statement.

variations on a death scene

(ensemble, jonmartin, wtgfs, aus, revenge stories, wc: 6k)

Or: Eight times Jonah Magnus was killed, and everything was fixed.

tapes winding forward

(jonmartin, time travel, season 1/season 5 au, word count: 48k)

Chapters: 6/6

Martin gets a closer look at the calendar, and his breath catches in his throat. He's gotten a look at the year, and it's wrong, it's all wrong. 2018. October, 2018. Right there, in Martin's own handwriting, on a Saturday, he's written things on little dates that Martin can't read, because he can't take his eyes off the year. 2018. 2018. They look differently. They have scars they don't recognize. Their hair is longer. 2018.

Martin seizes the calendar off the fridge and goes back into the living room. Jon's still at the coffee table, poking through the tapes piled there, but he looks up when Martin comes back in and says, "Martin, where…" with a familiar bite in his voice.

Martin ignores him, stops him mid-sentence to say, "Jon, what have you heard about time travel?"

---

Martin and Jon wake up two years in the future. It goes about as well as can be expected.

cat's cradle

(georgie & jon, wtgfs, the admiral, s5 au, cat angst & fluff, mag 189/190, word count: 5k)

Jon and Martin go out one day, on a trip to the eldritch horror-trap grocery store, and show back up in the tunnels after a few long hours, longer than any of the trips to the store that Georgie has been on. Martin has a bag of horrible spooky food, and Jon has a bag shut at the top that is wriggling suspiciously in his arms. "Oh, great," says Melanie, when Georgie fills her in. "What monstrous thing has he brought home now?" Georgie would giggle if the situation wasn't at least a little potentially dangerous, Jon could have anything in there, really.

---

Or: an exploration of the fate of the Admiral, after the end of the world.

rising static

(archivist!martin, jonmartin, s5 au/canon divergence/spec, word count: 14k)

Martin forces his eyes open to look at Jon, bruise blossoming at the top of his forehead, eyes red and wet. "Wh-what's gone?" he asks softly, almost afraid of the answer.

"It. All of it, or at least some of it, I don't know… I can't feel it anymore. The statements, the Beholding, it's—it's…" Jon breaks off mid-sentence, shaking his head. He leans forward so their foreheads are together, and Martin can feel him trembling all over. He says, voice low and thick with fear, "I'm… not sure I'm the Archivist anymore."

---

The initial confrontation with Jonah Magnus goes badly, and Martin wakes up outside the Panopticon to find Jon missing. In the wake of this initial loss, something about Martin starts to change.

northern-bound trains

(safehouse fic, jonmartin, post mag 159, pining, word count: 6k)

Martin rides with Jon to the train station. He insisted. Said he shouldn’t have to go there alone. “Nothing worse than leaving on a trip with no one to send you off,” he’d said. Jon had nodded, gratefully, and swallowed back the burning lump of what he wanted to say—Come with me, come to Scotland, I don’t want to leave you alone again. He kept hearing Martin’s words in his head: I really loved you. And he couldn’t ask Martin to do that, to leave his whole life and everything behind to become a fugitive, cower in Scotland and throw his whole life away. It’s too much. And Martin has already sacrificed so much for him.

He’ll be content with Martin seeing him off. That can be enough. That will be enough.

knowing

(s1 archives crew, timsasha, season 4 au, word count: 3k)

Jon falters, looks at the ground, one hand over his mouth. "You… you were both in the same place. In a… domain. D-Daisy was in one, too, a different one. I got her out. And I… I thought, afterwards, that maybe I could get the two of you back, too."

---

Or: After the Unknowing, after the Buried, Jon finds Sasha and Tim again.

journeys at the end of the world

(wtgfs, melanie king, season 5 au/spec, word count: 8k)

Melanie doesn't remember what happened after the world ends.

(Or: Melanie searches for Georgie in the wake of the apocalypse.)

a hidden statement

(season 1 au, s1 archives crew, jonmartin, timsasha, wc: 100k)

Chapters: 5/15 (wip)

Martin finds the tape in the wall. Specifically, in a small hole in the drywall, tucked behind boxes and stuffed with so much crumpled paper and tissue that it's almost impossible to see anything else in there. It's a cassette tape, the sort Jon uses to record statements, labeled on the front with a brown strip of tape. It's addressed to the Head Archivist in a spidery handwriting.

Or: Gertrude Robinson made a tape as a warning to the next Head Archivist. What if he had gotten it?

#for organization purposes lol... mastered after an xf fic masterpost from ages ago #tma fic #the magnus archives #archivist martin #timsasha #wtgfs #jonmartin #i wrote this #long post

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ianrightsonly · 3 years

Text

author interview

tagged by @xgoldendays — thank you friend!

---

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

currently 11

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

327,709 … i don't know how that's possible but it's an insane feeling of accomplishment to really think about that number

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

-where the feigned wind falls

-to feel this kind of thrill

-of slip n’ slides & dumbass distractions

-of locked doors & thunderstorms

-baby, that’s what makes us…

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i love every single comment and piece of feedback i’ve received across all of my writing, but i’m so bad when it comes to responding. i’m often busy when comments come in, so i read them on the go but don’t have time to reply. and then i can get a bit overwhelmed when i get backlogged, so sometimes i just don’t get around to it. and once i’m finally able to dedicate time to responding, it’s usually time for me to start writing the next chapter already. that’s the weird cycle i’ve gotten myself into, but i’d really like to get better about it.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i'm personally a big fan of happy endings. i love myself some good angst, but i don't think i'll ever write a fic that doesn't have a positive or happy ending. i've ended certain chapters with a ton of angst, most notably the heavier moments in to feel this kind of thrill, but i always knew i'd be ending the overall story in a hopeful, open-ended manner.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

they all have happy endings! i just can't do angsty endings, honestly.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

i've never written a crossover fic, but i think it's awesome when people are dedicated enough to multiple fandoms to do it!

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

i can think of two times that i've received negative feedback, and both came in strange ways. the first was for 'til the day my life is through, and really had nothing to do with my writing. the person was irritated that ian didn't do anything for mickey on their anniversary, and thought he was being hypocritical with his disappointment in the finale. the fic in question dove into the depths of that plot, so their frustration was misplaced. they were mad about the show itself -- and chose to take it out on me, lol

the second person was irritated by the amount of character aside and introspection that i chose to include in a recent chapter of where the feigned wind falls, which seemed nitpicky to me. it's more of a writing style and choice, as well as something i've been doing since the beginning, so it doesn't really matter to me if someone dislikes it.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i do usually include some form of smut in my fics. it's just part of the complete story when i write, and goes along with whatever emotions and thought processes i'm trying to convey at the time. i alternate with the writing style, sometimes making it more descriptive than others. it just depends on the fic and the moment, i think.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

thankfully, i have not!

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes. to feel this kind of thrill was translated, which was an absolute honor for me. i still think about how amazing it is for someone to put that kind of time and effort into one of my stories.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i haven't, but i think it's an awesome concept! @bellafarella and myself have talked about co-writing a one shot, but i have to get my shit together and find the time, before that can happen. hopefully sometime soon!

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

ian and mickey. and i genuinely don't think that will ever change, lol

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

of my two current WIPs, i'm really going to do my best to finish both. where the feigned wind falls is probably the lengthiest fic i'll ever write, but i will definitely see it through to the end. i haven't really gotten too far into to love and be loved just yet, but i'm hoping to stick with it as i begin to further develop the plot.

15. What are your writing strengths?

i've always been someone who struggles to list their personal strengths in pretty much everything, but i have been told that i characterize both ian and mickey well. i think in AU fics they always stray a bit from canon in inevitable ways, but i really love to hear that i've gotten their voices right.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

my lack of attention span is a big one. i may have a week where i'm completely hyper-focused on writing, but it's often followed up with two or three weeks of writer's block. i always do my best to push through it, but i wish i was more consistent in that regard.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i think it's incredible. i don't personally speak multiple languages, so if i ever went that route i would definitely reach out to someone else for assistance.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

teen wolf lmao

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

it’s hard for me to write for a fandom/ship unless i’m completely submerged and invested in them, so i can’t really see myself writing for another fandom at the moment. i’ve had some ideas buzzing around relating to the haunting of hill house/bly manor but i don’t think anything will ever come from them.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

this is such a tough question, because i've put so much time into these fics and it's really hard to choose one. but i guess i'll go with where the feigned wind falls. i've been working on it for so long now, and still have at least six months or more before it will be completed. i love the little world i've built for them and i can't wait to dive into the next portion of their story together.

#fic chat #my fics #gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fic #gallavich fanfic #ian x mickey #mickey x ian

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rosesgonerogue · 4 years

Text

I didn’t so much fall in love - It kicked me in the face Chapter Six

Several days later, Marinette was making decent progress on the suits for the Wayne family - she had the bulk of the work finished, thanks to a night of insomnia, now she just had to do the final fittings and line them. It was a bit backwards, but the linings were intricate enough that she didn’t dare do it until she made sure the silhouette was perfect. She hadn’t spent hours hand-painting silk for it to sit wrong inside the suit-coats.

Bundling up her precious work, Marinette took Leo’s hand, leaving the hotel where a car was waiting for them.

“Did you bring the tie for Monsieur Alfred, Maman?” Leo asked, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Of course I did,” Marinette said, showing it to her son. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

Leo scrutinized the article of clothing before solemnly nodding. “It’s what he needs. He’s… sad.”

A chill ran down Marinette’s spine - Leo always seemed to know so much more than should be possible. But… “I’m glad that you like to make everyone happy, ma cher.”

“I want Maman to be happy most of all.”

Marinette blinked. “But I am happy, Leo. I have you, what more could I need?”

“You try to hide it, but you get sad sometimes. You want the same kind of happy that grandmere and grandpere have, the happy you get from a person you like a lot. I want Maman to be happy.”

“Leo,” Marinette murmured, her breath catching slightly. She hadn’t made any attempts at dating since… since Leo came along. In the beginning she’d been an emotional wreck, but she’d put the circumstances of his conception behind her years ago. With love, support, and therapy, she was… okay.

“We’re supposed to be in Gotham,” Leo affirmed. “It will help you be happy.”

“I’ll…” Marinette faltered, unsure how she was granted such a perfect child. “I trust you, Leo. I’ll look for opportunities. But no one can possibly make me more happy than you do.”

“Not more happy,” he assured her, patting her hand. “Different happy.”

That left Marinette blinking away tears when the driver announced their arrival at Wayne Manor. She took the time to thank him before clambering out of the car, Leo in tow.

None other than Alfred himself greeted them at the door, perfectly composed as always. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, you’re certainly welcome here, but I am currently the only other person home at the moment. The men won’t be available for their fittings for a while.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And it’s Marinette, please,” she said with a smile. “But this works out perfectly. I wanted to chat with you for a moment or two.”

“Please come in, then. May I offer you some tea?”

The three settled down comfortably, Leo gnawing on a cookie as Marinette tried to figure out how to broach the topic of… well, anything.

“Maman, give it to him,” Leo prompted.

“You’re absolutely right, Leo,” she said, retrieving a small gift bag. “For you, Alfred.”

“Miss Marinette, I couldn’t! You are a guest of the Wayne family, you shouldn’t feel obligated to make anything for me!”

“It was no obligation, I enjoyed it. Besides, it was partially at the request of a mutual friend.”

He hesitantly opened the bag, gingerly pulling out the tie, his hand shaking every so slightly. It was a beautiful piece of silk, carefully embroidered with intricate peacock feathers, the fabric a deep blue, exactly the same shade as -

“Duusu,” he breathed. “Is he well?”

“Would you like to ask him yourself?” Marinette nodded to Leo, who carefully placed a miraculous box on the coffee table.

“He told me of the other kwami,” Alfred said hesitantly, “and I felt something about you when we first met, but I thought it was just old age effecting me. If you don’t mind me asking, how-”

“Marinette is Ladybug!” Duusu chirped, startling both adults. “You two were taking too long, so Leo let me out.”

“Duusu, my old friend. It’s been decades.”

Marinette concentrated on stirring her tea intently, graciously giving the older man the emotional space that he needed and ignoring the tears that were building in his eyes.

“Alfie! I never thought I would get to see you again!” Duusu chirped, excitedly flying around the man’s head.

“We’ll give you some time alone,” Marinette said softly, leading Leo out of the room. When the door closed behind them, she patted his head. “You did an excellent thing. I think you just made Monsieur Pennyworth very happy.”

“We both did, Maman.”

“We did good, squirt.”

It wasn’t long before Alfred emerged, cupping the peacock broach in his hands with the utmost care.

“There is still some time before the family arrives for their fittings. I was preparing to make some desserts to serve with tea. This is not a demand or a request, but if you would like to help, I would not be opposed.”

“What do you think, Leo? We haven’t gotten to bake since we left Paris. Tikki would probably enjoy some fresh cookies.”

Before the child could respond, the kwami in question flew into sight. “I think that’s a great idea!”

********

For once in his life, Tim got home sooner than expected. A meeting had been cancelled, and his personal assistant seemed more worried about his lack of sleep than normal. Admittedly, he’d spent far too much time researching Ladybug. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around everything he’d seen, not to mention the fact that the entire city of Paris had been able to keep their heroes a secret, especially as tourism had only increased since her debut.

There was one thing in particular that Tim couldn't stop thinking about. In all of the clips of Ladybug, (and he had watched all of them), there was one move she repeated not infrequently, a certain pivoting high kick that he had recently been introduced to. It was curious that Marinette was able to execute it so well, but it wouldn’t be the first time a civilian had imitated a vigilante’s moves. It was just… curious.

Also curious was the smells that greeted him upon opening the manor door. Alfred’s cooking always smelled good, but Tim was fairly certain that this was what heaven was supposed to smell like. He couldn’t help but follow the scent to the kitchen.

“Maman, the frosting needs more color,” a small voice said.

Leo was standing on a stool, stirring his bowl of frosting carefully enough that his apron wasn’t necessary in the least. Tim felt his heart skip a beat when Marinette turned around to help her son with a smile. Her eyes were soft, and unlike her son, her apron was covered in flour and flecks of batter. He swore his knees went weak when those eyes landed on him and she smiled like he was the sunshine in her life.

It was the way he remembered his mother smiling at his father.

“Leo, Monsieur Tim is home. Say bonjour!” she said, pointing. “Why don’t you explain what we’re making?”

“Bonjour, Monsieur Tim. Maman and I got here early, so we wanted to make treats for your family like my grandmere and grandpere make treats for me when I get home from school,” Leo said, his eyes the only indication of his excitement.

“So what are you teaching Alfred to make?”

“We’re making madeleines, a personal favorite of Leo’s. But no one does madeleine like a Dupain-Cheng.”

Tim glanced around smirking. “This looks like a lot more than just madeleines.”

“Well, Alfred wanted some tips on making macarons, and… I was raised by bakers, making small batches of anything has never been my strong suit. Luckily, I hear sweets don’t last long in the Wayne household.”

Neither Marinette nor Tim saw the look exchanged between the butler and the boy, but Alfred was soon clearing his throat. “Miss Marinette, I think Leo and I have things handled here if you would like to begin Master Tim’s fitting.”

“Are you sure? I can-”

“We’re fine, Maman,” Leo interrupted. “Someone needs to tell Monsieur Alfred when to take out the macarons.”

Marinette looked surprised. “Well, it seems my son has taken to Alfred. As long as he doesn’t mind, I guess it’s just you and me.”

“It’s a privilege, Miss Marinette,” Alfred promised. “Go on, you’ve got a job to do.”

Tim felt inexplicably nervous, and excited, and - did Alfred just wink at him?

Taglist:

@ii-fox-demon @queen-in-a-flower-crown @novaloptr @saphiraazure2708 @iamabrownfox @smolplantmum @redhoodedtoad @loysydark @slytheringinger300 @finallyaniguana @brokenwordsarehard2 @abrx2002 @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @moonlightstar64 @marinettepotterandplagg @black-streak @purplesundaze @maribat-is-lifeblood @the-fusionist @river9noble @chocolatecatstheron @darkthunder1589 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @dast218 @k-poplunardreams @meanids @changelinggarden @ladybug-182 @pawsitivelymiraculous @zotinha456 @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @somebodyspersephone @spider-person95 @zestyzealot @toodaloo-kangaroo

Author’s Note:

This might be the last of the daily updates, but I don’t forsee the rest of the story taking much longer to write. We’re pretty much halfway in, so prepare yourselves. I’m also contemplating writing a sequel when Leo is a bit older, that could be a lot of fun. Let me know if you want to be tagged, or if I missed you!

#timinette #maribat #marinette x tim

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 39: Rebel Song

The gang returns to the war-torn Orlesian countryside, and the welcome they receive is far from warm. Banter and action, this time with even more terrible jokes because Sera has come with :’D

Read on AO3! Or read from the beginning

Tristan rubbed his eyes with a yawn. The steady rocking of his horse and the thick, humid heat was making him sleepy. His backside wasn’t at its best either, admittedly: they had been riding for the better part of the week, and this day was already drawing near its end.

The journey through the Orlesian countryside had been everything that Tristan had expected, and worse. So, so much worse. His advisors had warned him that things would be different from when he had last been to the place, but even their expectations had been inaccurate, by a fairly large margin.

He and his party had followed the Imperial Highway for as long as they could- the only road, really, that was still accessible to travellers for the most part. Most other great roads, as the various Inquisition agents at the outposts they had stopped along the way had informed them, had been closed off by the barricades set up by either Gaspard’s or Celene’s armies, or were unsafe for small groups to traverse. That, too, was new: the number of outlaws and bandits had increased tenfold during the months Tristan had been away- and it hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing the last time, either. Last time around it had been bands of Freemen roaming the land- this time, it was men and women that evidently had even less than the deserters from the armies to lose and preyed on whoever was poor or desperate enough to travel the countryside alone without arms or protection. They were vicious, but cowardly, never taking on large or armed groups, and swore no allegiance to anyone at all.

Which raised the question: where were the Freemen?

“There haven’t been any sightings in weeks, Ser,” an Inquisition scout informed him, when they’d stopped for the night at an Inquisition camp just past Lydes. “After word has spread of your victory in the Emerald Graves, most of their camps were deserted soon after. Some say that they’ve returned to their homes, those who still had one, while others claim they have all moved out of the plains and gone to the West, where there are still empty places for them to settle, and no one to come after them.”

“The West?” Tristan had asked the young woman in curiosity. “There’s nothing past here at all, and all western roads lead to the Badlands. Even the Freemen that are left cannot be that desperate.”

The scout had simply shrugged.

It didn’t make much sense to Tristan- but then again, not much of what the Freemen did made sense to him. For the next few days, as they steadily trudged along the Imperial Highway, alongside throngs of refugees and the occasional merchant caravan that was still bold enough to brave the war-torn countryside, they kept passing by abandoned camps, or the old manors and watchtowers that had been claimed, rummaged, and then left to ruin by the Freemen. Apart from the occasional travel weary and worn down infantry division from either Celene’s or Gaspard’s armies, whose officers merely pretended to keep an eye over the towns and villages that had been claimed during the war, the only other people they encountered were beggars or tired and scared men, women and children with dirt smudged faces and clothes that were about to fall off their skinny shoulders.

Orlais really, really couldn’t get much worse than this.

With a sigh, Tristan straightened on his saddle, rolled his shoulders, tilted his head this way and that. Travelling on horseback all day did not agree with him, and the devastation all around him did nothing to lift his mood. He could feel his stomach churning and his head throbbing ever so slightly as the rays of the setting sun fell straight into his eyes. The only thing that settled his upset stomach on those days was his fine Antivan brandy, though he had been careful not to drink too much. He needed to stay alert, and the humid heat that surrounded them like a blanket took most of the edge off all by itself. Tristan could already feel his eyelids drooping, and it wasn’t even nightfall yet.

Well. One swig couldn’t hurt much, could it?

From atop his bay gelding, Dorian shot him a curious look when he saw him tipping his flak over his lips. Tristan swallowed the mouthful of brandy, then raised his eyebrows at him in question.

“How come you still have enough of this?” Dorian asked him in a low voice, steering his horse so he was riding beside him. “I thought you would have finished it days ago.”

“I’ve been careful with it,” Tristan replied as he carefully screwed the flask’s cap shut. “I only brought the one, and we still have weeks ahead of us. What?” he asked when Dorian blinked.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just… impressed that’s all.”

“Are you? I don’t know whether to feel proud or concerned that you think my resolve so brittle.”

“Brittle?” Dorian chuckled softly, “Not at all. I don’t know anyone that’s more stubborn than you are, in fact.”

“Except for you, you mean?” Dorian rolled his eyes, and Tristan grinned. How he liked to tease him. His lips that pursed ever so slightly, his eyebrow that lifted just a bit, the rueful little glances he shot him out of the corner of his eye before he looked away. How he managed to be irresistible even when irked, Tristan could never understand. It made him want to tease him all the more.

“In any case,” Tristan said casually, slipping the flask back in his coat pocket, “if you wanted a sip, all you had to do is ask. I’ve seen how you keep eyeing my flask.”

Dorian huffed a laugh. “Trust me, amatus, your flask is the last thing I keep eyeing.”

“Yeah, amatusss, your ‘flask’ is the last thing he’s been eyeing,” Sera snickered from the next horse over. “The first thing he’s been eyeing is your—”

“Sera,” Dorian hissed in warning. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare.”

“What? I was only going to say his arse.”

Dorian turned to glare at her, outrage writ all over his face. Sera burst out in wicked, high pitched laughter that made several of the weary travellers that were trailing alongside them on the Highway stop and gawk at them. Tristan bit his lip down hard to stop himself from laughing as well, but it wasn’t long before Dorian’s murderous glare was directed at him.

“You, too?” Dorian asked him pointedly.

Tristan gave him an apologetic little smile, still trying to stop himself from following Sera’s example, who seemed incredibly amused at having riled Dorian. “I mean,” he said in a strained voice, trying his best to keep a straight face, “she’s probably right. You’re not very subtle.”

Dorian clicked his tongue and punched him lightly on the shoulder, just as Sera slapped her thigh and cackled even more loudly. She laughed until her brown gelding whinnied in protest to her jerky movements and tossed its head back, causing Sera to almost lose her balance.

Dorian sniffed in disdain, then kicked his horse forward, his back straight and his head held high in defiance.

“Oh, come on—” Tristan laughed, following him with Almond. “It was just a joke!”

“No, it wasn’t!” Sera cackled after them both. “I call them like I see them!”

“Not listening!” Dorian replied with a wave of his hand, his golden rings glittering in the disappearing evening light.

From atop his horse, Iron Bull let out a deep, throaty chuckle. He stood almost two heads taller than everyone else, sitting tall and straight on the enormous draft horse Master Dennet had managed to find for him. It was a tough and calm mount, slow but sure footed, meant to draw carriages and plough carts rather than being ridden, but there had been no other horse suitable for the large Qunari.

It’s no Asaarash, Iron Bull had said when he saw it, but it will have to do. Better than my own legs could, anyhow.

“With all the racket you three keep making," he said, "I’m surprised no Freemen have come crawling out of their hideouts to attack us. I would kill for some entertainment right now.” He winked at Solas, who was riding beside him on his chestnut coloured hart, “Get it, Solas? Kill for entertainment?”

Solas let out a small, exasperated sigh. “Yes, I do get it, Iron Bull. Unfortunately, the jest continues to be lost on me, as it has been the last five times you said it.”

“Ah, that’s ‘cause none of you can appreciate a good joke,” Bull laughed with a dismissive wave. “I tell you, those guys are just hiding in the bushes, waiting for us to lower our guard.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Want to bet on it?” Bull grinned.

Solas only frowned and looked ahead of him.

After this, they rode for a while in blissful silence, with Dorian’s annoyed pout relenting only after Tristan promised not to tease him again, then proceeded to peel an apple for him and carve it in the shape of a duck with one of his sharpest knives. It didn't look particularly good, but the apple was still sweet and crisp, and a soft blush had crept up Dorian's cheeks when he'd accepted it, so Tristan couldn't complain much.

Darkness fell all around them, and with it heavy clouds gathered overhead and a thick layer of mist covered the earth. The terrain changed slowly and steadily, with the tall grasses giving way to small thickets dispersed through the expansive land, and the flat plains rising in low, rolling hills. The air was so thick and humid that it made Tristan’s clothes stick to his skin, and the horses’ movements slow and sluggish. It wasn’t long before a droplet fell on his head, then another. Soon, raindrops were gliding past Tristan’s collar and the openings of his boots, warm like sweat.

“We’ll need to find shelter soon,” Tristan told them all, squinting in the half dark. The people travelling alongside them had dispersed with the approaching dusk and the rain, until it was just the five of them on the wide, hard packed dirt road. They should have reached the Inquisition outpost close to Verchiel a good two hours before, but the barricade that had been set up by Celene's soldiers at the Fleurcolline passage had greatly delayed them. Now they were stuck in the middle of nowhere, and with not much hope of reaching the outpost until dawn came.

“We can’t ride for long in this weather," Tristan said, gathering his coat around him, "and it’s dangerous to travel after dark.”

The rest of his party didn’t seem overly pleased to continue travelling like this either, with Dorian muttering curses under his breath as he wrapped himself in his leather overcoat, and Sera’s gelding tossing its head back in annoyance whenever the elf fidgeted on the saddle, which was a near constant occurrence. Bull and Solas seemed far less perturbed by the foul weather, yet no less tired.

“Shall we set up camp?” Solas asked, looking around.

“If you can find a decent spot,” Tristan grumbled. There was open space all around them, with only a few thickets of miserable trees that would probably not provide any shelter from the rain. The ground, too, was covered in mud, and he didn’t relish the notion of sleeping in a soddy tent, or having a miserable dinner of hardtack and cold cheese. Even Dorian’s and Solas’ magic couldn’t keep a fire going for long if there was no dry wood to be found.

He let his gaze wander off into the distance, and was rewarded when he saw flickering lights, not too far ahead. A glance at his map confirmed his hopes; there was a small town nearby, one that the agents of the Inquisition they had last met had said was amongst the last standing this side of Orlais.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Sera asked when Tristan drew all of their attention to the village. “On we go, chop chop! Been dying for a mug of ale for hours.”

Solas glanced at the lights warily. “Do you know who is in charge of this town?”

“No one, as far as the scouts knew,” Tristan answered. Horville, as the place was called, used to be a crossroads town, meant for merchant caravans to stop and rest their horses and riders. Most of the buildings were inns and shops, with only a few houses for the people who worked there. After the war had broken out, it had been primarily frequented by the infantry and cavalry divisions that crossed the plains from time to time, staying only for a short while before moving on to the next post. It had been intentionally kept as a neutral ground of sorts, with no one army claiming ownership over the small town and its businesses.

Solas’ expression darkened. “No one that we can see, perhaps.”

Tristan considered Solas’ words for a few moments. Perhaps it was somewhat reckless to walk into a town that they knew so little about, but in the end his hunger and exhaustion seemed to overcome his suspicions. Dorian and Sera were none too quick to agree when he suggested they all ride to the small town in search of an inn to spend the night. No matter who was in charge of the village, they would hardly deny some weary travellers some rest, especially those with coin to spend. Right?

“Who are you, and what business have you?”

The guard standing behind the oak and iron-wrought gate had a gruff voice and an ever gruffer appearance, only partially illuminated by the lamp he held before his face. It was half hidden by his dark hood, but Tristan could still see the unkempt beard and the pock marks on his cheeks. Despite his rough appearance though, his cloak seemed sturdy and well made, and the leather handle of his sword hilt freshly worked. Business was going well in Horville, it seemed.

Tristan pushed his own hood back, and in his best Orlesian, he said, “We’re travellers, looking for shelter from this rain. A warm meal, too, and some drink to wash it down. Are you not going to let us in?”

The man squinted at them. “Don’t get many travellers like yourselves around these parts. Not anymore.”

“It appears you have now.” He let his lips curl in a cold smile, willfully ignoring the man’s hand that was already straying to his sword. His own hand slithered within the folds of his coat, pulling out his coin purse. “We’re not going to be any trouble. I assure you.”

The gold coin that Tristan tossed in his direction flipped in a small arc, catching the light of the lamp before it was snatched in the air by the guard’s practiced hand. The man’s beady black eyes widened when he beheld the coin, then his gaze flicked to each one of them in turn. After a few brief moments of intense scrutiny, he sniffed and jerked his head to the side, signalling for the men behind the gates to let them in.

“Keep an eye on your beast,” he said gruffly as their horses passed him by, shooting a baleful look at the Iron Bull’s horns. Tristan turned to glare at him, but the man only sniffed again and spat on the ground.

“Sour tit,” Sera mumbled under her breath, glaring daggers at the man over her shoulder. “Should have looked at his own ugly mug.”

“Pay him no mind, Bull,” Tristan told the Qunari in a low voice as he led his horse down the narrow cobblestone street. “Most of these people have never seen a Qunari before in their lives.”

“No worries, Boss,” Bull said, his lips widening in his usual, easy smile. “I’ve heard worse while sparring with the boys. These guys have probably seen their share of trouble. Can’t blame them for being cautious.”

Read the rest on AO3!

#dorian pavus #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian pavus/trevelyan #pavelyan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #dorian pavus/inquisitor #dorian x tristan trevelyan #tristan trevelyan #sera #iron bull #a world with you #johaerys writes

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thegoodgayshit · 3 years

Link

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Twenty: I Meet the Mistress of Blight Manor

When Luz woke up to the warm light of the sun, she immediately felt nauseous. Coughing, she leaned to her left and threw up. It must have been some kind of unconscious muscle memory because there was already a bucket waiting there for her.

She heard a collection of loud voices from behind her that she was too nauseous to place as well as the movement of a person, but she couldn’t focus on that right now while she was still heaving over the bucket.

There wasn’t much left in her stomach, but by the time she had finished, she rolled over and collapsed back onto whatever she’d been lying on. It was soft and decently comfortable, so she didn’t really have any complaints. Her head was spinning, and she wondered how long she’d been out.

The last thing she remembered was the prom. She’d been all dressed up, dancing with Amity, and then there were the bronze automatons and running from security….

She forced her eyes open in terror, sitting up way too quickly. She heard someone jump from across the room, and get to their feet.

“Luz, calm down. You’re hurt.”

She looked over to see Willow sitting on the other side of the bed she was in, back in her traveling clothes, and she felt relief wash over her. Willow was here, and everything was going to be fine. Thank the gods, because the movement made her immediately feel sick again, and leaned back over to the bucket, but nothing else was coming out. She was spent.

Willow was leaning over her, rubbing her back comfortingly when Luz eventually just pushed the bucket away. She groaned against the mattress she was on, clutching the sheets and trying to get a grip on her swirling stomach. When she looked down, she realized somebody had changed her. She was no longer wearing the suit, instead, she had been stripped down to the white undershirt she’d had on and a pair of sleeping shorts that definitely weren’t hers.

“Where are we?” She croaked out, looking around the room. It was nowhere Luz had been before, it was way too fancy to be familiar.

The room was massive, with dark hardwood floors and grey walls. The bed she was in was easily at least a queen, with dark magenta bedding and soft sheets. There was a dresser and a nightstand that matched the dark grey bed frame, and for god’s sake, the room had a windowsill nook for sitting, with comfortable looking magenta blankets and pillows. Against the wall where the door was, there was a little wooden desk and chair with a couple of notebooks scattered on top of it, and a bookshelf piled with books, organized by color. Luz guessed it was usually clean on a normal day, but today it was messier, with two sleeping bags scattered on the floor, and all their backpacks and supplies nestled near the windowsill.

Willow didn’t answer her question, so Luz looked back at her, blinking to make sure she wasn’t imagining her. “Willow, what happened?”

Her eyesight was foggy, and when she coughed, her side shot up with pain. She winced, clutching at it, and Willow finally moved, leaning forward to gently push Luz back into the sheets.

“Just take it easy,” she said comfortingly, and when Luz looked back up, a little clearer this time, she could make out Willow’s gentle green eyes and her comforting smile. Exhaling, Luz forced herself to relax, trying to slow down her breathing. When Willow was satisfied, she patted Luz’s arm reassuringly.

“Everything is fine. You got hurt after you pulled that stupid stunt at the university, so we needed to find a place you could rest. We’re in Cherry Hills Village.”

“Why is that name familiar?” Luz groaned, rubbing her head with her hand. “And why does my entire body feel like it’s been run over by the Minotaur?”

“Pasiphae’s son,” Willow gently corrected.

Luz slowly tried to sit up again, despite Willow’s protests. She slowly let herself sit in an upright position, her back resting against the super-soft pillows. Seriously, she felt like a Disney princess.

“Where’s Gus and Amity? Are they alright?”

Willow winced, and Luz’s eyes immediately widened. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Willow said quickly, holding out her hands. “Sorry, that was stupid of me. They’re fine. Everybody is okay. They’re just downstairs grabbing you some food. I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

Luz nodded slowly, exhaling. Her head was still pounding, and her chest felt like it’d been crushed from the inside out, but she was already feeling a little bit better. She said that much to Willow, who smiled.

“That’s good. The sooner you’re better, the sooner we can get moving. But no rush, take all the time you need.”

She handed Luz a glass of water that had been left for her and some Tylenol. She took them readily, gulping down a couple of sips of water before handing it back to her.

“So, what do you remember?” Willow asked, and Luz furrowed her brow as she tried to put the pieces back together. She recalled the meeting with Aphrodite, getting dressed up and going to prom, the conversation she had with Willow, losing track of time while dancing with Amity, and causing them to lose Gus and Willow…

“Thanks for that by the way,” Willow said with a scowl, and Luz chuckled in embarassment.

“Sorry.”

She recalled the automatons, and the thorn vault, and how she’d thrown the bag at the ground… but then everything else was a blur.

“That’s all you remember?” Willow asked seriously, and Luz frowned.

She felt like her head was fuzzy, and she was missing something important… but that was it. It was a wall of darkness after that.

“What happened after I blacked out?” Luz asked, and Willow shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, we had security looking for us, but thankfully they couldn’t track us after we left. I spoke to this mom who was willing to drive our “intoxicated friend” to the hospital, so we took you there. You were a babbling mess… but when you got to the hospital you just collapsed. It was pretty scary, we weren’t sure if you were going to be alright or not.”

Luz swallowed anxiously. She didn’t remember any of that.

“We sent an Iris message to camp and made Viney tell us what was in that bag. Turns out it was a combination bag… a helium/Hecate powder mix. Once we found out it was non-lethal, she told us it was probably a good idea to get you somewhere to rest and shake off your magic hangover.”

Luz felt her cheeks heat up the more Willow talked. Gods, she hoped she hadn’t said or done anything too embarrassing.

“What about the pain in my chest?”

Willow laughed. “You got launched like, seven feet into the air and straight into the ground. I’m not an Apollo camper, but even I knew you had some kind of broken rib. We’ve been giving you nectar, so hopefully, it’s not broken anymore, but I’m not surprised it still hurts.”

Luz looked around the room again, her vision starting to clear up a little bit. She could see that it was midday outside the window, the sun decently high in the sky. It was also becoming more obvious just how nice the house they were in was (if it could be even called a house). The outside lead down a huge driveway, and into a polished and clean street. It was easily just as, if not more, expensive than Orpheus’ manor.

“You said we’re at… Cherry Hills Village?” Luz asked, doing her best to recall that name. “Who… who lives here again?”

“We’re at my parents’ house.”

Luz’s head snapped to the door at the sound of Amity’s voice, breaking out into a huge grin when she saw her. Amity was standing in the door frame, a huge serving tray of food in her hands. She had changed out of her dress and was back in the long-sleeved black shirt and purple leggings, her hair in its typical half up half down style. She smiled softly when she saw Luz, and the grin on Luz’s face widened.

“Amity!”

From behind her, Gus peeked over her shoulder and waved happily to Luz, also dressed out of his suit and back into his t-shirt and button-up.

“Hey, Luz! How are you feeling?”

Luz lifted one arm to weakly wave back, wincing at the slight pain in her ribs as she did.

“A little sore, but I’ll be alright.” She turned her head back to Amity, who walked in and set the tray of food down at the end of the huge bed. “Amity, did you say we were at your parents’ house?” She lowered her voice, trying not to look too nervous. “Like… you’re parents, parents?”

Amity shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, “yeah, we’ve been here for just over a day and a half. You needed somewhere to rest, and this is the first place I could think of. Mortal police were looking all over the city for us, it’s not like we could go back to the workshop.”

“I’ve been asleep for over a day and a half?” Luz gawked, pulling at her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry guys!”

“Luz, don’t apologize,” Willow insisted, smiling reassuringly.

“Yeah, you saved our bacon back at the prom, we probably wouldn’t have gotten away without your plan,” Gus added, walking up to her and patting the comforter she was under reassuringly. He broke out into a big smile. “That thorn vault? It was awesome!”

“Besides, everything worked out,” Amity said, fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt. “We needed to get off the street anyways, and this is the place to go. Nobody bothers the Blights.” While she had started the sentence reassuringly, the tone of her voice had changed halfway through, and now had a bit of an edge to it.

Luz frowned, discomfort pricking the back of her spine. She sensed that Amity was holding something back from her. “Are… are you alright? I mean… being here? I can get dressed and we can go-”

Amity shook her head and smiled, but Luz could tell it was a little bit forced. “It’s fine, Luz. I spend the school year here, remember? Nothing I can’t handle. Just focus on healing up.”

Amity pushed the tray of food towards her, and Luz’s mouth watered. Now that she was fully waking up, she was feeling a lot less nauseous, and she realized just how hungry she was. There was a sandwich on the table, and she shoveled it into her mouth so quickly she couldn’t even tell what was in it, probably because she was barely chewing. Gus laughed, but Amity and Willow moved forward in concern.

“Luz, slow down,” Willow warned.

“Yeah, you don’t want to be sick again,” Amity added, handing her the cup on the tray. Luz took it gratefully, and this time when she swallowed, she could tell by the sweetness it was apple juice.

“Sorry,” Luz said, not really meaning it, already reaching for one of the cookies on the tray. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“That’s a good sign,” Willow said with a smile, taking one of the cookies as well. “Gus had also helped himself, though Luz noticed Amity didn’t and felt that discomfort come back. She got the feeling Amity wasn’t letting Luz in on everything that had happened since she passed out. Luz suddenly felt antsy, like she should get up and start trying to move.

The second she pulled the comforter off her body, and the cool air hit her exposed legs and arms, she shivered but still turned to put her feet near the floor. Amity moved right away, catching Luz by the arm.

“What are you doing?” She asked, her eyes narrowing. “You need to be taking it easy.”

“I’m fine, Amity,” Luz insisted, her feet touching the cold hardwood. She turned her head to Gus, who had just finished his cookie. “Would you pass me my backpack? I want to change.”

Gus nodded and went over to it, and Amity’s grip tightened on Luz’s arm. “Are you sure you’re alright? You shouldn’t be pushing yourself too hard.”

“The longer I’m in bed the longer Hestia is in that cage, and Belos is recruiting dead demigods,” Luz said certainly, and while her chest was still aching, it wasn’t nearly a good enough reason to be relaxing. “You still have Peleus’ shield, right?”

Amity nodded, pointing to a new bracelet on her left hand Luz hadn’t noticed before. It was bronze, like Luz’s ring, and was in the shape of an olive branch, wrapping around Amity’s wrist.

“It’s magical, like your ring,” Amity explained, and when she touched it, it shifted into the same bronze shield Luz had used to smack over the head of the automaton.

“I was reading the plaque in the classics building, and it said the shield was just as crucial to Peleus as his sword. He called it Dikē, the pair to Aletheia.” Gus pointed to Luz’s ring, “so disclosure and truth,” and then to Amity’s bracelet, “and justice and law.”

Amity extended the shield out to her. “Here, you should have it, they go together after all.”

Luz shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m no good with a shield. You keep it.”

Amity blinked, looking at Luz like she was crazy. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Positive! Besides, I can’t use a shield and my hand buzzer.” Luz insisted with a smile, and Amity turned to Willow and Gus with a frown.

“Willow, Gus? Do either of you want it?”

“I’ve got my own shield,” Gus said, pointing to his watch.

“I’m with Luz, shields aren’t really my style,” Willow added with a shrug. “Even if we did almost die getting it.”

“I said I was sorry!” Luz exclaimed, and Willow laughed.

Amity grinned, clearly excited she was able to keep the magical item. She touched the shield, and it turned back into the bracelet. Luz chuckled, gesturing to the design.

“The bracelet suits you better than it would suit me anyway. It’s really pretty. Definitely your style.”

Amity’s face flushed a deeper red, and Luz suddenly realized what she had said. Her own cheeks pinked, and Amity took a few steps back from the bed.

“I’ll… I’ll let you change then. Gus, would you help me downstairs with the maps in my father’s study?”

Gus jumped at the offer. “Obviously! Your dad’s war maps are so cool, I could look at them for hours.”

Amity nodded quickly, turning to the door. “You two can join us when you’re ready. Willow, you know the way right?”

Willow nodded, shooting Amity a knowing smile. “Yep! Fourth room on the left.”

Once Amity and Gus left, the door closing behind them, Willow broke out into a series of chuckles, turning to Luz and shaking her head.

“You’re going to kill her, you know that right?”

Luz was suddenly not feeling as cold. She laughed nervously, grabbing her backpack from where Gus had left it on the corner of the bed. She reached in and pulled out her change of clothes, and started pulling socks over her feet.

“I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on Luz,” Willow retorted, rolling her eyes. “I saw you two dancing. Then you were late to the classics building, and then when you hit yourself with that helium bomb you were all over Amity-”

“I was what?” Luz squeaked in horror. She had been halfway done pulling her cat hoodie over her head, and she forced her eyes through the hole just to look at Willow, terrified.

“Right, you don’t remember,” Willow chuckled, shaking her head affectionately. Luz was going to strangle her for being so nonchalant until she continued.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything too embarrassing. But you were leaning on her shoulder the entire ride to the hospital, and then again when we were waiting for a cab. I thought Amity was going to explode, your face was right up against her ear-”

“Alright, I get it, I get it!” Luz squawked, her heart hammering so hard in her chest she was surprised it didn’t break another rib. She pulled her arms through the hoodie and slipped her leggings and shorts on next. While she reached for her shoes, she was painfully aware of Willow watching her, clearly taken aback by her reaction.

“Is everything okay? Honestly, I thought you would be happy. You do like Amity, right?”

Luz’s cheeks flushed, and she finished putting on her shoes and ran a hand through her hair. Her stomach was squirming like she’d just drank a whole glass of milk, and she thought she might be sick again, but it wasn’t from being unconscious.

“Of course I like Amity,” Luz said, and she didn’t miss the excited little smile that passed over Willow’s face. “I like Amity… a lot, actually. I’m just worried I messed things up.”

“What do you mean?” Willow asked, tilting her head.

“When we were at the prom I thought…” Luz’s palms began to swear. “I thought I might kiss her. Then I realized you were gone and I kind of freaked out. ”

“Oh my gods, Luz! Tell me everything.”

So she ran the story by Willow, everything from the dance to the almost kiss, and when she finished, Willow winced.

“Yeah, that… could have gone smoother.”

“I’m just worried that Amity thinks I pulled away on purpose, or chickened out,” Luz explained, wringing her hands together nervously. “And then… what if she didn’t want me to kiss her? I didn’t even ask! For god’s sake, we’re on a quest to save Olympus and here I am trying to kiss one of my quest companions-”

Willow reached out and took Luz’s hand reassuringly, and Luz stopped. When she met Willow’s gaze, the daughter of Demeter was watching her carefully.

“Luz, I’ve known Amity for a long time. I don’t think she would think something like that. But even if she did, you should talk to her about it if it’s really bothering you. Sometimes all a problem needs is a little communication. I think you’d be surprised how understanding she can be.”

Luz slowly felt herself begin to feel better. Willow always had a way with words. Sometimes Luz wondered if she was secretly a child of Aphrodite.

“You’re right,” Luz said, managing a smile. “Thanks, Willow.”

“Anytime!” She said, patting her thigh. “Do you want your toothbrush? There’s a bathroom attached to Amity’s room…”

Luz made quick work of getting ready, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and fixing her hair. When she was feeling presentable, she met Willow back in Amity’s room. Now that she wasn’t just waking up, she was surprised she hadn’t recognized the space as the daughter of Aphrodite’s at first glance.

The room smelt strongly of Amity, the same lavender and mint scent she’d had after her shower in the workshop, and despite the clearly expensive furniture, the posters around the wall of the desk were very much Amity. There was one of the camp posters they sold in the shop, with this one repping Cabin Ten. Luz’s face lit up in delight when she saw posters for both the third and fourth “The Good Witch Azura” books, and she immediately wondered if Amity had read any of the book she’d let her borrow her over the day and a half they’d been here.

The Blight Manor. Luz’s stomach was starting to swirl with worry. She’d heard about the Blight parents from their daughter, and they hadn’t exactly been good things.

“What’s with the face?”

Luz turned to Willow, who was sitting on the sleeping bag on the floor, sorting through her backpack.

“What are Amity’s parents like?” Luz asked, rubbing her arm, hoping for reassurance. Just based on the look Willow shot her in return, Luz had a feeling she wasn’t going to get any.

“They’re… a lot. They haven’t really bothered us since we’ve been here, but I know Amity’s dad wanted to talk to you when you woke up.”

Luz blinked, her eyes widening in surprise. “He wants to talk to me? Why?”

Willow shrugged. “No idea, Amity seemed surprised too. I think she was expecting more of a fight when we showed up the other day. Amity’s mother wasn’t too happy to see us, but her father let us in no problem.”

Luz was now feeling a lot more anxious. What would an experienced half-blood like Mr. Blight want from a newbie like Luz?

“Try not to worry too much,” Willow said, clearly picking up on Luz’s hesitation. “Why don’t we just head down to the office? Amity and Gus are waiting for us. We have to start thinking about our next move.”

“You’re right,” Luz said with a nod, doing her best to push away her insecurities. “Hestia is still trapped, and we’re the only help she’s got. Lead the way.”

Willow and Luz left Amity’s room, walking down the hallways of Blight Manor. The aesthetic was much different in the large home than it was in Amity’s room. There was a lot of homage to Greek-style and architecture, with a variety of expensive-looking sculptures and tapestries lined up. They passed a couple of other rooms, and Luz wondered to herself if any of them belonged to the Blight twins. Eventually, Willow led Luz down a huge marble staircase, with a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

It looked like Luz had been wrong. This manor was clearly more expensive than Orpheus’.

They passed a huge kitchen, with beautiful finishes, and appliances that were so advanced they could have easily been made by one of the campers from Cabin Nine. Luz remembered Amity saying her parents worked on Olympus. Maybe they were made by the god Hephaestus himself. They passed three separate seating areas, with lavish furniture and décor that made it difficult for Luz to imagine Amity or her older siblings sitting down at any of them. It was only when they passed a glorious white grand piano that Luz realized despite the obvious wealth and beauty that went into the home, nothing about it felt homely.

There was any sign of children growing up or living here. No pictures hanging on the walls, no mess in the kitchens, no cubby’s crammed with stuff like in Luz’s Mami’s apartment. It was like nobody lived here at all.

She was starting to feel sorry for Amity.

Luz was so zoned out in thought, she hadn’t even realized Willow had completely stopped, and she accidentally bumped into her, letting out a little “oomph!”

Willow reached behind and steadied her, and that’s when Luz looked up and saw why Willow had stopped.

A woman was standing there, easily towering eight inches over Luz. She had green hair that matched the twins, curled into a tight bun, and she was wearing a regal looking black suit, tapered in all the right professional places, with a crisp dark grey blouse and matching heels.

When Luz met her eyes, she realized with a jolt they were gold, like Amity’s. But there was something… off about them. Luz could tell the difference right away. This woman’s eyes were darker, almost like the color of a wilting dandelion, and they were currently narrowed so she could hardly see her iris'. Amity’s eyes were deeper and much more vibrant. Even when Amity was scowling, Luz could always see the golds of her eyes.

Willow’s grip tightened on her arm. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Blight.”

The woman’s gaze flickered between Willow and Luz, and Luz’s stomach had been swirling so bad at what Willow had said, (this was Amity’s MOTHER) that she forgot to introduce herself, leaving them standing there awkwardly.

“Uh, my apologies,” Luz said quickly, doing her best to recall how to properly introduce herself. Hopefully, her Mami’s training before her work Christmas party was finally going to be useful. She did her best to make eye contact, extending her hand to Mrs. Blight. “My name is Luz Noceda. Thank you for your gracious hospitality over the last two days.”

Mrs. Blight straightened, looking at Luz’s hand for a moment, and Luz began to get more nervous, worried she’d done the wrong thing. Eventually, however, she took it, and the grip was so strong Luz thought her wrist might break. She did her best to disguise her wince.

“It is my pleasure, Miss Noceda,” she said, her voice so smooth it was like velvet. Luz was having a hard time looking at her in the eyes, because the entire time she talked, nothing about her expression gave anything away. “I have heard much about you on Olympus. You are making quite the name for yourself.”

Luz laughed awkwardly. “All good things, I hope?”

Mrs. Blight’s stony expression did not waver. “Yes. Good things. You have done well to make a name for yourself in the short time you’ve been claimed. It is… impressive. I could only dream for Amity and her siblings to do the same.”

Luz fought the frown that was starting to grow on her face. That wasn’t very fair, Amity had been a little kid when she was claimed. How was a seven year old supposed to go on heroic quests to save Olympus? It was only due to Luz’s bad luck she’d manage to get into as much trouble as she already had. And Amity was a hero, she pushed herself harder than any other demigod at camp, and it showed. She wasn’t just well-liked, but well respected too. She opened her mouth to say as much but was stopped when she felt the grip on her arm tighten. She turned her head, and Willow was giving her a pleading look.

Right, this was Amity’s mother. She didn’t want to make more trouble for Amity by calling her out.

So instead, she just cleared her throat and managed a polite smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Blight.”

Amity’s mother paused again, looking Luz up and down. “You are a child of Hermes, is that correct?”

Luz nodded, and Mrs. Blight hummed under her breath.

“His children are frequently resourceful. You were able to arrive in Colorado in half the time as Amity’s first quest, as well as rescue her along the way. You’ve shown great leadership and spared the Blight name a bad reputation. For that, I am grateful, Miss Noceda.”

Luz blinked, confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand. How did I spare your family name?”

Mrs. Blight’s nose crinkled, and Luz worried she’d overstepped, but then she just clicked her tongue, looking to the left towards a bronze bust Luz hadn’t noticed until now.

“When Amity first arrived here, Alador and I thought she was going to succeed with her other companions and save Olympus. When we’d learned she’d been captured… this was quite unfortunate news. We work hard to ensure our reputation of Olympus is kept intact, Miss Noceda, and anything that threatens that is… a problem.”

As Luz slowly began to process what Mrs. Blight was saying she felt a new feeling begin to rise up in her chest, and she felt her body begin to get stiff. She was angry.

How could Mrs. Blight blame Amity for what happened in Boulder? It wasn’t her fault! If it wasn’t for the ridiculous standards her parents put on her shoulders, Amity might have actually been able to recognize what the prophecy meant in the first place. She did the best she could in a terrible situation. As she felt her anger grow, Willow’s grip on her arm was starting to get impossibly tight. Thankfully, Mrs. Blight seemed to be unaware of this change in Luz.

“Regardless, now that Amity is back on the right track with you leading the quest, perhaps there is less to be concerned about. You have won the favor of… many gods.” Something in Mrs. Blight’s face changed, and Luz’s anger was temporarily broken as she watched in surprise, but it came rushing back in a flood when she continued. “So with Olympus on your side, I’m sure Amity won’t be able to make a mess of your quest this time.”

Mrs. Blight walked over to the bust, pulling a cloth out of her pocket. She ran it over the head of the figure, polishing it before taking a few steps back, her heels clicking on the marble floor. When she decided it was clear, she turned back to Luz and Willow. She eyed Luz up and down again, and Luz was suddenly reminded of the Caucasian Eagle. She had the same kind of predatory eyes as when the monster had swopped down at them.

“Following that, I want to make it clear that it is in your best interest to succeed, Miss Noceda. Any relief on your mission is a relief to my mother on Olympus. If that were not the case, I would not have let you rest in my home for as long as you have. Do you understand me?

Luz had met a handful of gods, and she was sure that making an enemy out of one would not be pleasant. But at this moment, she was certain that she would rather have an enemy out of a god than an enemy out of Amity’s mother.

“Yes, Mrs. Blight.”

Satisfied, the woman turned and walked away, leaving Luz alone with Willow and the bronze bust of the goddess Hecate.

#the owl house #lumity #luz x amity #Percy Jackson AU #shelby speaks

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xiaq · 4 years

Link

Harry takes his time setting up the pensieve. He holds the memory vial up to the light of the lamp and watches the cloudy liquid twist.

Draco tosses the bottle of firewhisky onto the mattress, and then follows it a moment later, belly down, looking apprehensive.

“Should we start the drinking portion of the evening now or after?” he asks.

Harry uncorks the memory.

“After, then,” Draco agrees.

“Ready?” Harry asks.

They both lean over the bowl of the pensieve.

Harry tips his hand.

They’re rather assaulted by a barrage of sound.

It’s twilight and the sprawling manor lawn—not Malfoy Manor, but Harry doesn’t recognise it—is full of people in dress robes drinking and talking and shouting at children over the distant sound of a band playing beneath a large white tent. There’s another tent that appears to be full of tables with staff bustling around adjusting place-settings and lighting candles.

“Wedding,” Draco murmurs beside him.

“Whose?” Harry asks.

“Haven’t the slightest. This is Zabini Manor, though. So likely family or close friends. Political allies.”

“Narcissa!” someone shouts.

A beautiful woman who looks rather like Pansy moves forward to hug the owner of the memory—Harry assumes it’s Narcissa.

“Pansy’s mother, Agatha,” Draco says. “Which means this must be the Edwards-Malcoste wedding. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor a few years ahead of my parents. It was a big deal in terms of old-blood family alliances, if I remember.”

And Harry realises the pink-cheeked toddler on the woman’s hip must actually be Pansy.

“She really was unfairly cute as a child,” Draco murmurs.

The women lean back from their embrace and Narcissa exclaims over Pansy’s growth since the last time they’d seen each other.

“Where’s your little one?” Agatha asks and Narcissa gestures toward one of the other tents in the distance.

“Oh, my sister has him. Off with the other little children.”

Pansy’s mother looks slightly alarmed.

“Not Bellatrix,” Narcissa laughs. “No. Can you imagine? Andromeda. We should probably go collect him, though, it looks like dinner will start shortly.”

The women link arms and make their way down the hill to a smaller tent with an assortment of magical toys scattered over a plush rug-covered floor. A dozen children under the age of three are amusing themselves under the watchful eyes of their various caregivers and, very obviously, in the center of things, is Draco.

It would be impossible to miss him.

He’s tiny—so tiny it makes something in Harry’s chest go tight and protective, and his white-blonde hair, usually so immaculate, is fluffed up in rather artful tufts, as if someone has grabbed it with sticky hands.

And then the little boy next to Draco does exactly that.

Shockingly, baby-Draco doesn’t appear to mind and instead repays the favour, tugging at the other child’s black curls until both of them are laughing uproariously.

Why, Harry can’t fathom, but children typically baffle him anyway.

“I can’t believe you’re letting that kid manhandle you,” Harry murmurs to Draco, voice low despite the fact that no one can hear them.

Draco says nothing.

Harry glances sideways and finds Draco staring, gape-mouthed and even paler than usual at the tableau before them.

“What?”

“That’s—” Draco points. “Harry, I think that’s—”

“Oh Merlin,” Narcissa sighs. “Is that James and Lily's boy?”

No.

Except.

Yes.

“—you,” Draco finishes.

He hadn’t recognised himself because he has so few photographs from his childhood—just the annual school pictures where his scar was the most noteworthy about him, always, and then his sombre expression and too-big clothing, so this bubbly, laughing, scar-free child—

There’s nothing of himself to recognise.

“He looks just like James, doesn’t he,” Agatha says as Narcissa greets her sister, standing off to the side.

“Nine months of effort and then the child comes out the spitting image of his father. Can’t imagine what that’s like,” Narcissa murmurs.

Andromeda laughs.

“Draco, darling,” Narcissa says, reaching a hand toward her son, now completely tangled in what appears to be a friendly wrestling match with tiny Harry, “come along, dear, it’s time for dinner.”

The children stop rolling around long enough for Draco to glance up at his mother and say assertively, “no.”

Content that the matter is handled, they go back to playing.

“Fantastic,” Narcissa murmurs. “What are they covered in? Is that—”

“Jam,” someone provides helpfully and Harry is startled to see Sirius—a much younger, happy-looking Sirius wearing a leather jacket over his slightly more formal wedding attire.

His ears are studded with little hoops and Harry is pretty sure he’s wearing eyeliner.

“Ah,” Narcissa says, sounding resigned. “Sirius. How lovely to see you.”

“Can’t say I feel the same,” he returns, smiling like it’s a joke, but Harry knows his face enough to see the truth in it.

“And it’s jam, smeared all over their…well, everything. The house elves brought around tea and toast a bit ago and Draco demanded jam with his. Rather large vocabulary for such a little man. Harry mostly sticks with ‘yes’ and ‘no.’”

“Draco gets quite a lot of use out of ‘no’ as well,” Narcissa responds drily.

#drarry #drarry fic #myfic #harry/draco #wdwg

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bookshelf-imagines · 4 years

Text

Chasing Light | Part I

Pairing/Fandom: Lumity/ToH

Summary: It’s chapter one! You figure that out <3

Warnings: None that I know of

Notes: Ages are up! Luz is 17, Amity is 16 (almost 17), Gus is 15, and Willow is also 16 <3 PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII

“Amity, get in here!”

“Yes, mother?”

“What did I tell you about calling me that?”

“...Is there something you need,” she grimaced, “Mistress?”

“Better. We are to receive news from the emperor later today. Be on your best behavior, and remember,”

“You’re not my daughter.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on, Luz! This is the last one we have to deliver.” A young courier rushed, he was a boy barely taller than a longsword. He had not hit a growth spurt yet, but his legs sure did move quickly.

“Coming, Gus! Man, this armor is so much easier to move around in.” The woman behind him replied. Fingers fidgeted with the strap of her sword, tightening it so she could catch up to her companion.

The two were an ordinary yet rare pair - couriers weren’t typically accompanied by a Roman legionnaire, nonetheless a Centurion, but Gus was a close friend of Luz’s.

“Here we are.”

Knock, knock, knock.

Gus pulled out a scroll while Luz assumed a position behind him, scanning the unfamiliar area.

The door swung open and revealed two tall, prestigious-looking figures. Fake smiles were plastered on their eager faces as they awaited the news.

“Greetings, Mr. Alador and Mrs. Odalia Blight. This is a message from the emperor that calls all senators back to the city. You will be granted a dwelling for you and your family with provided service and will remain there until further notice. It is imperative that you depart at the provided time so arrangements will already be made. The rest of the information is contained within here.” Gus finished and handed the scroll he was carrying to them. Alador, the senator, took the scroll from him and scanned its contents, affirming with a nod.

“Thank you, you may go.” Odalia shoved her husband back inside but was stopped by a voice.

“Excuse me.” Luz vocalized.

A look of worry overcame Mrs. Blight but was hastily masked with confusion.

“Is there a problem?”

“That girl over there, the one in the field.” Luz pointed, “What’s her name?”

“Her? Oh dear, she’s just a slave.”

“I’m sorry, but that isn’t what I asked. What is her name?”

Odalia sighed.

“Her name is Amity, but I assure you, she’s no one.”

Luz bowed her head and turned on her heel, ushering for Gus to follow. Once they were out of earshot, the owners of the villa broke out in conversation.

“They cannot know she is ours.” Odalia whispered.

“They will not, dear. I assure you.” Alador drearily responded.

“Might I remind you of what will happen to her if you slip up?”

“No, dear, you needn’t do that. We...only have one daughter.”

“Good. Now, make yourself useful. This manor won’t run itself.”

With that, Odalia sauntered away, leaving her husband to slump his shoulders and sigh in defeat. He only has one daughter, not two.

He only has one daughter, right?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gus raised his hands to the sky and stretched. “Another day down. What do you want to do now, Luz?”

Luz was focused on the ground as they continued walking, obviously not paying attention.

“Luz?” The courier waved a hand in front of his friend’s face, causing her to look up.

“Huh?”

“I asked what you wanted to do?” Guz reiterated but knew she still wasn’t paying attention.

“You, uh...You go hang out with Willow. I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep!” Luz assured, turning around and running back down the hill. “I’ll catch up!!” She threw a wave and kept going.

Gus simply smiled and continued on his way back to town, knowing what the legionnaire was going to do. Luz might be smart, but outside of battle her actions were predictable. Well, mostly. Okay, just to her friends, but they knew her! And just like Gus thought, she went back to see that girl.

Luz slowed her movements to a walk when the villa came into view, not wanting to alert anyone of her presence. She once again scanned the area but did not see many people. Following the tree line, Luz watched for whom she wanted to locate.

Suddenly, she was pulled into the thicket, a leg securing her own left leg and her scabbard, while an arm wrapped itself around her right bicep and throat, securing her in a loose chokehold. Luz’s hands perched themselves on the forearm wrapped around her throat but made no action of fighting back, knowing that whomever was behind her did not wish for lethality.

“Why did you ask for my name?” The captor brazenly demanded.

Luz shrugged. “You’re very pretty.”

“Wha...what?” The hold loosened further and Luz took full advantage of it, flipping the person behind her over her shoulders and securing them on the forest floor by straddling their waist and pinning their arms to the side.

“And much prettier up close.” Luz smiled goofily and then got up, stretching out her right hand.

Although her hand was refused, she continued to address the flustered mess in front of her.

“Amity, right?”

Amity brushed herself off and crossed her arms in front of her.

“Why would a…” Amity tilted her head to see the insignia on Luz’s sleeve, “...centurion of all people, be bothering with someone like me?”

“I told you- I think you’re pretty.”

“Ye-yeah, we went over that.” She took a step back. “What do you want with a slave?” Her gaze fell to the floor and her body shifted to the side as she spat out the last word, her walls being raised higher than before.

“Wait, you’re-”

“Luz?” A voice sounded.

While Luz lit up, Amity became worried. They both recognized that voice, and one of them wasn’t on good terms with the owner.

“Go. You shouldn’t be seen with me.”

Luz’s face dropped as she reluctantly stepped away, apologizing with her eyes.

“Gus! Willow!”

“Luz! Why...were you in the forest?” Willow queried, raising a brow.

“Oh, um…” The centurion started, “No reason.”

She hated lying, especially to her friends. It’s not like she wanted to, and it’s not like she cared about her reputation, so why did she lie?

“Are you sure? Gus told me-”

“Yep! All good, we’re going now. Bye, trees!” Luz gently grabbed both of her friends by their wrists and began dragging them back to the hill, leaving behind the only one that wanted to escape.

When the trio departed, Amity released a shaky breath and slid against a tree. She knew that voice better than she knew her own - it was that of her childhood best friend. It was the one she had to leave behind. The one she unwillingly and irreparably hurt.

“I’m so sorry, Willow.”

A twig snapped and Amity’s hair was yanked from behind, forcing her to her feet with a small yelp. A sinister laugh disrupted the peace of the forest as a spine-chilling whisper echoed in her ear.

“Oh, I’ll make you sorry, dear.”

#lumity #toh #the owl house #lumity fic #amity blight #luz noceda #gus porter #willow park #my fics #alador blight #odalia blight #roman au #fanfiction #toh fic

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loopout · 3 years

Note

can you write a wolfstar pre-dating kiss, from remus' pov :))

this is a part of a chapter i wrote for a longer fic of mine a while ago but hadn't the will to finish it, and since i probably won't, i'll try bringing at least a part of it to life. i hope this fulfills your wish at least partly!

to help you understand it better: sirius is a new servant at lupins' manor. he and remus soon become friends, and with time, a little more that just that.

"Sirius.''

Sirius adjusted his position, but made no other signs to let Remus know he's awake.

''Sirius!'' Remus hissed, gently shaking Sirius by his shoulder.

Sirius now peaked at Remus who got up and opened the windows and Sirius shivered at the sudden coolness of the room.

''What time is it?'' Sirius managed to strain, unwilling to get up.

''Around four, I'm not sure exactly.''

Sirius set against his elbow. Over the past month, Remus had developed a habit of waking Sirius up at ungodly hours for many different reasons. Sometimes he wanted to talk about everything and nothing, sometimes he would write something and then rush to let Sirius read it, sometimes he dragged Sirius out of bed to watch the stars with him, and once he fell asleep in Sirius' bed, and in the morning Sirius found himself curled up in Remus' arms. They never talked about it afterwards. ''And you woke me up for what?''

Remus grinned widely. ''I have to show you something.''

Sirius rubbed his eyes sleepily. ''It better be something good.'' He got out of bed reluctantly just to prove his point, but got ready as fast as he could as soon as he entered the bathroom, so he was ready faster than Remus expected him to be.

''You can't wear that, you'll be cold.''

''I have nothing warmer than this.'' Sirius pointed at the shirt he was wearing.

Remus smiled. ''I know. That's why I brought you this.'' He passed a sweater over to Sirius.

Sirius stripped off his own shirt and Remus' blush didn't go unnoticed, and put on the sweater. It was ridiculously big, but Remus found it irresistible, and Sirius tried hard not to think about the soft fabric that was pressed against his bare chest was touching Remus' own.

''You look adorable.''

''Oh shut it, will you?'' he now blushed as well.

The moonlight was washing over Sirius' face as he looked up at the other shyly, a feeling of affection towards the boy hitting him, and he felt pain in his chest from the love his heart was holding for Remus, all while Remus admired him for a while, then took Sirius' hand in his own. He felt Sirius was at unease, but didn' let go off his hand. Instead, he sqeezed it reassuringly and gave Sirius time to relax. They quietly sneaked out of the house, locking the door behind them.

''Where are we going?'' Sirius whispered as he found himself worried about wandering around in the middle of the night.

''You'll see soon enough,'' Remus whispered back, ''just be quiet until we leave the yard.''

Sirius nodded and let Remus drag him towards the big gate.

''We can't open it, they will hear us.''

Remus shook his head. ''You have no faith in me, have you?''

Sirius could only stare blankly back and let Remus do what he was planning on doing. He opened the heavy gate just enough so that both of them could scrape through, and then carefully closed it behind them. He turned to Sirius again and offered his hand. He watched the curve of Sirius' lips spread wider as he reached out and took Remus' hand. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and grinned. They walked down the empty road, the street lights painting their faces yellow as both boys felt true joy after a long time of emptiness and sorrow. And Sirius was so lost in the feeling of their intertwined fingers, and he wondered what would it be like being in Remus' arms, wondered what would it be like to feel his bare skin touching his own, and he let Remus take him wherever he wanted to go, because it didn't matter as long as they were together. And with every approaching second, he felt himself falling for the boy a little harder.

Remus took the path leading through many fields, slowing his gait down so Sirius could keep up without much effort. Sirius wanted this walk to never end despite the fatigue he was feeling because, after all, it really didn't matter, but before he knew it, and before he wanted to, they stopped. They stopped and Remus faced him again, deifying the sight before him.

''Are you cold?''

''A little.''

Remus sat down and widened his legs so that he could fit Sirius between them. Sirius felt a blood rush at an abnormal speed throughout all of his body and his knees went weak, and he sat down without a rational explanation of how he managed to do it. Remus embraced him and leaned his back against a tree. The tree he leaned on every time he felt happy, or sad, or angry, and real. Alive. When he was fully concious of himself and the world he was living in. It had never crossed his mind to share this with someone else, because this was his very own place that was safe and private, yet so downright, and so honest it was painful. Sirius relaxed in the touch and held Remus' hands with his own.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?"

Remus pressed a small kiss to Sirius' messy hair. "Mhm."

"Is this where you go when you say you go to the hills?"

"Mhm."

Sirius smiled and leaned his head back, and he could now feel Remus' breath in the crook of his neck.

"So I suppose it must be special for you?"

"You're talking too much."

And with a gentle movement of his hand, Remus cupped the other boy's cheek and kissed him briefly, breaking the way too short contact only just to look into Sirius' eyes, to let him know this isn't small to him, and then leaning in again, melting into the soft touch of their lips and hands and the thought of them kissing, doing something Remus had been dreaming of for so long. He got so lost in it that every trace of the world around them seemed to dissappear, as if nothing existed but their lips and wandering hands in that very moment, exploring the places that they have never been before. And in all that pure chaos that was created in his mind in thr matter of seconds, what suddenly hit Remus was the reality. The reality of what was happening and the awarness of the tree, and the grass, and the birds, and the wind, and the fading stars that he could just feel weren't there anymore, and the thought of the kiss starting in the dark under the stars and ending at the new beginning had hit him harder than anything else ever did before. And as he pulled away, franatically gasping for air, picturing the moment in his memory he knew would come back to years and years later after all of this is gone, that this was that very moment he felt truly alive for the first time, as if nothing mattered but the two of them, yet he could feel something was in absolute control over everything and everyone and they could do nothing but let it be the way it's supposed to be, and make the best out of it before their time had to be replaced by somebody else.

Sirius smiled. ''Is it a little too obvious I'm in love with you?''

Remus acted surprised. ''Seriously? I'd have never known. Thanks for informing me, though.''

Sirius laughed and Remus went along. Those words meant to him more than he thought they would every timehe imagined Sirius saying them. ''I'm in love with you too.''

#i can't tell if this is good or bad #it's old and i hate it #but i couldn't come up with anything better #sorry anon!#wolfstar

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6v6taeminisloveshineeworld · 4 years

Text

House of the Damned Chapter One: BLOOD AFFAIR

Summary: Lust is neither love nor passion, it is but a starving beast driven mad by thirst and unyielding desire. A natural hunger akin to flame. As a daughter of the Church, a trial of purity is thrust upon you when a series of events leads you to live in a manor with six vampire brothers who are eager to possess you and claim their birthright as the strongest of the bat clan descended from Vlad.

Pairing: Taemin X Female Reader, SuperM X Female Reader

Genre: Vampire romance, Diabolik Lovers Crossover

Word Count: 7.2k+

Warning: Use of foul language and scenes with non consensual circumstances

Authors Note: Most dialogue in this story is from the Diabolik Lovers game Haunted Dark Bridal Translated by maichiruhanabira and used with permission. It is not all my original work and will follow the DL game story with some extended or altered scenes. For original content read my other works, this work will be a side project since I am a fan of the game. If you are unfamiliar with Diabolik Lovers then I hope you enjoy surprise aspects of the plot.

“Once beloved of mine, I never possessed you and yet you still haunt me.

Your absence stirs a great longing within me unquenchable by time.

Should fate take you from me again and into the shadow of another man’s arms I shall end this cruel existence.

I curse destined prophecy, I curse you in your winter’s grave.

Heartless temptress, mistress divine, your crimson kiss is now a distant shadow dancing across hot desert sands.”

You woke from your strange dream and the alluring voice that accompanied it in a haze as the car bumped along the uneven roads leading you deeper into the middle of nowhere. Since landing on the soil of Emberwater you’d asked residents of the small town for directions to Hawthorn Hill and every time they’d waved you away saying that the estate had been vacant for years or that the place was haunted. Finally, you’d found one old woman who’d been a little too willing to help at last. Her eyes had been glossed over and you realized then that she was blind. She’d told you that her son would be happy to drive you to the estate free of charge to which you graciously accepted.

You hadn’t placed much stock in the townfolk’s superstitions until you saw the manor from your window at last. This may be a mistake indeed. What could Father be thinking sending me off to stay in a place like this? Is this really where my relatives live?

You still remembered the look on your father’s face just two days before as he hurriedly packed not only his bags but yours as well, stuffing things here and there frantically as if he was running away from someone.

“I don’t understand why I can’t go with you to Europe, Father? What will happen to the church when you leave? You’ve only just come back from your last overseas trip, please don’t leave me again!” You could feel the tears forming in your eyes and you wiped them away angrily.

“Honey, don’t cry we’ve been over this.” His voice was surprisingly stern and it unsettled you further. He was always so gentle with you and his behavior now really set you on edge. “While I’m gone I’ll be passing on Church affairs to pastor Remiel. This job is simply one I cannot decline, they have requested that I go personally and in the meantime, you will be off at a nice private school and staying with distant relations of mine, the family is an old companion of the Church.”

“Which relations?” You asked.

“I haven’t told you about them since we are rather estranged, they are quite aristocratic but they will take care of you.” He said, running a hand through his graying hair and looking more tired than ever. “It’s painful for me to leave you as well but please try to understand my position. I go where the Lord tells me and you my daughter know better than to go against his will.”

He came closer then and kissed your forehead. His eyes fell to the delicate silver crucifix embedded with pink sapphires that lay around your neck. He’d given it to you at birth, ‘a prized Church heirloom made of blessed silver’ he’d said when you had asked him long ago if it had belonged to your dead mother. “Finish packing, you leave tomorrow night.” He said, before giving you a final hug and walking out the front door with his suitcase.

As you approached this pompous estate now, you were half-filled with awe and more than a little bit of hesitation. You thanked the old woman’s son for driving you so far and started walking up the path, duffel bag in hand. The manor was quite large and elegant in the way that a royal castle would be you supposed if the castle was one from a horror movie or gothic novel. Vines with small orange roses covered the yellow-painted brick in a pleasing fashion but you couldn’t shake the eerie atmosphere and dark windows that seemed to send a chill throughout your body.

Perhaps it only looks this way at night? You thought hopefully. Just then a loud crash of thunder boomed, making you jump. It began to pour so heavily then that even though you ran the rest of the way to the overhang you were already wet. You lifted the heavy brass knocker and pounded on the door.

“Excuse me?” You yelled when there was no answer. The storm must have muffled any sounds you made. Or maybe the rumors were true about the manor being haunted and you should just leave. But surely father wouldn’t send me to a haunted manor. The Church would never wish one of its members to be associated with such an unholy place.

Just then the door creaked open on its own and you wished for the thousandth time on your journey that your father had just taken you with him. But thinking rationally the door couldn’t have opened by itself, perhaps someone was hiding behind it?

“Excuse me!” You shouted again, even louder this time, “Is anyone home? My father pastor Gabriel, he must have told you I’d be arriving.” When there was still no answer you stepped into the manor and closed the heavy door behind you. No way could this door be unhinged by just the wind. You dropped your bag on the floor and entered the foyer. No one was there but the manor did seem lived in at least. You rubbed the cold away from your limbs as you explored deeper.

The hall was clean but dim, lit only by a few candelabras that you passed as you walked into the living room. You marveled at the plush red carpet and sofas as well as the tall ceiling, there was a grand staircase as well but what really caught your eye was the roaring fireplace. You hurried to it and dried off as best you could. This is getting a bit freaky no one is here.

You reached for your phone but another flash of lightning made you jump and it slid from your hands. In that single burst of light you could have sworn you saw the shadow of a person lounging on one of the sofas but perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You moved to grab your phone only to find you were not mistaken. There was a person laying on the sofa fast asleep. You must have missed him in the darkness but you’d been certain you were alone.

“U-um… E-excuse me?” You said, hesitant to wake him. The boy continued sleeping so you went on a bit louder, “I’d like to speak to the owner?”

When he didn’t answer you again you moved to touch his pale hand only to find it incredibly cold. You moved closer and waved your hand in front of his nose and felt nothing. He was so still his chest didn’t even rise and fall. Is he dead! You thought with alarm, your heart began to race frantically and painfully. You knelt on the floor beside the sofa and clutched at your chest. These attacks were happening more and more frequently and you knew it was best for your health if you didn’t freak out. There was a ringing in your ears like a voice repeatedly calling out for help. You breathed in and out trying to slow your racing heart.

You started to dial an ambulance for the boy when suddenly his eyes flashed open and his hand grabbed your wrist to stop you. You screamed loudly in surprise and tried to pull away but his grip was too strong.

“Shut up.” He said, turning his steely gaze on you.

“Excuse me! Let go now!” You shouted and tried to pull away again. He tilted his head and looked at you from head to toe curiously.

“What’s with you squealing in my ear?” He said sitting up on the sofa.

“But just a minute ago…” You said trailing off.

“Just a minute ago what?” He said with a small amused smile. “I was just sleeping comfortably in my own house. Is that a crime?

“J-just sleeping? But… I’m certain you were…”

“I was what?” The boy asked in a mocking tone, he leaned in closer. His eyes were a startling green and before you realized it he had pulled you by the waist onto the sofa and was towering over you, one hand gripping both of your wrists over your head against the pillows.

“Hey what are you doing! You said, wriggling beneath him, “Let go of me!”

“Damn, you’re noisy. It was you who suddenly broke into my house. What are you doing in a place like this?” He said, bringing his face closer to yours. “Are you a magnet for trouble? Is that it? A moth drawn to flame?”

“No! I’m not, I was supposed to come he-.”

“I’m hungry,” He said resting a finger from his free hand over your lips to silence you. “There’s nothing like getting a feast right when you wake up,” he said with a laugh that made your stomach lurch.

“Don’t touch me!” You said, trying to squirm away but his knees locked you down.

“You’re some pretty energetic prey aren’t you? Stop struggling, just be a little… quieter.” He said as he began to unbutton the collar of your blouse.

“Please, God help me!” You shouted.

Suddenly all the lights in the living room came on startling you both. You noticed the ornate chandelier above you for the first time, it’s flames twinkling and reflecting against the glasses of the man who had entered the living room. The boy above you narrowed his eyes, seemingly annoyed.

“What is all this clamor? I hope you have a sensible reason for causing so much ruckus and disrupting my reading, Mark.”

“Ah, Ten, it’s you.” Mark said with a glare.

You used that moment to pull away from the strange boy and ran over to the man.

“Please help me!”

“Hm? And you are?” The man pushed up his glasses as he surveyed you with a look that seemed both annoyed and disgusted. You gave your name hesitantly, you weren’t sure if you preferred his gaze to the boy, Mark or not. From their features you could clearly tell they were related, they shared the same sparkle to their eyes and lint of the chin but on all other accounts, they appeared quite different.

“Mark, how many times have I told you to keep your conquests to your private rooms.” Ten said.

“I Am not a conquest!” You said angrily. “I came here because my Father told me i’d be staying here from now on!” You said it as clearly and unwavering as you could, relieved that at least some of your confidence was coming back to you.

“Is that so? I know nothing of these arrangements.” Ten said, narrowing his eyes, he looked to Mark for an explanation. “Mark, what is the meaning of this?”

“Like hell should I know! You didn’t say anything about that earlier, Breastless!”

“Well, you suddenly attacked me and told me to shut up, and… wait, ‘Breastless’?”

“Yes, dummy, it’s 'cause you don’t have any tits,” Mark said with a smile.

“How dare you!” You shouted, your face turning bright red.

Ten cleared his throat, and ran a hand through his black hair, “Well, there clearly is some error and you were misinformed.”

“Oh, what do we have here?” Said another voice. You looked across the room to find yet another attractive face. His hair was bright red, he was sitting on the banister of the grand staircase. His eyes were alight with mischief as he slid down the banister and embraced you.

“Hey!” You said startled.

“Is there really a cute human girl in our living room?” The red-haired boy said. He stood in front of you and brought your hand to his lips, tipping his black hat as he did so. “Hello, pleased to meet you, Little Bitch.” You gasped in surprise as he proceeded to lick your earlobe!

“Taeyong, really now. For a woman you’ve only just met, wouldn’t you say that was a bit insolent?” Ten said crossing his arms.

“Aha Ten you’re as stiff as always. Isn’t this fine? I was just getting a quick taste of a delicious-looking girl.” Taeyong said, licking his lips. You glared at him, taking in the eyebrow piercing on the left side of his face. If it weren’t for the ornamentation and bright hair you would have said he looked almost innocent in appearance although his actions said otherwise.

“Shit, I’ll kill you, bastard,” Mark said, stepping toward Taeyong. “Fucking spitting on Breastless before me!”

Taeyong’s laugh was more of a giggle like the chiming of bells. When he’d finally stopped he said, “You’ve got to claim your food with spit before your barbaric brothers do, hmm? Otherwise, they’ll eat it all up. Isn’t that right, Baekhyun?”

Another boy just as pale as the rest walked up beside you from the shadows. His purple cotton-candy like hair gave him a youthful appearance, He looked to be as old as you but for some reason, he clutched a teddy bear in his hands. A creepy bear at that, you thought. It may have been cute once but it seemed worn out in places now and very discolored, it even had an eyepatch and you wondered if it was just for style like some pirate or had the bear really lost an eye? Baekhyun’s eyes themselves were filled with excitement as he came closer to you and said in a childlike voice, “Please let me have a lick too. Don’t move, okay?” He wasn’t really asking for permission you realized for in the next instant you felt his tongue along your ear, wet and ticklish.

You made an odd sort of squeaking noise as you tilted your head away from him. What was wrong with these boys.

“Mm.” Baekhyun said noisily, clutching his teddy tighter against his chest. “She’s sweet… It’s rare to find a tasty one amidst all those dirty humans, isn’t it?”

“What?” You said in an exasperated voice, you were tired and confused of this little game they all seemed to be playing with you.

“Hey, what is a girl doing here anyway?” Baekhyun asked.

“Isn’t she tonight’s side dish?” Taeyong said, licking his lips again.

“Dumbasses. Don’t go thinking she’s your “side dish” 'cause she’s mine. After all, ‘Yours Truly’ found her first.” Mark said laughing again.

“Oh?” Ten said in an imperious tone as he looked at Mark. “That may be so, however you failed to taste her first.”

“Fuck you, Ten! Stop saying unnecessary things!”

“Pathetic.” Ten said, shaking his head.

Listening to this banter was worse than the licking you thought and just when you had accepted that things couldn’t get worse for you yet another voice entered the scene.

“Oi, Lucas, come on out!” Mark said.

Lucas it seemed had just appeared into the living room you had no idea where he’d come from. It was all just further proof that you needed to get away from this house and fast.

“No wonder I thought I smelled a human. It was you.” Lucas said, his voice was deep and every word was quite sharp. “My sleep was interrupted thanks to you and your stench.” He said, his glare directed on you. “What’s even going on?”

When you didn’t respond Lucas yelled, “Speak, don’t ignore me!” His fist pounded against the coffee table and made you jump in surprise.

“Ahh my little bro’s as hot-blooded as usual,” Taeyong said.

“Shut up, you year-round slut!” Lucas shouted at Taeyong. “I don’t consider you my older brother at all.”

“This is making me mad. Baekhyun said in a considerably serious tone that set you more on edge than the child-like one. “If you don’t stop with this needless talking, I’ll mangle you, okay?”

“Heh. I’d like to see you try it, Lucas sneered. His blue hair was disheveled and dare you say it, mangy as if his rage had grown roots. What are you gonna do with that tiny body, pipsqueak?”

“Ugh… Look at that, Teddy.” Baekhyun said in an offended voice. “This guy will be our next prey.”

“Please be reasonable,” Ten told you sternly. As much as I try to be gentle with you, my patience can only last so long. I’d like to say they can cook and boil you as they see fit but I cannot tolerate letting my foolish younger brothers compete for you in my clean living room. Now, first of all, please tell us how you managed to stumble upon this place.”

“Well... That is… because I..” Your voice shook as you spoke. It seemed your brain was at last catching up to the mess you were in.

“What’s this, Breastless? Are you trembling?” Mark asked.

“Aha… You really are cute like this,” Taeyong said drawing close again. “Now I’d really love to eat you.”

Mark laughed. “Your teeth are chattering. We really frighten you that much, huh.”

“O-of course I am frightened! I’m in such a strange place and I can’t understand any of you at all!” You said.

“What don’t you understand? Mark asked. We’re easy to understand, aren’t we?” He said, looking at Taeyong.

“Well, the rest of us are probably not as easy to read as Mark, right?” Taeyong said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Now, now, please don’t interrupt. Ten said, rubbing his forehead. “This conversation is not progressing in the slightest. I truly will lose my temper if this doesn’t shape up.” He turned to you and said, “You aren’t so frightened that you cannot speak, yes? So hurry and explain your situation.” He said the words slowly as if you were dumb. “Unless you’d rather I strike you with my whip?”

“This is all some big mistake,” you said backing away. I’ll just excuse myself. I’m sorry for coming in so late and imposing.” If I don’t leave soon they may do something worse. They really don’t seem to be joking about enjoying my discomfort.

“Hold up.” Mark called out from across the room and in the next instant he was right beside you! It was as if he’d teleported. “You can’t just leave, stay here.”

“I agree,” Taeyong said immediately. “It’s ridiculously troublesome when this house only has men living in it. If Little Bitch stayed here well maybe it’d bring a little bit of elegance into our lives.” Taeyong gave you a charming smile that sent you into a panic.

“I refuse!” you said before bolting for the door. There was nothing else to do at this point but run.

“Oi! Wait!” You heard Mark shout behind you. As if you’d stay here and be their plaything! Before now you would have said ghosts and haunted houses were just legends but after seeing Mark just ‘appear’ beside you and after all of those strange encounters in this sinister house, you believed that it was indeed haunted. You’d made it all the way to the foyer before you heard another voice.

“You’re so fussy, it’s tiresome,” The voice whispered. As if from smoke a man appeared right in front of your path.

“Are you also with those other people in the next room?” You asked, barely suppressing the desire to roll your eyes at yet another person? Phantom? Blocking your path.

“‘With those other people’... Being told something like that is exceedingly upsetting.” He said, his voice was much more enjoyable to listen to than the others you thought. It was languid and reminded you of a lazy stream. Soothing and yet refined.

“Well? Are you?” You asked again. When he stepped into the light you saw that his light blue sweater matched the blue of his eyes; serene waters both stoic and cold. You shook your head to clear it, damn these beautiful faces were distracting.

“If I had to describe my relationship with them,” He said finally, “I’d say we share an undesirable but inseparable link to one another. Are you the woman that guy was talking about?” He asked.

“'That guy’?” You repeated confused.

“Oi, Taemin!” Oh no just what I need now.“You know something about her?” Mark said coming beside him.

“Maybe,” Taemin said.

“Don’t ‘maybe’ me. I would like a full explanation,” Mark demanded.

“That guy, he contacted me the other day. ‘A new housemate will be coming to live with you, so get along nicely with her’ or something along those lines,” Taemin said dismissively waving them all away with his hand. He pulled out a pair of headphones that were attached to the black choker around his neck and went to recline on a sofa.

“So then, Breastless is just another prospective bride from the Church.” Mark said.

“No wonder, this is bullcrap.” Lucas said huffily.

“She’s more of a sacrificial lamb than a bride.” Taeyong said, moving to nibble at your ear, when you tried to get away he whispered, “Isn’t that right, Little Bitch?”

Ten cleared his throat. “It appears that this is not a mistake after all.”

“Y-you’re kidding!” You said, looking at Ten imploringly.

“Stupid. What would be the use of lying to you?” Mark said.

“I’m not a bride! I’m not marrying anyone! I have no idea what you’re talking about but this is all very strange! My father is an official from the Church, and for them to send me here…”

“Isn’t it fine, being sent here by the Church?” Taemin asked as he took in your shocked expression.

“What about that is 'strange?’” Baekhyun asked in that child-like voice again.

“That would mean my father knew all about you guys and you’re all so strange.”

“What about us is?” Mark asked.

“Well…” You tried to think of a way to say in the nicest possible way that they were creeps and your father would never want you near any of them but before you could utter a word Taemin said, “Because we’re vampires?”

“What! Vampires?” You exclaimed.

“Ugh. He went and spoiled it.” Mark said, sounding completely annoyed once more.

“Spoiled it? Wait, I don’t really understand what you’re saying,” You said and you prayed silently that this was just another nightmare and perhaps you’d gone to the hospital due to heart failure and this was all your imagination.

“It’s just as Taemin said. We are part of the vampire species. The bat clan, descendants of Vlad.” Baekhyun stated seriously.

“That must be a lie! Vampires? That can’t be true…” Phantoms were one thing but you couldn’t handle this.

“It’s rather inconsiderate for you to insist that we’re lying to you.” Ten said, “Mark has already said this, but there is no reason for us to lie to a lowly human.”

“But!” Your mind was racing now. Of course, the explanation did make sense. There was the shadow apparating, the flawless features, and the pale cold skin. The Lifeless body of before and their melodic voices. Yes, it all made sense.

“Now, now, Little Bitch,” Taeyong said in that ever so charming way of his. “You just don’t want to admit it, right? That beings as superior as us exist?”

“I don’t care if she believes it or not, she’s still annoying and loud,” Lucas said.

Whatever they said, you needed to call your father and ask him yourself. You reached for your phone but found your pocket empty.

Mark held your phone out to you, “Oi, looking for this?” Mark said, waving it in the air above your head just out of reach.

“That’s mine! You yelled exasperated. “Please give it back to me!”

“Or what?” Mark said with a laugh. He continued to wave it over your head.

“Come on! Enough!” You screamed.

“What’s with that attitude? I kindly picked it up for you. Is that how you thank me? Mark said.

“Mark, hand me that.” Lucas said.

“Why?”

“I said, hand it over,” Lucas reached over and grabbed the phone from Mark.

“Wait, what do you think you’re doing!” You scream but it was too late.

“I’m doing this!” Lucas said, before crushing your phone in his fist.

“No!”

“You’ve been so annoying ever since you got here,” Lucas said, letting the phone drop to the floor.

“You bastard!” You shouted. How would you call for help now?

“Now, now, Little Bitch,” Taeyong said. “From now on, you’re going to be friends with us creatures of the night. So there’s no need for boorish things like cell phones. Right?”

“Who do you guys think you are!” You said as you bent down to pick up the remains of your cell phone.

“So,” Baekhyun said as he stroked his Teddy bear, “Are you going to leave this place?”

“That should be obvious.” You replied.

“Oh, I see. Well, that’s perfect, then.” Baekhyun said.

“Perfect?” You asked wearily.

“I’ve been very hungry for a little while now.” Baekhyun continued.

“So what?” You said, hoping to stall for time to escape and keep him talking.

“You really are a fool, aren’t you? It can only mean one thing when a vampire says he’s hungry and I do love a good chase.” And with that Baekhyun pushed you to the ground teddy bear and all. For such a small figure he had a lot of strength, most of it supernatural of course you realized. You tried to move from beneath him but he would not budge.

“Your blood smells so tasty and sweet,” Baekhyun said giggling like a child. His fangs prodded at your neck and you shuddered as you felt the tips brush against your skin. “I’ll drink it all without leaving a single drop behind. Okay?” His self imposed stupor was all you needed as you took just that moment before he would feed on you to move your hand to your chest.

“Stop!” You yelled, whipping your rosary out and using it as if it were a shield.

“Huh?” Was Baekhyun’s only reply.

Meanwhile, Taeyong was just about rolling on the floor laughing. “Little Bitch… you’re amusing! You carry a rosary with you?” He said between giggles.

“She seems to believe in the more archaic methods. Ten said. “Quite foolish, I must say.”

“But, vampires shouldn’t be able to tolerate crucifixes, garlic, or holy water…” Your voice trailed off at the look on their faces.

“What kind of fairy tale did you get that from? That’s stupid,” Mark said.

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who looks like a fairy tale character!” You shouted back.

“This is making me mad,” Baekhyun said again with a whine. He looked as if he was about to throw a tantrum. “My food is right in front of me but the dining table is getting chaotic. Why are you doing this?” He said.

“Your food! Don’t say terrible things like that! I’m a human being!”

“This is tiresome,” Taemin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Baekhyun said that because humans are treats for us. Didn’t they lick you already?” Taemin said.

“I can’t accept that vampires exist!” You said quite stubbornly.

“Mm… That’s kind of sad. Little Bitch,” said Taeyong. “The only way to make you believe us is by doing this.” He leaned into your neck and you shouted, “I get it now, so just wait a minute!”

“Don’t wanna,” Taeyong said, running his tongue along your throat and collarbone.

“You say that, but… m-my blood is not that cheap!” You said, trying to work out a strategy that would buy you time. “Because I-I want to choose who… gets to drink my blood!”

“Heh?” Mark said in surprise.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that but it was the only thing I could think to say.

“That is quite displeasing. Ten said, pulling up his glasses again. “I have no clue what kind of blood you might have, but aren’t you behaving just like a high-class prostitute?”

“This is stupid. I’m out. You guys do whatever you want.” Lucas said with a huff.

“Oh!” Mark exclaimed. “A dropout already?”

“The human’s manners are deplorable,” Ten said, looking down at you. “It has been quite a while since I’ve had a woman this undisciplined.”

“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green, When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen.” Baekhyun sang the folk song in a hauntingly beautiful voice before saying in his serious tone, “Hey… Teddy. If she doesn’t pick me, let’s both cut her to pieces, okay?”

“This has gotten interesting,” Mark said with a smile. “Naturally, you’ll pick Your’s Truly, right? It should be obvious.”

“Little Bitch, Taeyong murmured. “If you don’t pick me… you’ll definitely regret it later.”

“Whatever.” Taemin said with a tired sigh. “Just end this silly game already.”

I only suggested this in the spur of the moment, but now… what should I do?

You looked at Taemin then, listening to his headphones again trying to block out Baekhyun and Taeyong’s chatter. He seemed safer than the rest; you didn’t quite know if that was the best word for him but when those blue eyes caught your stare you said, “I choose Taemin.”

“What a pain.” He whispered before closing his eyes.

Taemin seemed lazy compared to the others, somehow he felt more normal to you and yet, well what was normal for a vampire?

“Ngh, why him? You’ve got terrible taste, Breastless!” Mark exclaimed.

“You know, he’s not usually motivated to do anything, and I do mean anything,” Taeyong said moving his hips suggestively.

“Quiet.” Taemin told him, to you he said. “Well, I don’t mind having a nice meal come to me without having to do anything. But,” He said, eyes narrowing. “If you want me to suck your blood you’ll have to offer your neck to me yourself.”

Your cheeks reddened. Right, normal. This will work out in my favor.

“Everyone listen up.” Taemin said, “If you want to touch her, well, go right ahead. But you can’t kill her.”

“Huh? We can’t? Why not?” Baekhyun asked.

“Like I know,” Taemin replied. “That guy is the one who said it. ‘Treat your guest with respect’.”

“You really should have said so sooner!” You said.

“Too troublesome.”

“T-troublesome.” You echoed. He really was very lazy, you realized.

“What’s that bastard thinking? Why do we have to treat this lame human girl with respect?” Mark said.

“There might be some meaning to it. Maybe that person is planning something,” Taeyong said.

“Like what?” Baekhyun asked him incredulously. What could such a plain girl have?”

“Who knows?” Taeyong said with a sigh. “I can’t ever understand what that guy is thinking at all.”

“You’ve lost me again.” You said, feeling confused once more.

“Shut up, Breastless. Mark said, “This is our family’s problem.”

Who was “that guy” was he the person with connections to the Church that Father told me about?

“Anyway,” Taemin said, bringing them all back to the initial topic. “That’s why you can’t go so far you kill her. And you,” Taemin said, meeting your eyes once more. “Try not to be so loud; stay out of my way.”

“The more I take, the more you fall captive to my will. When your body meets mine, this thirst, this depravity will it all fade? You are but a faint illusion on the horizon waiting for the midnight sun as you waltz further from me.”

You woke from the words of your nightmare to find yourself in an unfamiliar king sized bed and as all of the memories of yesterday night came crashing down on you at once, you wished you had just stayed asleep. Taeyong, Baekhyun, and Mark, had shown you to this extravagantly decorated room last night and you’d been so tired that as soon as they were gone you’d locked the door and fallen asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

You turned on the nightlight at your bedside table now and opened the curtains to find it was dark outside. You realized you must have slept the entire day away and given all the excitement you’d gone through yesterday you weren’t surprised. Without your phone you couldn’t contact your father and tell him about the trouble you were in and you knew that waiting for him to seek you out would take weeks or maybe even months. He always lost touch with you when he was traveling overseas and it incensed you to no end. His actions really show how little he truly cares about my well-being.

Settling for being vampire food felt like giving up but as long as you stood your ground they couldn’t break your spirit so easily. They would eventually get what they wanted but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t put up one hell of a fight.

Dear God, why have you given me this trial? This nightmare felt a lot like being thrown into a den of hungry lions you thought. Like some crazy test of purity.

“Hey,” Taemin said appearing in your bedroom out of nowhere.

You screamed and jumped into the bed ducking under the covers.

“Annoying woman,” Taemin said. “Don’t jump on the bed. You’ll break the floor and then Ten will throw a fit if you destroy the house.” You felt the edge of the bed sink in and you carefully peeked at him from under the pink frilly comforter. Really why would anyone decorate a place this obnoxiously. Everywhere you looked you saw stuffed animals and expensive furniture and it made you wonder how many other girls had been a guest in this room. You shuddered and moved your attention to Taemin. His eyes were closed and he was listening to his headphones again. He’d swapped his blue sweater for a school uniform and this had your mind buzzing with questions.

“Why are you wearing a school uniform? It’s nighttime already.”

“Classes start around now though.” He said, opening one eye to look at you.

Before you could ask him anything more the door swung open, even though you had been sure you locked it you supposed the lock was there more for your benefit than to really keep anyone out.

“What are you two still doing here?” Ten demanded, crossing his arms and glaring down at both of you. He was also dressed in a school uniform but unlike Taemin who wore his blazer around his shoulders, Ten's blazer was buttoned down and without a wrinkle in sight.

“The nuisance has arrived.” Taemin said, closing his eyes again.

“Taemin, would you please get in the car.” Ten said again, “I won’t ask politely again. If you two humiliate us all for being late I will-”

“Yes, alright. We’re coming now.” Taemin said.

When Ten left Taemin got up and took out a folded school uniform he’d been carrying under his arm. “Here put this on quickly and meet us in the front. I’ve already enrolled you for classes so you don’t need to worry about it.” He turned and started walking for the door.

“Thank you,” you said. You were amazed he went through the trouble. He waved your thanks away with a hand and closed the door behind him.

You hurried to dress, fearing that if you weren't downstairs in the next few minutes you’d have more vampires barging in, this time as you changed. It made sense that vampires attended a night school though you really hadn’t thought about it till now.

“Good evening, Little Bitch.” Taeyong said, greeting you at the front door with a lick to your cheek. You wiped it off with your sleeve and walked out the front door gasping when you took in the limousine parked in front. Well here’s to hoping that I will actually be able to study at this night school. Your mind anxiously wondered how many students would also be inhuman.

The School corridor was thankfully filled with a lot of normal looking people. No horns or fangs were on display but of course that didn’t mean they weren’t around if the guys were anything to go by since their fangs weren’t always on display. You’d only attended one class so far and yet you were already worn out from the bickering the boys had engaged in during the car ride earlier. The only thing that even made the day bearable was that Taemin hadn't mentioned sucking your blood. Not even once. He hadn’t even acknowledged you existed beyond giving you the uniform. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in you at all and maybe if you stayed quiet he’d end up letting you go himself without you having to beg him.

Just don’t make him mad, don’t get in his way, don’t look at his blue eyes…

“Hey you!” A girl shouted from across the corridor and you looked up.

“Me?”

“Yeah! you’re the girl who just transferred into our class today, right?”

“Oh, yes I am. Nice to meet you.” You said.

“Yeah, likewise! My name is Ellisyn,” the girl said smiling. She was tall with long tawny brown hair that fell to her waist in ringlets. “You know… I saw you when you came to school, and…” She leaned in close to your ear conspiratorially, “I was wondering, how are you related to the Hawthorn brothers?”

“What!” Well, some things happened… And Tae-”

“Ahh, yes! What about Master Taemin?”

“Huh? Are you interested in Taemin?” You asked.

Ellisyn looked at you as if you were from another planet. “Of course I am! The six Hawthorn brothers are super popular here! I am the president of Master Taemin’s fanclub myself!

“Oh I hadn’t reali-”

“I must inform you then that everyone calls Taemin the ‘Master of the Music Room’, he skips almost all of his classes to spend most of his time there. Also, he never talks to anyone that’s why I was so surprised when I saw you with him.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you perhaps dating one of the Hawthorn brothers?”

No Ellisyn, i’m their prey and i’m being held in that creepy place against my will and you can keep your ‘Master of the Music Room.’ These were your first thoughts but of course you replied with: “No, no! It’s nothing like that, truly!”

Ellisyn’s excitement deflated at this, “Really? Nothing?” She pouted, upset that she hadn’t come across some juicy piece of gossip. “Well, if anything does happen I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Her forked tongue escaped her mouth with a slither as she said it and you tried to look unfazed. Not a normal human then. She waved goodbye and walked off down the hall.

“I should try to steer clear of the music room.” You mumbled.

“What’s wrong with the music room?” Taeyong said, startling you as he came from behind you. “You shouldn’t let the gorgon girl bother you, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Would you stop sneaking up on me! You screamed. “Make some noise next time!”

“But the look of fear on your face is amusing, Little Bitch. Why would I go and do that?” Taeyong replied with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, “What do you want Taeyong?” Just when you said it you regretted asking.

“Instead of zoning out in the halls and talking to yourself, why don’t we have some fun together instead?” He said, eyes alight with mischief.

“Ah, no. I… I’m not free right now.”

“Then make some time to spare.” Taeyong said, stepping closer.

“I-I can’t. I still have my classes!” Ah damn it, you were stuttering again. God he unsettled you.

“Who cares about classes? Wouldn’t it be much more important for you and me to learn about our bodies instead?” He said with a smile.

You blushed and tried hiding it by opening one of your textbooks only to find yourself reading it upside down.

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed. Here, come over here.” He pointed down a hallway. “There’s a less-crowded classroom this way-”

You bolted, running in the opposite direction and calling over your shoulder, “I’m busy!”

Hah… That was too close!” Thankfully I got away… This time. You leaned against a classroom door trying to catch your breath. Then you noticed where you’d gotten to while you were distracted running away, it was of course, the music room. Just my luck.

You could hear soft playing coming from inside. Curious beside yourself you opened the door quietly to find Taemin playing on the grand piano, his back facing you. When he was playing he seemed quite the opposite of lazy, he was rather vivacious. You came further into the room and watched his fingers as they spirited over keys. Even the muscles along his back seemed to move with him beneath his shirt to the rhythm, it was all so mesmerizing you hadn’t really noticed he’d stopped playing until he said, “What do you want?”

“Did you hear me come in,” you asked, feeling a bit guilty to have disturbed him.

“Of course I did, you are ever so noisy. Stop looking at me, you’re making a weird face.”

You blushed and moved to look around the room knowing full well he was talking about how you had been openly gaping at him. It was cruel really how angelic these monsters could appear. Without his fangs and imperious attitude he really would have been quite admirable.

“Did you need something?” He asked, going to lay on the floor.

“Nothing. I don’t need anything really.” Perhaps you should start some conversation or it would only get more awkward. “What’s the name of the song you were playing? It was beautifu-”

“Get out if you don’t need anything. You’re fatiguing. You really don’t have any importance to me and I hate small talk.” He said, closing his eyes.

Well that was rather unfair. “I wouldn’t be in your way at all if it wasn’t for you and your brothers.” Forget not angering him, you were angry now.

“My brothers all seem to be in a frenzy over possessing your body and blood, but don’t lump me in with them. If you’re trying to use your body to gain control or whatever of our family, then it’d be pointless coming after me. Eldest or not, I don’t even care about this household. Does that change your mind? Do you regret choosing me now?” Taemin said.

You didn’t know what to say to that. You were stunned, it was almost a book coming from a man who supposedly never spoke and one who never revealed his thoughts.

“I assure you, I’m not here to gain leverage or power or anything! I just want my freedom, just like you want yours it seems.”

“Don’t act like you know me and as for trusting your word, what good is it?” He said.

“Just because you can’t take anyone else's word in your family doesn’t mean you have to shovel all of your experiences on me!” You shouted.

“I’m tired of talking. He said, getting off the floor and walking to the door. “I’ve already said what I had to.”

He really liked slithering out of conversation and being the one with the last word didn’t he.

You sat on the bench and moved your hand across the ivory keys. It’s best this way, I’ll have the best chance at escaping if he really doesn’t care about anything or anyone at all.

#taemin fanfic #superm fanfic #vampire fanfic #taemin #ten fanfic #mark fanfic #taeyong fanfic #lucas fanfic #baekhyun fanfic

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