#along with the wine and murder and vanity

[ellynneversweet]

A brainworm thought that won’t leave me alone and that I am not sure I can put into a fic draft without exploding into flames of ‘I’m not a weird smut writer, by god’:

1. The werewolves of the mercyverse canonically heal almost anything provided it’s not an instant fatality. This includes old age, tattoos, and limb loss.

2. They’re mostly men. A lot of them are military men or veterans, who have pretty crude senses of humour as a group.

3. A lot of them are from cultural backgrounds where circumcision is a norm

Conclusion: ‘then I realised my foreskin grew back and freaked the fuck out’ has to be so common an experience as to be a trope in werewolf anecdotes.

[sauron-kraut]

metamorphosis

Summary: Annatar muses about sacrifices, about fitting in. And about Celebrimbor.

A rather quick triple drabble because they've been on my mind and for whatever reason I have never written anything for them before?! Enjoy.

Pairing: Mairon/Annatar x Celebrimbor

Words: 300

Warnings: non-explicit sexual content, a bit of violence

As always: If you like this little piece, comments on AO3 are appreciated! 🖤

Not beta read!

Find it here under the cut.

After changing his skin, Mairon stands bare before a mirror. No, not he, the other. He runs his fingertips over this body (his body?), traces curves and bones unknown. He looks down at his hands. The trembling stops. 

Gone are nails like claws, all sharpness in him trimmed to prudence. 

Gone are the fiery locks, framing him like a radiant mantle. This is no place for vanity. 

Mairon (Annatar) touches his elven ears. Unadorned. His fingers trail over his jaw, now slightly more pronounced. 

In soft waves his white-blonde hair cascades down his shoulders, shoulders that are broader, somewhat. 

Annatar smiles at his reflection. He runs his fingers through his hair, picks up a plain robe folded on a simple chair. 

Do not frighten them with brilliance. Modesty soothes.

He steps closer to the mirror. Pulls the lids of one of his eyes open. 

Gone is their brightness. Smothered serpent. Fire dulled to honey. 

Sweeten their ruin.

Annatar takes root in the city. His new flesh moves among them with ease. The flesh feels different.

When, shrouded in candlelight and wine-drunk nights, at last he lures the elf between his thighs, it feels different. When the elf thrusts inside him, all red-stained lips, grim and proud heart soft from wine, it feels different. How did it feel with Him? It is so long ago. He clutches Celebrimbor to his chest like a dying thing that night. The flesh wants and gasps and pleads.

Stoke his ambition. Sing to his desires.

For centuries, he makes himself a home.

Obsession whips the elf along. For centuries. Grandfather-shadow, some things are inescapable. He forgets his place.

His throat feels good beneath Annatar’s hand.

And when these hands torture, when they maim and when they murder, then, at last, this flesh might become home.

[gingerdusk]

Out of curiosity, why Gale/Taliesin? I'd have thought you'd match Astarion with Taliesin and maybe Lucien or Remiel with Gale. Not to say I dislike the ship, I can see the potential, but I'm curious where it came from.

Funny answer:

"I have a cat, a library, and a weakness for a good glass of wine. And if the mood takes me, I'm known to try my hand at poetry."

Divines, ask him to dinner before you make a proposal, Gale! Have some decorum!

Serious answer:

So, I do get the impulse to match like with like. Astarion and Taliesin have a LOT in common; roguelike qualities and smooth, self-assured charm, an affinity for knife tricks, sass and drama, some good vanity. Same with Gale and Lucien (can't say anything for Remiel, haven't had a chance to do a proper playthrough with her yet).

But camaraderie and shared personality traits don't necessarily mean they'd compliment each other in a romantic sense.

Let's start with Lucien. He's the youngest of the group, younger even than Wyll (iirc, Joseph said he was 21? He might be a couple years older, but regardless, Wyll is 24). Bubbly, bright, full of enthusiasm and scholarly wit, with a penchant for jokes and a drive for exploration.

Can Lucien talk Gale out of blowing himself up for Mystra?

Would he, Mr. I'm-going-to-ride-a-daedric-horse, my-new-best-friend-is-a-murderous-automaton, discourage Professor Hubris from claiming the Crown of Karsus?

I think Lucien would be concerned for Gale. I think he would know the right option. But I don't think he has the finesse to navigate the tangled weave (heh) that makes up Gale. Lucien is naive, he's sweet, he's willing to accommodate, to the point that I don't think he could tell Gale "no" when it mattered most.

Would they get along? Absolutely! Lucien could teach Gale how to handle magicka, Gale could teach Lucien how to conduct the Weave. Both of them could have lengthy philosophical debates that go over everyone else's heads. Gale would have enough caution to temper Lucien's dwemerology enthusiasm, Lucien would encourage all kinds of discovery into Tamriel's wonders. But I see that manifesting as a mentor-apprentice sort of relationship. Still very close, but having them depend on each other in the way Gale approaches romance would be...self-destructive, I think.

Taliesin and Astarion are a similar, if slightly more dark-tinted, deal. Tally's just gotten out of an organization of horrible, horrible people, whose actions in which he was complicit. He's trying to be better. Astarion has just left a situation of literal slavery to one of the most awful people on the Sword Coast. He's enjoying the chance to be worse. We know how Astarion feels and his opinions on things; he likes hurting people, he's very self-centered, he has a lot to work on himself across his entire character arc as he comes into his freedom.

Personally, I think they'd make each other worse.

That's not to say that I can't see it happening. I could, definitely. It would take a good chunk of meeting in the middle, tiptoeing around each other's baskets that they're struggling to unpack, Tally's aversion to vampires, Astarion's casual cruelty as he lashes out. My personal opinion is that any getting involved would be via Astarion's seduce-and-fling strategy so he gets that foot in the door for Tally's sympathy, and Tally not ever taking it further because Astarion reminds him too much of his fellow justiciars and never assumed it to be more than transactional.

If they DID somehow make it to the endgame, assuming they did everything right, I can see it all falling apart at Cazador.

Tally would probably object to Astarion becoming the Ascendant. Everything in Astarion's life points to ascension being a dangerous thing--if not for continuing Cazador's reign of terror, in subjecting mortals to his will and viewing them all as beneath him, because Astarion's cruel streak would get all the power to fuel every whim it draws up. That kind of dynamic, on a romantic plane especially, is SCARY. If he fails to persuade him but still refuses to help, Astarion leaves him: "I hope you die screaming."

But say Tally DID let him become Ascendant. Whoever the man he fell in love with before ascending is dead. Astarion is a wholly different person with that much power. And he wants to make you his spawn. I can't see Tally willingly becoming a vampire, and I DEFINITELY can't see him becoming a vampire without free will. His whole deal with leaving the Thalmor is getting his autonomy back and being able to make his own decisions. So they leave each other.

I see Tally/Astarion ending in abject tragedy either way. An entertaining story, definitely, but one that brings out the worst in both parties until its inevitable spiral, if it even takes off the ground.

Hence, why Wyll is with Astarion in my plans. He'd bring out the good in Astarion, Astarion would crack the self-sacrificing shell Wyll has. They'd compensate for each other's flaws and compliment each other's strengths. I could write an entire essay about their potential dynamic, not to mention all the flirty lines between them in-game.

Would Tally and Astarion be friends? Absolutely. They share gossip and snark around the campfire. Would Tally help Astarion absolutely gut Cazador? Would Astarion offer to carve out Tally's dad's throat? Definitely. The two are inseparable, and would kill anyone who dared raise a finger against the other. They'd mull over their shared plights of terrible overlords and being used and abused. They'd push each other's buttons and be petty together until it was time to buckle down and win a fight, then celebrate after. But a romance would require so much compromise on one side or the other that I think they both risk falling to pieces over it. There's much more room for differences in lifestyle if you're not planning to spend your life with someone and pour the whole of your heart out to them.

Now, the crux of the question: Gale/Taliesin.

The way Gale shows love is in unwavering devotion. However, he never expects it in return; he's prepared to make his case many times over when he first asks you for an artifact, and half-expects you to throw him away when he reveals the bomb in his chest.

Taliesin is willing to follow his rescuer to the ends of Nirn if you save him. Even into dwemer ruins that terrify him, even if you (to his knowledge) go as mad as Septimus when you read the Elder Scroll, he's prepared to look out for you. Even when it's your destiny to fight the end of the world and be surrounded by death as you do it, with a high probability that he'd be a casualty.

Gale's fatal flaw is his hubris. Tally would have no problems telling him "no" when the Crown came into play, or any other similar power for that matter.

If you talk to Taliesin about his past, he mentions that at one point, his father made him resent many aspects of himself, "even [his] own body."

Gale is willing to marry a MIND FLAYER if they're the person he's come to love. Completely seriously! He loves them! He doesn't even flinch, he even pays them mind flayer-specific compliments in the epilogue and means it with his whole heart!

Would Tally be willing to hang out with the walking apocalypse? Would he be able to talk down detonating the orb, and beg Gale to choose him over the Absolute's demise? Would he be able to tell Gale that going for the Crown of Karsus is a bad idea? Would he be willing to put his enchanting skills to use to buy Gale a few more days of life? Would he like Gale for the man he is over the magic he commands?

Would Gale be able to commit himself to Tally, regardless of how different Altmer are from Eladrin? Would he appreciate every part of Tally, no matter how he differs from conventional Altmer standards? Would he be willing to stand between Tally and his dad, and do it without shattering the rest of Tally's family (as murder threats would)? Would he appreciate Tally for the mer he is, the mer he's TRYING to be, as Tally leaves the Thalmor behind?

They both share a taste in books, both educational and spicy. They both like cooking, and Gale would be willing to cook up vegetarian meals in a snap. They both have a curiosity for culture and knowledge they have yet to encounter. They both love cats and a good bottle of wine.

The clone spell would let Gale match Tally's lifespan.

Tally would love and pay perfect respects to Tara (as everyone SHOULD).

Misty Step could be a solution to crossing bodies of water, and Ice Spike could be an upgrade to Ray of Frost.

Imagine, after several tendays of roughing it, a perfect illusion of a fancy date on a warm shoreline under the stars.

Imagine the two of them reading together by a warm hearth while it pours outside, wearing silk robes and sipping Alto Wine.

I think they'd bring out the best in each other, they'd enjoy each other's company and each other's idea of relaxation, and they'd share enough interests that they'd be happy to trade back and forth.

Also I think Gale's mother would absolutely love him. She HAS to meet him. And spoil him. He'd join her and Tara for tea and gossip, I guarantee it.

[martyrdeer]

SANGLANTE IMMORTALITE

synopsis: wracked with cultural fears and personal dreads of the aging process, elara retreats from the world behind her lover, isolde. the two take comfort in one another, sharing tender dinner preparations and solemnly wordy discourses on the nature of beauty and immortality within their silent house. but buried beneath the apparent serenity is a dark reality: their search for eternal youth obtained by consuming the vital essence of others. while elara is battling the haunting whispers of society's expectations, isolde's mysterious charm and their shared rituals become at once a source of refuge and a chilling epiphany regarding the extent they will go to preserve their ageless beauty.

tags: my original characters!! themes of aging and societal beauty standards! cannibalism, implied violence, mentions of murder, body horror, & dark romance!!

word count is 1.2k!!

The smell of the comforting melancholy rainfall took residence in my bathroom. I opened my window ajar earlier because the weatherman on the radio predicted a storm. Now I'm sitting at my vanity staring into my pale complexion. I look rather sickly, my purple eyebags betraying me. I roughly drag my fingers against my cheek. They leave a faded red mark afterward. I started to get that unsettling feeling that the patriarchal society was right. That women start to become ripe at thirty. All of my precious dollars flushed down the drain along with the false promises of those nonsense anti-aging creams.

“Elara?” My darling, Isolde calls out to me. Her soothing voice snaps me out of the madness. My head turns to the side where the door is. My senses come back to me. I hear a muffled Nina Simone play on our record player. I glance back at my reflection before slipping back out to my kitchen. My silk robe fluttered behind me as I paced to the kitchen, Isolde doesn’t like to wait. Once I got into our kitchen, I smelled a new yet delectable scent. I beamed as I saw Isolde stirring something in the pot. I sneak up on her with a devious smile on my face. When I was up against her, I slipped my hand down her back.

I lean in to look down in the pot & I chuckle. Surprisingly I didn’t frighten her. Her stiffened back eased into my touch. I sniff again, taking into the smell. “What’s this one?” I whisper to her. I felt her lovingly glance as she lifted the spoon. She stayed silent as she held the spoon up to my mouth. I slid my hand under it, tasting it. “Les poumons de notre ami,” Isolde finally tells me. I smile as she says it, she’s always naming her crafts in French. “It's incredible,” I insist, my grin still plastered on my face. She nods as a thank you, “I thought it would be nice to have a friend for dinner.”

I huff while preparing the table, “You’re right. And I’ll always provide the ingredients. Anything for you, my dear.” I place our wine glasses next to our plates. My eyes seem to trail back to Isolde. She’s pouring the soup into the bowls cautiously. When she was done, I strolled back to assist her. Isolde hands me the bowl, I glance down at it while taking it to the table. The soup has Gruyère & bay leaf melted on its surface. If I wasn’t smiling enough, I was now. I place my bowl down as I sit. I look up at Isolde, patiently waiting for her.

When she sits, I am reminded of her immortal beauty. I recall that December night at my father’s work party. The first time I saw her across the room drinking her white wine and talking to a relative of mine. I never understood Sappho’s ramblings until I met Isolde. She was so breathtaking that it made me envious. I remember staring into her perpetual virtue, cursing myself for letting my looks slip away. I asked her how she stayed so fresh-faced, dying to let me in on her secret. The way the seasons change with her. How she had the universe under her control. I will never forget how she batted her eyes at me. Spoke softly in my ear with a gentle laugh, “If I told you, I would have to kill you.”

I came home the next day around noon. My day was shorter than usual, I struggled to walk without aching through the door. Some days I begin to feel my age. I was met with a silent welcome. Others would become worried if their partner didn’t come to them. But I’m not that codependent of Isolde. I can still feel her presence throughout the home. That’s what comforts my pain. I slip off my shrug as I stroll to my living room, I search for her. I find her resting on her wool chair peacefully reading. Like many times before I sneak up behind her and kiss her cheek. I mumble against her cheek, “Happiness was like a green vine spreading through her, stretching fine tendrils, bearing flowers through her flesh.”

Isolde’s eyes lit up as I spoke, she stared down at me as I sat next to her. “I feel I stand in a desert with my hands outstretched, and you are raining down upon me,” She quoted to me. My eyes scan her face while I smile sweetly at her. I feel like an idiotic fool when I stare at her. I want to devour myself into her beauty & soul. Isolde grazes my face with her hand, her touch is gentle. She brushes a strand of my hair out of my face and pushes it behind my face. My vulnerability starts to grow as her thumb hovers over my cheek. She whispers to me, “You have a cut.” I raised an eyebrow when Isolde’s thumbnail pressed into my cut. My voice is low because I am lost in her touch, “I didn't even notice.”

That night, Isolde was cooking dinner like clockwork. And I was doing my daily routine where I mindlessly gaze into my reflection. The leftover rain smell began to rust in my bathroom. My main focus is my cut, I fear that it might scar. Despite being the size of my nail, it was deep. Isolde promised me that if it did, she would kiss it every day for me. And she gave me a quote along with her oath. “Scars are the threads that weave beauty and bravery into our souls." I wonder where she got it from. After I was done with my insecurities, I went back to where Isolde led. I watch her as I rest my chin on my hand. I temporarily forget everything else in the world while watching her prepare the food. “And this one is called?” I politely pander, referring to the food. She beams up at me and says, “Coeur de ton ennemi.”

At dinner, we eat in solitude. A beguiling harmony plays in my head as I feel myself age backward while eating my meal. I take a sip of the white wine that tastes so rich & refreshing. I can taste Isolde’s endlessly laudable remedy in the meat. The constraint from a chauvinistic coterie that found its way into society’s consciousness was lifted off my shoulders. I start to smile as I take another sip of my wine, feeling celebratory. Isolde notices my happiness and she dittos my simper. “Why are you so happy?” She questions, a hint of curiosity in her voice. I sigh as I collect my words, “The explorers of the Fountain of Youth are so oblivious.” I see the confusion on Isolde’s face. I continue to explain, “They don’t know the real answer to immortality.” I place my wine glass down as she catches on. She nods with a chuckle, “Eternal youth comes from within. The flesh gracefully blurs. Somebody’s instrumental chamber of existence becomes our orchestra. In their grim slumber, we craft a melody of beauty. We absorb their souls & reservoirs. We battle against Father Time. And so far, it seems like we’re winning.” I see a smirk on her face before she sips her wine. I began to feel giddy as I opened my mouth again, “Dévoreurs d'existence."

[calicohyde]

Happy STS! What does your character's morning routine look like? Share a snippet about it if you like 💜

[ALCOHOL ABUSE]

Eddie can't help but catch sight of herself in the vanity. The face in the mirror is offensive to the eye. Eddie can't honestly say she looks like death warmed up, but only because she knows so intimately what death really looks like. She opens up the vanity cabinet just to get her reflection away from her. Her hair falls around her face, the ends catching water and sticking to her cheeks as she hunches over the sink to rinse her mouth out with her hand. She brushes it away irritably, flinging droplets around the room like a wet dog shaking dry, before wiping her mouth on the back of her wrist. She leaves the vanity open when she leaves the bathroom, unwilling to see her face again even for the mere seconds it would take to close it. Back in her bedroom, Eddie doesn't even consider going back to bed. The nightmares in which Apá doesn't come are almost worse, in a way. At least when he's there to condemn her he's there. So not only will Eddie not be able to go back to sleep after that premonition (she's sure it's a premonition now, not just a terrible dream) she doesn't want to either. Not when there's no one but a dead stranger waiting for her on the other side of consciousness. Well, if nothing else Eddie can thank that girl for getting her out of bed. Too bad she had to get murdered to accomplish it. Hopefully it won't ever take Fred that extreme of a measure. Eddie makes her way out into the rest of the house. The short hallway from her bedroom into the living space is dark and quiet, significantly less narrow than the one along the side of the house leading up to the Watchtower office. She does her best not to disturb it. At the far end of the front room, separated by the breakfast bar, the kitchen stands shiny and silent. The appliances are nice, nearly pristine, but only because they don't see much use. Since she's up, Eddie figures she might as well be the one to make them breakfast this morning. She can't remember the last time she even tried. She stares into the fridge for a long time, overwhelmed even with the bare few items inside and the sinking realization that she doesn't think she knows how to cook any of them. Finally, Eddie settles on scrambled eggs. How hard could that be? The frying pan comes out of the cabinet with a clatter that makes Eddie cringe and momentarily freeze, listening to see if she's woken Fred up. Only when no sound from the farthest room down the hall greets her does Eddie continue on her mission. She cracks two eggs into a bowl, and then realizes she doesn't know how many Fred usually makes for the two of them to share. Is it just two? Or is it four? Has Eddie ever been out of bed in time to see xem do this? Stomach still sour, now with the twist of shame and self-loathing added to the already present leftover nausea from her premonition, Eddie settles on just the two eggs. She scrambles them with a fork, and pours them into the heated pan. The eggs cook fast, changing from a scramble into an empty omelet almost instantly. In a minor panic, Eddie tries to break up the solid mass of egg, only to find that it has also already stuck fast to the bottom of the pan. In only seconds, the scent of burning fills the kitchen. Eddie throws the entire pan and its mutilated contents into the sink and covers it all with cold water before the smoke detector can go off and make her fucking head explode. She skips the wine this morning, and just goes straight for the hard liquor.

from Curse The Messenger draft 1.4, currently 30k Sign up to be tagged when I post about this project.

[lana-llama-in-pajamas]

Evans relationships

sun drop/moon drop and Evan

She and him have a good relationship

She will hold him on her hip sometimes when she has to take him to parts and services

Evan often finds crayon and glitter glue in unsavory places

Will walk into the daycare in hours of operation and teach the kids a fun fact or have them play hide and seek so she can pull something out of his gears

Moon drop freaks her out sometimes but she almost never has to maintain him in the dark

One time she found a colored pencil in his pelvis gear…kids are odd

Freddy fazbear and Evan

Both are pleasant toward each other

She may or may not have flirted with him as a drunk dare at a new years eve party, ended in a duet on the mainstage

She never wants to talk about it

She's had to clean wine coolers off him a few times

When she saw him Gregory and Vanessa walk out of the plex dirty and tired she said nothing but opening all the doors of her car and and sighed “guess I'm calling in sick”

She wont admit him and Monty are her main favorites

Monty and Evan

She and him have danced on the dancefloor during the new years party

Did she wear his glasses? Yes.

Monty doesn't get that dirty surprisingly

Chica and Evan

She and Marcus have had to dress the animatronics sometimes for holidays

Chica likes being dressed up in the Christmas the most

Evan learned the hard way ‘never have food alone around Chica’

Evan has told the chicken that her names means ‘lady’ in Spanish

Now Chica will only respond to ‘my lady’ from her and Marcus

Roxy and Evan

The most silent

Roxy is the hardest to dress up

One time Roxy has said the phrase ‘I bet you don't have any friends’ to Evan

It was one of those ‘I don't get paid enough’ moments so Evan calmly put Roxy's comb on her vanity and walked out with a simple “no”

Did Roxy feel bad? Maybe

Dj music man and Evan

Fear.

Vanessa and Evan

she's got the hots for the blonde

She just isn't good at showing anything but aloofness and a calm happy demeanor

Tired wives

with their chaotic son and big father like murderous robot bear nanny

It was a cute wedding

Glamrock Mr. Hippo

She gets unnerved by his long stories

She always has Marcus nearby

Otherwise for him it seems she's just an employee

Glamrock bonnie

They never really got to know each other

But Freddy says they would've gotten along

Vanny

Vanny got explained to her by Vanessa and Greg

But not much

William Afton/ burnt trap

Also explained to her after the fact

Pizza plex employees

She's universally liked

She's been with them for 2 years so everyone knows her

[laurore-stormwitch]

Did someone say Zoya and Genya getting ready for a ball? I had this sitting in my computer for a while. I've written it at the same time of the Nikolai/Genya interaction and went for that instead, leaving this unfinished, so that's the reason why they're similar. But even if this is not wildly original I decided to post it, maybe some of you will enjoy it anyway!

together now - AO3

word count: 2661 (cause I can’t write short fics sorry)

______________________________________________________________

“Zoya, if you move again, I’m going to turn your hair purple.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. Drama queen. Whoever believed that getting ready for a party with your friends was fun, clearly never had to deal with Genya’s perfectionist and dictatorial tendencies. She purposely shifted in her chair in front of the vanity, making Genya glare at her.

“Do you want me to complete my masterpiece or not?”

No, not really. Nothing about going to Sainkt Nikolai’s ball seemed to be exciting. Dreadful and annoying were the only two terms she could come up with to describe the evening in front of her. Mainly having to do to the fact that she was going to have to watch Nikolai and his future wife simper over courtiers and nobles, with the bride-to-be practically coerced to attend the ball. And she wasn’t even allowed to get drunk; saints forbid someone attempted to murder the king again.

“Do you want your hair up or down?” Asked Genya, moving some strands of her hair over her ears.

“Are you really inquiring for my opinion?” The squaller noted ironically, pouring herself another glass of wine.

“No, of course not. Down is better, they make you seem wilder.”

She winked at her and Zoya huffed again. Genya began braiding some thin locks away from her face, leaving the rest of her mane free on her shoulders. She weaved the fine tresses with silver threads and held them in place with diamonds pins. Zoya relaxed under her delicate touch.

“A bit more practice with breaking Grisha’s orders and I’m going to tailor myself at some point. What are you going to do when the day comes?”

She had meant it as a joke, the tone light. But through the mirror she saw a shadow pass behind Genya’s eyes and immediately regretted her words and lack of tact. They knew only one person who had held as much power as Zoya was wielding now; he was rotting in a cell beneath them, and Genya would forever wear his marks on her skin. Of course her mind would have run to him; she tended to darken whenever they touched the argument surrounding Zoya’s newly acquired abilities.

“I hadn’t meant to make you think about that, Genya. I’m sorry.”

Genya smiled at her, coming back to her delightful self.

“It’s okay. I’m just a bit worried about - well, about everything. How is it going with these powers? I’ve spied on you summoning fire the other day. You were glorious.”

Zoya curled her lips and held up her arm, making the fetter made of dragon scales dangle. Juris rumbled inside her. She had told Genya what happened in the Fold, in broad outline. Zoya knew that even if they didn’t say it, they were all concerned with this. She caught them glancing at her sometimes, as if they were waiting for a ticking bomb to go off. It was unpleasant, but she understood them; after all, she was waiting for herself to go off too.

“I’m managing. I’m still not so sure of what I can or cannot do.”

Genya kept working on her hairstyle thoughtfully, letting the quiet stretch between them. She bit her lower lip before adding something else, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Does it feel good?”

Zoya understood that question too. Power is protection. No matter the cost, it would always hold its appeal for a Grisha. That was the pull they felt towards the Darkling too.

“It feels risky.” She answered after a while, releasing a long breath. It was not like her to betray uncertainty or weakness, but she hadn’t anticipated how both frightening and fascinating it would feel to be in this position. “It’s so much power, Genya. What if I can’t control it?”

“If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you, Zoya.” There was not hesitation in this answer. Yet, Zoya didn’t feel much reassured. She didn’t have a sense of who – or what – she was becoming.

“What if it’s too much power?” She realized that was not the right question, the one thing she dreaded to come true. She corrected herself. “What if it’s not enough, and I want more?”

At this, Genya paused, avoiding Zoya’s gaze, and fell terribly silent. She looked worried, almost scared. A shiver went through Zoya’s spine at the idea of eliciting something like fear in one of the people she loved most. She felt a stabbing guilt and the sudden realization that she didn’t want to explore this topic more and find out what Genya was thinking. She waved a soothing smile at her friend, hoping to stir this exchange away.  

“Enough of this. Don’t you want to show me the dress?”

Genya’s eye lightened up as she was pulled out from her gloom towards a more delightful diversion. She turned to the bed and pulled up Zoya’s gown, handing it to her. As usual, Genya had outdid herself. The gown matched the decor in her hair: Zoya thought of the dark midnight sky over Pachina while looking at it, one of the few memories she held from her childhood. When Genya moved it towards her, a million tiny crystals sparkled like stars against the sheer fabric. Zoya slipped inside it gracefully and turned to her, making the dress shimmer; the red head was gloating.

“I always give you the best dresses. All eyes are going to be stuck on you.”

Zoya doubted it, considering how equally gorgeous the other girl was looking right now, hugged by velvet the colour of blood. Genya made her wirl around on herself while she smoothed the dress; Zoya tried to reach for the wine, but Genya snatched the glass from her hands. She shrugged her shoulders at her outraged look. “What? I’m not going to let you stain this magnificent gown, excuse me.”

“You know, you have David’s adoration all for yourself.” Zoya pointed out, scowling. “Don’t get greedy. Let them admire me instead. If I can’t get drunk, I can at least have a different kind of fun.”

Genya rolled her single eye turning her gaze to Zoya, furrowing a brow at her.

“I do hope that by now you know that you have someone’s adoration all for yourself, too.”

Genya had clearly noticed the subtle shifts in Zoya and Nikolai’s behaviour, since she had been dropping this casual and mildly vague comments for a while now. At first, Zoya just ignored them; but then it occurred to her that denying what was going on was not the way to fight this. That maybe the right angle was to approach it much like a military campaign: know your enemy before you defy it. Which for her, it meant to understand what was happening so that she could crush it. And since feelings were not an area of expertise for Zoya, she had figured Genya could come in handy. So at some point she had just let it become a mutual understanding that this whatever-it-was-thing was out in the open, and she started posing carefully pondered question of her own. Zoya crossed Genya’s eye for an instant, replying with a sceptical click of her tongue.

“Both his adoration and his efforts better be for Ehri, for all our sakes. Much like his gaze better be kept on her all night like she’s the most beautiful creature to ever grace this earth. If he cannot sell it to her, at least he has to sell it for the rest of the world.”

“With you in that dress it’s going to be a challenge to look at anyone else.” Teased Genya, grinning. Zoya glared at her, pushing down the uncomfortable satisfaction this remark brought.

“He seems rather immune to my appearance and my presence.”

A poor and unconvincing objection, to say the least. Genya scoffed, handing her the wine as if she was going to need it to hear what came next. Zoya gladly took the offering.

“You do realize I’m a Corporalki, right?”

“What would that mean, apart from making people faint every now and then?”

“It means he can keep his eyes trained on the ceiling all night for all I care, because I’ll still feel his heartbeat spike up every time you pass beside him.”

Zoya didn’t much like to have this particular piece of information, that stirred some unpleasant feelings in her lungs. She swallowed the rest of the alcohol, her throat burning for something else entirely.

“Do you peer in all your friend’s visceral reaction for fun?”

“Just the two of you. Want to know what happens with you?” Mused Genya, knowing damn well the curiosity that sparkled in Zoya’s eyes and even more well feeling her breath itch. Know your enemy, right? Zoya grunted, not even bothering to try and look unfazed.

“Fine. Rip the band aid off.”

“Your heart usually beats like it’s at war. On the contrary, it slows down when he’s around, like you feel- I don’t know, safer. At home.”

Zoya fell silent, turning the words over in her head. It was always a punch in the gut when she wondered when things have started to turn and understood just how much they had turned. Instead of lingering on this painful realization, she did what she knew best and deflected the conversation again where it hurt most. She had the strange belief that if the heart was indeed a muscle, you had to train it like any other one in your body. The more pressure and blows you would put into it, the less you would feel the pain with time. Yuyeh sesh. Be cruel to your heart.

“How are the preparation for the wedding going?”

“As good as they can be.” Genya’s gaze turned sweet and affectionate, and she went along. “No one would say anything, you know. If you wanted to stay away for a while or get some distance.”

“We both know that a lot of people would say a lot of things.” Zoya held her chin high. “And you know that’s not my way of doing things. This is my place; I’m not going to let anyone take it away.”

I don’t want to live in darkness. She fought and lost and suffered to get to where she was. She was certainly not going to give it up for a bad timed and poorly chosen crush. An idiotic and simple crush. Genya nodded, getting the hint that it was enough for today. She seemed to remember something and got back to her tailoring kit.

“Speaking of Nikolai, there’s one thing missing. He gave them to me before I came here.”

Genya walked towards her and clipped what looked like a pin on her dress. She made her turn around to look herself in the mirror. Zoya felt something warming her from the inside when she looked at it; it was more of a medal than a pin. Ravka’s double eagle was shining on her chest, pleated gold, with Alina’s sun behind it and an Etherealki blue ribbon. It resembled the medals she saw on the supposedly war heroes’ generals that worked with Nikolai, but it was more elegant. She brushed her finger on it, full of pride.

“Me and David have one too.” Genya showed her the other one she was holding before securing it on herself. It was Corporalki red. “David has a Materialki purple ribbon. Nikolai told me people should always know we are his most trusted generals and friends. That we work for Ravka as much as he does, and we are owed the same respect, even at a ball.”

Respect. Recognition. Another time, Nikolai managed to surprise her. Because this wasn’t just a pretty thing, a nice embellishment. And while she had been his general for almost three years, that didn’t mean people had accepted and treated her with the appropriate regard. This was a symbol of the king’s trust, something that would force the nobles and the army to behave accordingly, even at events where it would be so easy to down-play her and treat her like another beautiful hollow courtier. Stupid thoughtful Nikolai. She was torn between wanting to kill him for making her feel like this or kiss him senseless for the same reason. Get a grip, Zoya.

“You’re not going to be like him, Zoya.” Zoya startled at Genya words, confused for a moment. She cleared her throat, shoving the treacherous thoughts she was having away. Genya had moved beside her, taking her hand in her own. Looking at Genya firm and proud gaze, she realized they were not talking about Nikolai anymore, and that she hadn’t dropped the conversation before because she was scared or angry at her. It was because she understood where Zoya’s fears were coming from, and she was facing them head on now.

“The Darkling.” She added to clarify, lingering on his name with a tremor in her voice. “Even with all the power you have, you are nothing like him. You managed to do what he had always claimed he wanted, and he had never done: you are saving Grishas, you are rebuilding the Second Army and you hold a position as the King’s right hand. What drives you is not the hunger for power; is the care you have for Ravka and your people. The Darkling wanted to control them, to own them. You protect them.”

Zoya tightened the hold of her hand, while looking at their reflections in the mirror, in the stunning gowns and the triumvirate’s pins. Two women who had believed in the wrong man and kept paying the price for their ingenuity, who had saved themselves in the end. She sucked in a breath, seeing someone she barely recognized; there was almost nothing left of the scared little girl. With the medal on her chest, diamonds in her hair and a glowing fierce light in her eyes she really looked like the leader she aspired to be. She wondered if she was still pretending, or some of the act was now true.

“Stop me before I can become like him.” Zoya blurted out, the words unsteady and whispered. Genya shook her head, leaning in towards her.

“You are different in every way. And you have something he never had; you have people who love you. Believe me, Nikolai is going to burn down all of Os Alta before he lets anything happen to you. None of us is going to let anything happen to you.”

“I’m not afraid of something happening to me, rather than to others.” What if I hurt Nikolai? What if I hurt anyone of you? Genya lowered her head on her shoulder, still holding her hand.

“We fought our way out of his grip once. We’re not going to let him bring us down. We’re stronger than we were before.”

“And we’re together, now.”

Zoya needed something to anchor herself on; the words felt uncertain, more like a question. Because she knew, deep down she knew she was still somehow living by what he had taught her: love is a weakness. And she knew that while Genya talked of friendship, Zoya herself was distancing from everyone. That she was suffocating her feelings for Nikolai, effectively cutting out the person she had relied on the most. That she didn’t know how to be close to someone. That, like the Darkling, she felt destined to be alone. And yet a part of her still needed to believe that a strand of what she conquered was going to save her, that someone was going to reach for her.

“And we’re together.”

Genya repeated, more firmly. We’re not going to let him bring us down another time. A litany. It was our blood on the skiffs, in the sand, on the rocks of a mountain. I’m nothing like him. An enchantment. And we’re together. He had taught her wrong. One day she would be free of this last cage, too.

[nazyalenskyism]

There’s no Need to Break the Door

Summary: A Zoyalai fic based on the prompt: ‘There is no need to break the door.’   send me a promt and i’ll write you a blurb Prompt: "There is no need to break the door"

        “Zoya! Open the door! You chose the worst day to sleep in for the first time in your life.”         Zoya groaned, burying her head underneath her pillow, trying to block out the banging and yelling. A lack of sleep was making her head pound, the too-bright sun was poking at her eyes, and the heavy weight at her waist was helping drag her back towards sleep. What could Genya possibly want?

        “Zoya! We agreed to get ready here before we meet up with the others at Nikolai’s before the event!”         Shit. The fundraiser. She shot up in bed, momentarily unable to register the resistance she was met with on the way up. Zoya let out a shriek as she scrambled back against the headboard, there was a man in her bed. No, she thought as he turned over to face her, not just any man, it was Nikolai. A shirtless, dazed, Nikolai who looked a little too much like he was exactly where he belonged on the opposite side of the bed.

        “Give me five minutes, I’m getting dressed,” she snapped, flinging herself across the room to throw a housecoat over her thin nightgown. The memories of the night before were rushing back at her, and the more she remembered the less she wanted to. Flashes of Nikolai and her both being stood up for their dates, coming back to her place, slipping off her heels and throwing her legs over his while they watched a movie with takeout on the couch. Falling asleep against his shoulder, being carried to bed, refusing to let go of him when he’d tried to go back to the sofa. Resting her head on his chest while he told her the story of how he met Tolya and Tamar, his arm tight around her, the same arm that had still been wrapped around her this morning. Shit. 

        “Hey,” Zoya hissed, snapping her fingers at the blonde in her bed, “wake up.”

        “What do you want,” Nikolai mumbled, his voice husky with sleep. Get yourself together, Zoya thought, trying desperately to reign in her fluttering heartbeat. You’re not attracted to him, you’re just sleep-deprived and groggy. Yes, that was it. She tried to ignore the fact that last night was the first time in months that she’d slept for eight hours straight.         “Hey,” she snapped again, balling up his discarded shirt from the floor and pelting it at him. “Get up!”

        “Zoya? What are you doing in my--” he bolted upright, “this is your bed.”         “No shit! Get dressed, Genya’s banging on the door because we’re supposed to be at your place in twenty minutes.” 

        “The fundraiser,” Nikolai groaned, tugging on his shirt over his head before turning to her “Tamar and Tolya are probably already there, I need to leave, right now.” 

        Okay, so they were acting as if nothing happened, which was perfectly fine with her, it wasn’t like anything had happened, it wasn’t like she’d slept with him. Well, she had, but in a completely innocent and platonic way. Nothing unusual for good friends, right?  “Yes, you need to leave. Right now.”

        “Everything okay, Nazyalensky? You’re looking a bit peaky, is the sight of me in the morning really that awe-inspiring?”         “Zoya, I’m going to break down the door if you don’t open it. We’re already late!” 

        “Shut up,” she groaned, her head was pounding and she couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or his voice. She’d never had to deal with him before she had at least two cups of coffee in her system, and she realized now that he was infinitely more insufferable on an empty stomach. “Genya’s going to try to pick out an outfit for me, you can’t hide out here. You need to climb out the side window when I bring Genya in.”

        “Right, right,” he nodded, “remind me why I have to avoid Genya.”         “No one can ever know about this, no one.”

        “Come on, no one’s going to care. It’s not like anything happened-- well other than your snoring for eight hours.” 

        “I don’t snore.”         “Sure you don’t.” 

        “Get out before I throw you out.”

        Nikolai winked, throwing her a mock salute before grabbing his shoes from the entryway, and making his way over to the side window. “See you in a bit, Nazyalensky.”

        She huffed, opening the door to a perfectly styled Genya in a pastel floral dress, flowing down to her ankles, complete with strappy heels. Her look at Zoya was downright murderous, “did you just roll out of bed?”         “Maybe,” Zoya ground out, stepping back to let Genya into the apartment, the other girl making a beeline for her room, and she could only hope that Nikolai had gotten out unnoticed.         “Was the date last night that good? Or that bad?” Genya’s voice called out from the closet where she’d already begun flinging out pieces of clothing onto Zoya’s unmade bed. “How do we feel about Baby Blue?”         “We feel great about whatever gets us out the door in less than ten minutes.”

        Genya rolled her eyes, throwing the tulle corset dress at her, making her way over to the vanity. “Where are your earrings?”         “In the jewelry box in the corner.” 

        “So, how was the date?”         “We don’t have time for this,” she called out from behind the folding screen. She really didn’t have it in her to come up with a fake story regarding the night before, and now that she thought about it, she and Nikolai probably should’ve straightened their stories out. What if he told everyone a conflicting story and they all found out what had really happened? She’d never live it down.         “It was terrible,” she began, as Genya sat her down at the vanity, curling wand in hand. “He never showed, so I came home and drank while watching that movie Tamar loves.” There, that was close enough to the truth that she wouldn’t mess up her recounting if pressed on the matter. It didn’t matter that she’d excluded how Nikolai had split those bottles of wine with her, and how there were definite gaps in the memory of the night before. Now she just had to hope Nikolai didn’t say anything stupid.         “He wasn’t worth your time anyway,”         She laughed, “who is?”         “Well,” Genya began as Zoya applied the finishing touches to her makeup, “if you’re looking for suggestions--”

        “No.” She knew exactly who Genya was going to bring up, and she was less than willing to talk about the idiot she’d found in her bed this morning. Saints, how was she reckless enough to let this happen? Why did she find herself less and less horrified the more she thought back on just how much she’d enjoyed last night in Nikolai’s company? She needed breakfast, now. She clearly wasn’t thinking straight.         “Just hear me out!”

        “No. Now let’s go, we’re going to be late.”         The ride to Nikolai’s apartment was short so she only had to skirt Genya’s attempts to weasel more information about her date, or lack thereof, out of her for a short while.         “Do you think they’re all set up yet?” Genya asked knocking on the door incessantly, her knuckles continuing to tap the wood as Zoya replied.         “Maybe, why?”         “Given how Nikolai’s probably only been home for all of ten minutes, I figure they’ll have barely started.”         Zoya whirled on her, how did she know? but the door was already opening, Nikolai leaning against the doorframe without a hair out of place. “There’s no need to break the door! Genya, Zoya, it’s been so long!” 

        Genya raised a brow, “we saw each other last week.”         “A moment can feel like an eternity when one is away from friends.”       “Cute, is that an original or from one of Tolya’s books?” Her gaze swept the room, undoubtedly scanning for signs that he’d just arrived, but like Nikolai, the apartment was perfectly set up, all the chairs were in even rows and bouquets sat along the large window sills adding warmth to the large sitting room. They made their way to to the back garden before Nikolai replied.       “I think it’s from a movie? The one based on that book Tamar loves?”       Zoya saw the girl’s eyes narrow at this. Oh Saints. “Are the twins back from the caterer?” She asked, trying futilely to turn the conversation away from the inevitable.       “I know you two were together last night!” Genya burst out. Shit.       “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nikolai replied casually, and looking at him, Zoya would’ve thought that was the truth, had she not known differently.       “Genya, I told you, I came home after my date stood me up--”       “You both know that I know, so you can cut it out. I saw Nikolai’s watch in your bathroom, his phone was on your vanity, he smells like your wildflower perfume, Zoya! Now which one of you is going to tell me what happened?”

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Home Sweet Home: Moving Day

Summary- 3.1k Andy Barber x You. You and Andy almost have it all, married and with a jointed family consisting of Andy’s teenage son Jacob, as well as your two younger children John and Cassidy. Looking to add another member, your family is in need of a bigger house, a forever home. You find just the place, 112 Ocean Avenue in Amityville Long Island.   Home Sweet Home

Written for @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho​ Spooky Scary Stories challenge. Divider by @firefly-graphics​

Warnings- Not many that I can see. Mentions of murder and spooks. 

A/N- I chose Amityville Horror for the challenge because its one of my favorite Spook Stories growing up. When reading you will find a lot of similarities to the 2005 Movie, some of the scenarios and dialogue are specifically from that film. Other parts of it are from the book itself. The family name was changed for my own personal reasons. Happy Haunting!  🎃

Chapter 1 / Masterlist 

The day the family moves in, you couldn't have been more excited to be moving into your dream home. The home you and Andy would be raising the family in. The movers were quick under your and Andy’s directions of where to put boxes and furniture. Jacob managed to keep Cassidy and John occupied by exploring the yard and along the lakes edge until most of the chaos ended. 

Andy and you called them in once the movers left. When all three came back in, you took them on a tour of the house, going through the downstairs and then going on upstairs to show each one the bedrooms you and Andy had chosen. Andy took the boys to their rooms, dropping John off in his to check out, and then Andy opened a nearby door to Jacob's room. Jacob walked in, looking around. “Yup, looks like a bedroom.” he commented, sounding just like Andy in that moment. Andy stepped in, remarking at him. 

“Smartass... do you like it? Y/N thought this one would be better for you. It's a bit away from the kids, give you a bit more privacy you didn't have at the other house.” 

Jacob gave a smile to his father while nodding. “It's great dad, seriously.” he assured him, and Andy nodded. 

“Well I will leave you to unpack then.” 

In Cassidy’s room, she was excited over the unique windows facing the front, and she ran to the first one looking out over the driveway and the rest of the neighborhood. “Wow, I can see everything.” She started waving at people passing by on the street. 

“You really like it Sweetheart?” You asked, having picked this room just for her cause of the pink flowered wallpaper, and there was a small vanity already built into the wall. She nodded and giggled at the window. 

“Yes mommy, I do.” She went back to looking at the window, and you pulled open a box to start taking care of clothes when she started speaking again. “Hi, hello… what's your name?” She tilted her head with a nod and another giggle. “I’m Cassidy, see you later!” You had been working on putting clothes in the dresser from boxers when you heard her odd words. 

“Who are you talking to Baby?” You go over behind her and she looks up at you. 

“They said a friend, but they had to go.” She shrugged like it was no big deal and went to go open more boxes to help you unpack. You peek outside curiously, but saw nothing out of the ordinary when Andy saying your name turned you around. 

“Hmm, what?” 

“I said the boys both approve of the rooms you chose for them, and are currently putting their rooms together. I'm gonna go build our bed and then come take care of Cassidy’s.” 

Agreeing that was a good idea, the rest of the day was getting the basics together. By the time dinner rolled around, Andy had insisted on ordering a few pizzas and you agreed tiredly. Andy eased a hand over your shoulder and to the back of your neck, massaging gently while you let your head fall forward, breathing in deeply. “How about you take a shower? I will get dinner handled. By the time you come back down, it should be already.” 

“You really don't mind Andy?” You ask, and he gives a shake of the head, kissing your forehead he eased you towards the stairs. 

“Baby, I insist.” He winked at you, and you gave a nod while heading up the stairs. The allure of a hot shower and getting into your ultimate comfort clothes you already pulled out and were on the bed just sounded like the best thing you've ever heard. 

Grabbing your towels and a washcloth from a box, you wandered into the master bathroom. This was the first time you’ve had a bathroom all for just the two of you, and you couldn't help but feel like this was truly living. Soon the hot water was going, and you were stepping into the shower, humming happily to yourself. 

Downstairs Andy had made the call for a few pizzas after googling for a local restaurant. He went to check on John and Cassidy to find that they had found a board game and were making up their own version. Jacob, he could hear music playing up in his room. You were in the shower and he would be taking one soon as everyone was fed and the little ones put in bed. All in all a good day he thought. Going back to the kitchen, he searched out for plates, and took care of a few more dishes. It wasn't long till the doorbell rang. “Coming.” Andy called out while checking to be sure he had his wallet on him for a tip to whomever was delivering that night. 

He opened the door to find a teenager warily standing on the bottom step, looking up at the house. Jumping a bit when he heard Andy open the door, he went up the stairs and held the boxes out. “Been a while since anyone has came out here.” 

Andy took the pizzas and set them just inside the door on a small table and then dug out his wallet to pull out a tip. “Oh yea, is that so?” Not really giving the kid’s words much thought, but he ended up continuing regardless of Andy’s uninterested tone. 

“Yea, last time anyone came out was before that night.” He took the tip, and pocketed it. “You know about the night, right?” 

Andy shuffled a bit, wanting to close the door. “Yes, we were made aware before we moved in.” 

The teenager just continued. “Yup, all five of them were in their beds. I knew Ronnie, he was a lot older than me, but he was cool. Can't believe he took a rifle and just shot them all. Guess you just never know what people are capable of.” 

Now Andy was done, and snapped out. “No I guess not. Bye.” Stepping back, he let the door shut firmly and flipped the lock, gathering the pizzas to take to the kitchen. What the kid said unsettled him. But he shook it off before addressing John and Cassidy. “Are you hungry, Kids?” 

A thud of feet sent Cassidy and John racing into the kitchen, and Andy simply sent a message from his phone to Jacob upstairs, knowing it would be faster than going up to knock on his door. Grabbing plates, Andy looked at the two littlest ones. 

“Okay kids, I got… anchovy and extra anchovy. What do you want.” He grinned innocently at them, and they both made funny faces at him in disgust. 

“Cheese?” John asked hopefully. Andy popped open the top, and showed off a cheese pizza. Peeling off a slice and plating it, Cassidy reached for the plate. 

“Andy, can you add an extra slice for Jody? They say they want a piece.” Cassidy hummed and Andy indulged her, putting on a second slice. 

“Who’s Jody Kiddo?” Andy questioned as he also handed over paper towels for napkins. 

“My friend. But you can't see them. They don’t like grownups although I told them you were nice.” She said as if it was everyday and John rolled his eyes at her 

“You're so weird Cass, Jody isn't real.”  John snickered as he reached for a piece and bit off the end while Andy handed a plate over to him to use.

“Is to! Jody says boys like you are mean.” Cassidy cried out and then the siblings stuck their tongues out at each other and Andy was quick to jump in. 

 “Hey hey hey, John don't pick on your sister. Cass, Please just tell Jody not to make a mess.”

Jacob came in the room, following his nose to the scent of pizza. “Who’s Jody?” 

Andy moved aside the cheese to the pizza with toppings underneath he knew Jacob would prefer. “Jody is Cass’s friend.” Cassidy took a bite of her pizza and gave Jacob a nod, and the teenager nodded in understanding. Picking out a slice of pepperoni. “Ya know, I had a friend like that.” 

“You did?” John asked, suddenly on board with the imaginary friends cause Jacob seemed okay with it. Andy went to find a couple wine glasses while listening to Jacob recall the story of his imaginary friend Stan the Man. Andy had to smile at the memory of Jacob and Stan the Man, his son had insisted he was taller then the house but could shrink down to his size in order to play. Laurie had been a bit concerned about how often Jacob had talked about him, but Andy wasn’t. Pulling out a bottle of wine, he opened it up and checked the time, figuring you would be down pretty soon.

Upstairs you were finishing your shower, your head tilted back into the spray and fingers scrubbing out your conditioner when you happened to look towards the showers curtain and saw what looked like Andy standing there. “Andy? You trying to sneak in with me for a few minutes?” You rubbed the water from your face, expecting to hear an answer. 

“Andy?” You looked again and the shape moved like they were about to get in, but there still isn't an answer. 

“Are the kids okay? Andy?” you frowned and went to move the curtain, to open it and when you looked around it, there was nothing. No one was standing there, the door was still shut, and you could feel your heart race a bit. You suddenly didn't want to be there anymore when your chest tightened in discomfort, you knew you saw someone on the other side of the curtain, and was sure of it. A chill ran up your spine and you hurriedly rushed to turn the water off and get out. Drying off, you hurried off into the bedroom, completely missing the whisper of your name as well as a figure moving out of the fogged up mirror, leaving behind the word ‘Catch ‘em, Kill ‘em’ streaked through the condensation. 

Dressing, you made your way downstairs to see everyone Andy and Jacob laughing about something while picking at toppings of their pizza slices to pop in their mouth,  the kids sitting at the table, legs swinging as they peeled off bits of cheese. You approached to peek in the box, grabbing a piece of pepperoni, and Andy hugged you from behind, his beard tickling your neck as he hummed against your ear. 

“Feel better Mrs.Barber?” 

“I will feel better if there is a glass of wine with my name on it.” You chuckled and he was quick to hand you one. Sipping from it, you set it aside and turned in his arms, cupping his face in your hands. “Now I’m much better, thank you.” Tilting up you gave him an affectionate kiss, John and Cassidy making eww noises and Andy chuckled against your lips at them. 

“Man, we're trying to eat. Take it to your room.” Jacob joked from the other side of the counter, and Andy gave a smug look at his son. “We probably will later.” Jacobs scowl had you covering your mouth in a laugh and you finally reached for a slice of pizza, nipping at the tip.  

Dinner was eaten, and after Jacob goes to his room, and the kids are in bed all tucked in, you go to the bedroom with wine glass in hand, Andy is stretched out on the bed to relax for the first time that day. You set your wine glass aside on the dresser, and go to work on hanging Andy’s suits in the closet before going to lay down, unsettled a bit as you look towards the bathroom. 

“Andy, you didn’t happen to come into the bathroom when I was in there, did you?” 

He looked up from his phone with a curious furrow to his brow. “No, I was downstairs with the kids the whole time. Why?” 

You shrug as you hang another suit up, coming out of the closet and picking up another. “I just thought I saw someone in the bathroom, and when I opened the curtain, nothing. I think I'm just over tired.” you admitted, and he opens his mouth to say something when your phone rings. You turn away to go back in the closet, and Andy stretches out to grab it off your side of the night stand. He doesn't bother to see who it is, but swipes his thumb across the answer button while keeping an eye on you. 

“Barber residence?” 

You are humming while fixing the suits so they don't wrinkle. 

“Of course, here she is.” He lowered the phone and “Y/N, it's your mom.” 

You brighten when you hear who it is, and flick off the light to the closet. You swear you hear a muffled growl behind you, and turn towards the sound with a frown when Andy gets your attention once more. “You have to tell her to stop gushing over me baby.” He winks teasing as he rolls up off the bed, and you scoff at him with a smack to his chest while taking the phone. Tumbling on the bed and getting comfy, you raise the phone to your ear. “Hey mom! Yes, we're all settled, kids are in bed, but you call tomorrow, you can skype with them. They would love to see you.” 

Andy feels a chill up his neck and he rubs at his arms, lowering to settle his hand over the heating grate. It feels like a heavy draft coming through and he glances up at you, mouthing. “You feel chilly babe?” 

You shake your head in a no while still listening to your mother. “Oh mom, you will love it. Plenty of room for you to come stay as well. Maybe at Christmas time? We have the most perfect family room for a good big family Christmas.” 

Andy heads out of the room while you're on the phone, sure the heater in the basement isn't turned on even though he knew that he had someone come in before to turn all of it on to get ready for them. Quick to go down to the first floor, he went into the kitchen and flicked on the basement light. 

The lights flickered several times like they were about to go out. Once it became steady, he went down the creaking stairs and rubbed his hand against his arms looking around the dimly lit basement. Basements always felt awkward. He knew there wouldn't be anything to be necessarily scared of, but they always seemed hidden away from sight, where secrets of the house might be kept. Even now when peering into the dark corners of the interior, he shivered in distrust of the shadows. 

Andy it's just a basement. He would scold himself as he crossed the icy cement floor, and tried to ignore what he thought was his imagination. 

A shadow shifted, darker than the shadows of normal for an old house. It stalked along behind the man. Andy went over to the heating system, a state of the art boiler system that was almost brand new, having been installed when the previous owners updated the house. 

Now Andy wasn't any expert in heaters, so when he squatted down, he looked along the switches, that all appeared to be in the on position, which he flicked anyways. He also leaned down to see the pilot light was still on, which it flickered reassuringly when he peeked. 

He leaned back up with a frown, and while he was sitting there on the cold basement floor, a bone chilling coldness stabbed him in the back, paralyzing his spine, and the hair on Andy's body bristled as he heard something shuffle behind him. His chest ached in a panic that made breathing  almost impossible. A dread settled on him, sunk from his shoulders and down through his body. 

This must be what a condemned man must feel like. 

His eyes squeezed shut and he fought to turn around. He had to turn around, see what was coming for him. Andy felt it come closer, the air around him freezing cold that he felt it burn with each breath that he inhaled and released. Could feel something hover near the back of his neck, like it was just about to reach out and snatch his life. Rational thought had gone into hiding, now was just the sudden fear for his soul, and he whipped around suddenly when he broke from it to see nothing. 

Absolutely nothing was behind him. 

Cursing as he gasped in relief, the memory of impending death turning into fear and scolding himself for being afraid of nothing, he pulled himself up off the floor to a stand. Andy’s heart was still racing as if it was going to crash out of his chest cavity, but he ignored it while he slammed the panel shut, and looked to see one of the heating ducts. Pressing his hand against it, a sudden hum came and a rush of warm air breezed against his palm. 

“Fucking finally” He growled, and started to make his way back upstairs, what Andy missed was the hissing from the duct work, barely audible. “Catch ‘em, Kill ‘em.” As he started up the stairs, he shivered again and a racking cough exploded from his chest out of nowhere. 

The shadow seemed to crouch further in its hiding place with a flash of red orbs before swirling away into nothingness. 

He continued coughing as he went up the stairs, weariness coming over him. When he went into the bedroom, You sat up with a teasing look on his face. “Get that heater running Andy?” 

Settling on the end of the bed, he started to peel off his shirt, and you scooted over, rubbing at his back while kissing the back of his neck. “Mmhh, yes I did Y/N. Can we not tonight Love?” He looked over his shoulder and smiled weakly. “Not feeling my best tonight.” 

You pulled back with understanding, and ran your hand down his back and nodded. “Of course Baby, long day.” 

Andy eased back and opened his arms for you to settle in. Your head went on his shoulder, and soon he coughed hard, pulling away from you to lay on his side. Frowning in worry, you settle into your spot and fall asleep.

Once he fell asleep, Andy did nothing but dream awful dreams all night. Dreams filled with him staring at you at the end of a rifle, finger on the trigger to ease it back with a click. Images of Jacob, John and Cassidy running away from him to race into bedrooms and slam the door shut on him. Something cackling from the walls, constantly whispering “Catch ‘em, Kill ‘em” till Andy was trying to smother the sound under his palms. Waking with a jerk, he doubled over in the early morning light, coughing again and shivering in the cold.

[laequiem]

No tricks, only treats [ONESHOT]

/ Cardan and Jude join the rest of the family to enjoy Halloween in the Mortal World.

Part of Tales from the Mortal Realm, a collection of random moments in the lives of the Queen and King of Elfhame.

"Is it strange that I find you attractive dressed as such?"

I was looking at myself in the mirror, assessing my outfit, when Cardan sneaked into the room. His training with The Ghost was paying off, he was as silent as ever.

"Strange? Yes. Surprising? No."

Read it on ao3

"Is it strange that I find you attractive dressed as such?"

I was looking at myself in the mirror, assessing my outfit, when Cardan sneaked into the room. His training with The Ghost was paying off, he was as silent as ever.

"Strange? Yes. Surprising? No."

I saw him prowl towards me through the glass. He slid his arms around my waist, staring at me through my reflection.

Today is October 31st and Oak insisted we join him in celebrating Halloween. Of course, this means we all need costumes. I decided to go as the one character I knew more than anyone else.

Cardan.

I looked through his wardrobe for my outfit. It was quite hard to find a top that was loose enough to account for my breasts, as most of his clothes were tailored to fit him perfectly. I also found a dark blue coat, its collar covered in iridescent feathers. I gave up trying to find pants in his collection, as my hips would never fit, and just wore a pair of black leggings with black combat boots.

"What do you mean, dear Jude?"

"The only thing you love more than booze is yourself."

He raised his brows, making a show of looking offended. 

"Your capacity to lie to yourself will always impress me,” he said then plucked a kiss to my temple, “I love you more than I love wine."

I don’t think I will ever get over him being  caring . It felt as if he was a completely different person from the boy who would disturb lessons just to get attention.

Cardan turned me to face him, then inspected my face. “Something is missing.” He took my hand and directed me to his personal vanity. He opened the drawer and pulled out some cosmetics. He lined my eyes with kohl and coated my lashes with dark mascara. I suppressed my laugh when I saw he was so concentrated that he had stuck out his tongue. Then, he took out some glittery gold powder and applied it on my cheekbones. 

He took a step back to look at his handiwork and smiled.

“And the final touch,” he said as he plucked his crown off his head and put it on my head at an angle, “Voilà!”

I looked at myself in the mirror. I did not bother with any kind of wig. I put my hair up in elaborate braids, letting a few short curls hang in a few places. Yet, even without his signature dark hair, I still looked like him. I made faces at myself in the mirror, trying to get his grin right. 

Finally, I got up. “Your turn now, dearest Cardan.”

When Heather learned that Cardan would be coming too, she started suggesting outfits for him. She even went as far as drawing some of them. Something about his otherworldly looks inspired her. Maybe it's the tail, since a lot of her designs included it: a devil, sexy cat man and my personal favorite, a cute puppy.

In the end, I chose my own, petty idea. I walked in the closet and pulled out the outfit I had the servants clean for the occasion. 

“A King needs his Queen,” I grinned as I revealed the Queen of Mirth dress and crown.

Cardan threw his head back laughing. “You sure know how to hold a grudge.”

Thankfully, my husband was a team player, and he went with it. Even in this, he looked strikingly handsome. Or pretty, I guess. Unfair.

We landed in Maine in the early afternoon. It was strange to be awake so early, but Cardan did not seem bothered at all. We met up with Vivi, Heather, Oak, Taryn and Garrett at the entrance to FallFest, some kind of harvest festival that was held every October in the local park. It had everything from harvest contests to food stands, a section with typical carnival games, a small hay maze and even a haunted house.

I was not surprised to see my eldest sister dressed up, she went crazy for Halloween every year. Vivienne would dress up for a week straight before Halloween, even when she still lived in Elfhame. She was wearing a tight black bodysuit with a tail and claws as well as a black leather mask with cat ears. Heather dressed up as some kind of … plant lady? She had a short bodysuit made of green ivy leaves, green stockings and a long red wig. Oak was with them, wearing a reddish pink shirt with a big yellow star on it. I can only assume they went for pop-culture references I am unfamiliar with.

The real surprise was seeing my twin Taryn and her quiet lover also dressed up.

"What are you dressed as?", Cardan inquired, cocking his head to the side, "You ought to have dressed as Jude, you have already proved to be so good at it."

I snapped my head at him and slammed my foot as hard as I could on his. He was joking, of course. But the peace between me and Taryn was still fairly new. We mostly kept to ourselves and rarely talked. Garrett was back with the Court of Shadow and we were friendly, but he kept his professional and personal lives completely separated.

Cardan was hopping on one foot, scowling at me like he did not understand why I was upset. Taryn understood, though. She was sheepishly looking at the ground.

"I… I'm sorry for tricking you, Cardan."

I tried finding something to say to end the awkwardness. I wanted Cardan to apologize for what he said, but I knew he would not. Fae don't apologize.

Thankfully, Vivi broke the silence. "C'mon guys, we're here to HAVE FUN!" she complained, "What ARE you two dressed as?"

"Phantom of the Opera." Garrett replied.

"Nerds."

"Says the one dressed up as Catwoman." Garrett mocked.

The bickering continued, though less mean-spirited than Cardan’s original comment, as we walked down the main path. Our first stop was the pumpkin carving station. Each couple got their own pumpkin to carve, though Vivi and Heather’s pumpkin was mostly Oak’s handiwork and the couple making sure he did not stab himself. Taryn and Garrett made some intricate flower design on theirs, Garrett being the one doing the carving of course. As for us, well… Cardan had creative ideas, but no skills with a blade, and my skills were more of the  stabbing  variety. We settled on giving our pumpkin a traditional jack-o-lantern face. 

After the effort of carving pumpkins, we were starving. Oak was complaining, dragging his feet on the ground so much that Vivi and Heathers were holding both of his hands to pull him along. Behind them, I saw Taryn with her arm looped around The Ghost's.

I was suddenly very aware that Cardan and I were the only ones not holding hands.

Nobody knows us here. We needn't keep the appearance of the power couple, together to rule and nothing else.

I took my hand out of the pockets of my borrowed coat and tentatively brushed my fingers against Cardan's hand. I saw him whip his head towards me, and I blushed when I witnessed the surprise in his face. Soon enough, he smiled. One of those smiles he kept for me and only me, blissful and happy. The smile he gives me when we have the time to spend hours cuddled together in bed, enjoying each other's presence.

Cardan took my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back.

We spent the rest of the afternoon eating good food, trying to guess the weight of giant pumpkins and visiting a haunted house. Cardan was fascinated by the weird human traditions and absolutely ecstatic about the food. Pumpkin-spiced flavored food will become the new trend in Elfhame, judging by his reaction.

When the sun started to go down, Taryn and Garrett left for Madoc’s, who decided to try giving out candy to the trick-or-treaters. Heather and Vivienne had initially volunteered to take Oak trick-or-treating himself, but when one of their friends invited them to a party, we offered to take him instead. Oak was excited to spend more time with me and “Uncle Cardan”. 

I had not gone trick-or-treating in...10 years? Maybe 12? Since my parents died. Cardan, obviously, had never gone. So, dressed up as each other, with Oak dressed as some cartoon character, we roamed the residential streets of the city to beg for sweets.

“If it is called ‘trick-or-treat’, does that mean I can make bargains if someone refuses to give me candy?” Cardan asked as we watched Oak go up to a house.

I gave him my best ‘I’ll-strangle-you-if-you-do’ stare. “No. No turning people into cats, no curse making them hear imaginary insects buzzing around their ears.”

“Why is it called trick-or-treat, then?”

Vivienne told me they had to explain this to Oak, too, a few weeks ago. Someone at school had mentioned being excited to go trick-or-treating and my brother had been very confused.

“I don’t know.”

Cardan hmmed and smirked, “Perhaps the Folk were involved when the holiday was first established.”

I crossed my arms.

“If that’s the case, not all traditions need to be brought back.”

He laughed at that, then reached around me and pulled me closer to him.

“You win. I won’t trick anyone,” he crooned in my ear, “but I want a kiss for being well behaved.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “So needy.”

Once again, I had to remind myself that nobody knows us here. Nobody recognized our costumes today: in the mortal world, dressed as each other, we were only The Guy In An Ugly Dress and Fashionable Emo Boy. Nobody knew we are King and Queen of Elfhame, therefore there are no expectations to be the hedonistic king and his murderous wife.

I slid my hand behind his neck and pulled him down. I felt him smile as I captured his lips with mine.

“Ew, gross!” Oak’s voice came from the other end of the driveway, “Stop that, come here.”

Reluctantly, we pulled away from each other and looked towards the house. Oak was in front of the opened door, talking with a couple. 

“Honey, look,” the tallest woman exclaimed as we walked down the driveway, “She’s dressed as High King Cardan!”

“Oh my god,” the other one replied, sounding so very human, “that sounds kind of profane. Do you think he would have her hung for this?”

As I looked at the two women, I realized that Oak had stumbled upon the house of a Fae couple. They saw through his glamour, and he saw through theirs.

“This is my sister Jude,” Oak started, “and this is my Uncle Cardan.”

Both females had gone completely still and were staring at Cardan with wide eyes. Simultaneously, they bowed deeply. 

“Forgive us, Your Majesty. We weren’t expecting you.”

“We so rarely see our kind around here,” the shorter one said nervously, “we… wanted to meet who little Oak was with.”

“We have tea, if you would like.”

I dared a glance at Cardan and noticed he seemed amused. Was he delighted to make them uncomfortable?

“That won’t be necessary,” he said as he took my hand, “My  wife  has us on a tight schedule, we have other houses to visit. Have a nice evening.”

I caught the emphasis on  wife  and realized they only recognized him as royalty. ‘  Your Majesty ’, singular. I could tell from the two females’ expressions that they also understood their mistake. I felt bad for them knowing they had no ill intent, probably unaware of the situation in Faerie. Yet, I could not help the grin that crept on my face. I worked hard to become High Queen. I fought and killed my way through the ranks, almost dying. Multiple times. I made decisions that will haunt me until the day I die. I am High Queen, and the Folk must know. 

“It was nice meeting you,” I say as I take Oak’s hand, “You are welcome to visit us at the palace if you wish.”

My memories from before Faerieland were to blurry, I did not remember getting so much candy. Did Taryn and I get that much? How could we possibly have eaten all of that? Cardan and I each had a smaller bag, only accompanying Oak to some of the doors, but Oak had multiple full bags. Once he went to sleep, Oriana was more than happy to give us some. She had learned how bad candy was for children���s teeth - even little Fae kids. She filled little bags for us to take back to Elfhame. 

Like anyone eating candy for the first time, Cardan went a little crazy. He wanted to try everything. Faeries might be different in a lot of ways, but I now have proof that chocolate is addictive even to them. 

The High King of Elfhame ate so much candy that he fell asleep on the couch, to the former General’s dismay.

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {7}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: And so it begins.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

The last thing Feyre wanted to do was sit through supper with her sisters, Elain’s future fiance, and the pain in the ass that was Lord Rhysand of Velaris. 

It was just past six-thirty and their guests were soon to arrive. Nesta had received return letters from both of the gentlemen as the afternoon went on, accepting her invitation. 

Suddenly, Feyre wished that her father hadn’t had to leave town. When he did, Nesta always assumed she was to replace the role of head of the family, because she was the eldest. 

Which was shit, because she was the only one among the three that was yet to have a suitor. There was a time when Feyre believed Tomas Mandray had taken an interest in Nesta. They all believed he would one day propose marriage...until he showed up with his betrothed to their last ball.

Perhaps that is why Nesta had arranged the supper, Feyre thought. To distract her from her own boring loneliness. 

With one last look in the mirror, Feyre jumped off her vanity stool and exited her bedroom. She wore a floor length, dusty blue evening gown and new, polished boots. Her hair was down in long curls, one side pinned back. She told Alis she would have no makeup, for she preferred her natural appearance. 

Besides, she surely wasn’t trying to impress anybody.

Especially not Rhysand, even if the memories of the night before had her heart lightning at the thought of him. 

“Well, don’t you look lovely.”

The moment Feyre shut her door behind her, she was joined by her sister, looking beautiful, but terrified.

Feyre instantly softened at the sight of Elain becoming uneasy. “What is it?”

“What?” Elain asked, caught off guard by the question. 

“You look as if you may faint,” Feyre began, cautiously. “Or vomit.”

Elain chuckled, hesitantly. “I’m quite alright. And you? Excited to see Lord Rhysand?”

“I’d much rather pluck my eyes out,” Feyre mumbled.

She looped her arm through her sister’s as they walked the halls, then down the main staircase, where Nesta was waiting at the bottom. 

Her navy blue gown hugged her hips tightly. Her hair was braided into a crown, and her hands were on her hips as she ordered the servants around. 

“Is this truly such a big occasion?” Feyre asked, brows raised. “Seems to me like you’re overdoing it a bit.”

Indeed, Nesta had gone a bit overboard. Flowers were everywhere, a string quartet was playing softly in the corner. Feyre couldn’t even imagine how the dining room looked. 

“Truly, Nesta,” Elain began, looking around, “it’s lovely, but is it necessary?”

Nesta turned to face her sisters. “Of course, it is. I am trying to find my sisters eligible suitors.”

Feyre groaned as Elain cleared her throat.

“Oh, stop looking so nervous,” Nesta said. “They’ll be here at any moment. Chins up, shoulders back.”

Feyre and Elain shared a look, and she instantly knew what her sister was thinking. Nesta was sounding just like their mother. 

“May as well do what we’re told or all hell will break loose,” Feyre muttered.

Still arm in arm, Feyre and Elain made their way into the grand entrance to await the fate of their evening. 

Feyre couldn’t help but notice the hesitant steps Elain was taking. It was almost as if Feyre was the one dragging her along.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Feyre whispered.

Elain nodded, quickly, but her hands were shaking as they took their place in front of Nesta’s carefully placed bouquets. 

~~~~~

Nesta hurried into the dining room to make sure the table was set like she had asked.

To her surprise, it was, down to the very last detail. The blush lace runner was placed over the ivory tablecloth, and the centerpiece of tulips and baby’s breath fit perfectly. Their finest china was placed about, their finest silverware laid beside it. Floral wine glasses were set by each place, shining brightly as if they were scrubbed more than once.

Nesta was satisfied. 

Sweeping through the threshold of the dining room was Cassian, although Nesta had to glance at him twice to realize it.

His typical stableboy wear was replaced with a fine, tailored suit and white gloves. His shoulder-length hair was brushed neatly and tied back at the nape of his neck.

The moment he saw Nesta, he froze. 

As did she.

“Stableboy,” she greeted him.

Cassian bowed his head. “Lady Nesta.”

“I didn’t realize you were still needed to fill Oliver’s position. Is he still unwell?”

They stood on opposite ends of the room, but Nesta felt as if she were standing much closer to him. Details of their night together at the tavern were still blurry, but as the days went by, the more she remembered.

“He’s feeling better, but still has a bit of a cough and such,” Cassian confirmed. “He should be back soon. Until then, here I am.”

“Are you filling both positions?” Nesta asked. “Edward went with my father, did he not?”

“Yes,” Cassian said, quietly. “He did. I tend to the stables, as I usually do, until they tell me that they need me in here. I am grateful to fill both positions.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed, unsure if he was telling the truth or not. Yet, he seemed genuine. “Very well. Did they train you properly?”

Cassian blinked. “I...believe so?”

“Hmmm.” Nesta eyed him suspiciously. “Very well.” She looked behind him, through the doorway, and when she saw no one was coming, she asked, “Do you recall me wearing a silver bracelet the other night? When we...when I...was...out? If not, it’s quite alright. I just thought I had it on but it was gone when I awoke the next morning. My mother gifted it to me.”

Cassian cleared his throat. “Oh, I...I’m not sure, Lady Nesta. I was focused more on keeping you upright than your apparel.”

Nesta’s scowl deepened. “Very well. If you find it anywhere, please let me know.”

There was no use, though. Nesta knew she wasn’t the classiest of drunks. It had most likely fallen off at some point, between here and there. 

Cassian bowed his head once more before leaving the room. Nesta watched him leave, surprised at how well he looked when he wasn’t dressed in dirty trousers. 

She looked around to admire the work, once more, before returning to her sisters.

~~~~~

Elain felt uneasy. With every second that passed, her heart beat faster. 

With every second that passed, she longed to take Azriel’s hand and run into the woods, damning the consequences. 

But she knew that was nothing more than a dream.

Elain felt like an eternity had passed before the front doors opened and their footman had announced that Lord Rhysand had arrived. Letting out a breath, Elain felt a burden lifted off her as Lucien was not the first to arrive.

Lord Rhysand entered and politely greeted Nesta and Elain before pausing before Feyre and taking her hand, kissing the backside of her palm softly.

Feyre said nothing. She simply snatched her hand away and put it back at her side.

If Lord Rhysand was surprised by this, he surely didn’t show it. His smile widened as Feyre resisted, and he did not push himself any further. Instead, he began to look around the foyer, at the art and the flowers and the quartet in the corner.

Meanwhile, Feyre’s lips were tight in a straight line as she resisted the urge to follow Lord Rhysand with her curious gaze.

Elain knew she wanted to.

She could tell by her mannerisms. 

She could tell by the way her fingers were curled into fists at her aides, by the way her eyes darted across the room every other second. 

But Elain did not dwell much on Feyre, because as the clock continued ticking, her time ran out.

Lucien would be arriving soon.

“At least look as if you’re pleased,” Nesta mumbled.

Elain cleared her throat. She could do this. She could. 

Lucien was the perfect match. 

Azriel was nothing but….

No, Azriel was everything. He-

The thought was cut off short as the front doors opened and Lord Lucien stepped through. His shoulders were relaxed, his eyes bright - the complete opposite of Elain.

Nesta greeted him, then stepped aside, leave Elain in the spotlight.

“My Lord,” she said and curtsied.

“Lady Elain,” he smiled, bowing. “A pleasure to see you again so soon.”

“And you,” Elain agreed.

He was just as handsome as the last time she had seen him. His russet eyes were shining, his auburn hair tied back and neat. He wore a dark green waistcoat that suited him well.

“I am glad you were able to join us,” Elain said, hoping her voice was much more confident than she felt.

“As am I,” he smiled, then held out his hand.

Elain took it, graciously, although her fingers shook as Lucien pressed his mouth to the back of her palm, and Nesta announced, “Let us make way to the dining room.”

No one protested, although Feyre looked as if she wanted to, as Nesta led them from the foyer to the dining hall.

Although there were only five of them, the long table was set extravagantly. They each took their places, Nesta at the head, before the first course appeared.

Lucien helped Elain into her seat before sitting beside her, the pair sitting across from Lord Rhysand and Feyre - the latter looking as if she may set the whole manor on fire. 

~~~~~

Rhysand handled new places and situations quite well.

Thus far, he had gathered that Nesta thought far too highly of herself. She could not have been but a year or two older than the middle sister; yet, she acted as if she was the rich, snooty aunt that expected everyone to fall at her feet and kiss her ass. 

The middle sister - Elain - looked paler than Rhysand had seen her at the ball. She must have been unwell, Rhysand thought. Hopefully she was not vomit all over the grand place setting. 

Her betrothed - or, soon to be betrothed, rather - did not seem to notice. He simply kept smiling her way and gifting her compliments.

Rhysand swore the butler standing closest to the table holding the water and the wine kept looking at Lord Lucien with a murderous gleam in his hazel eyes. But, then again, he was known to imagine such things.

However, he surely was not imagining the scowl that had contorted Feyre’s own face. 

He had to admit. He rather liked the scowl. He knew that she wasn’t trying to be humorous, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the expression.

Even if he kept that laughter within the boundaries of his mind.

“You haven’t touched your soup,” Rhysand began, taking a bite of his own.

Feyre did not meet his gaze. “It’s hot.”

“Is not,” Rhysand murmured, before taking yet another bite.

“Truly, Feyre, do not be rude,” Nesta scorned, although she paid little attention to the bowl before her. “Lucien, how is your father?”

“He’s well.” Lucien smiled politely. 

“And your brothers? All married now, I presume.”

A strangled noise left Elain’s throat.

“Yes,” Lucien confirmed, smiling at the eldest Archeron sister. “All married.”

Nesta gave him a smile that confirmed what they were all thinking, although Rhysand had to admit that he didn’t care.

All he cared about was the woman beside him, looking at her soup as if it was her greatest enemy. 

“We know plenty about Lucien,” Elain began, clearing her throat, voice quiet. “He’s lived here always, and father is good friends with his.” Lucien smiled at that. “But, we do not know much about you, Lord Rhysand.”

Rhysand lifted a brow, spoon still in his hand. “Is that so? Okay. What do you wish to know?”

Elain hesitated. Apparently she hadn’t thought past her statement.

“What keeps you in town?” Nesta asked. “We are glad you are here, of course, but we all thought you had gone back to Velaris.”

Rhysand hesitated, although his sly smile gave nothing away. He could tell them the truth, of course, but that all seemed too private. He was surely into Feyre, obviously, but he did not trust Nesta whatsoever and Elain seemed concerned with her own internal matters. 

“Family matters,” he said, keeping it simple. “Nothing too serious.”

“Ready to go back to Velaris?” Nesta asked.

“Hopefully,” Feyre mumbled.

“I hear it’s lovely there,” Elain said, having yet to take a bite of her soup. “We’ve never been.”

“It is,” Rhysand confirmed. “Velaris has the most beautiful of nights. The starlight is unique, unlike anywhere else.”

Elain’s gentle smile somehow made him feel homesick as he talked about his beloved Velaris. 

“I hope to take Feyre there,” Rhysand began, “soon.”

“She would love that,” Nesta said, allowing the butler to remove her bowl and make way for the main course.

“She can speak for herself, thank you,” Feyre announced, for the first time in quite some time. “And no, she certainly would not love that.”

Rhysand chuckled as a broad-shouldered butler appeared beside him, hair tied back, and took his bowl.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” he said.

“No need,” Rhysand smiled. “If you need me to move, please say so.”

Before the butler could reply, Nesta rolled her eyes. “Please excuse our stableboy. He’s helping while our butler is sick.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that he’s unwell,” Rhysand said, “but it’s nice to know you have such great help in the stables.”

Nesta looked annoyed at his comment, and the table fell into an uncomfortable silence. 

“Well,” Lucien said, from across the table, seemingly nervous. “I am excited for this meal. It smells delicious.” 

No one said a word for the remainder of the meal.

~~~~~

After supper, Elain gave Lucien a tour of the manor, both inside and out. As they walked around Elain’s garden, he found himself smiling.

Elain had been attempting to avoid eye contact at all times. During supper, Azriel had not even looked at her, not once. It was all she could think about.

“You have a lovely garden,” Lucien said, breaking her out of her thoughts. “You’ve done this all on your own?”

“I have,” she said, gently. “It’s one of my greatest passions. I love watching beauty appear from nowhere.”

His smile widened. “That’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said, fully aware that he had taken a step nearer to her.

“Lady Elain-”

“Please, you may call me Elain.”

Lucien nodded. “Then you may call me Lucien.”

Elain, despite her nerves and paranoia, smiled. “Very well.”

He cleared his throat, and for the first time in a long while, Elain met his eyes. “You know that our fathers intend us to be married.”

“Yes,” Elain breathed.

“I know we do not know each other all that well, but I know you are a beautiful, respectable woman,” Lucien began. Elain thought she may faint. “I would like to ask for your hand in marriage, Elain. We can start planning and be wed within the year. And, as that time approaches, I hope to spend each day getting to know you, and proving that I will do all I can to be the greatest husband.”

Elain felt her eyes well up with tears. The man in her mind, in her heart, and the man before her were not the same man. And she hated herself for it, because the man in front of her deserved to be married to someone who adored him in every way.

“You are a good man,” Elain said, words flooding out. “I am honored that you have asked.”

Lucien’s smile widened, reaching up to brush away a tear that fell. Then, his smile wavered. The touch of his skin against hers was warm. “I surely do hope these are tears of joy...Have I done something to offend you, La- sorry. Elain.”

Elain huffed a laugh at his hesitation with her title. No, the tears were not tears of joy, but it was not because of him. He was lovely. He was a Lord. He was who she had to marry, or her father would never forgive her, would never speak to her again. She would be disowned.

“Of course,” she said, voice so quiet it could barely be heard above the pounding of her heart. “It would be an honor to be your wife.”

~~~~~

Nesta had abandoned them moments before, leaving Feyre and Rhysand to a sitting room full of uncomfortable silence.

“Is this it?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre shot him a glare from where she sat across from him. “Pardon?”

“Typically there should be some grand romantic gesture to end an evening such as this,” Rhysand said. “This is just awkward.” 

“Then perhaps you should be going home,” Feyre suggested, rising to her feet. “Well, I should walk you out.”

Rhysand’s deep laugh followed her as she hurried out of the room. “Well, Feyre, darling, I had a lovely evening.” 

“That makes one of us,” Feyre said. 

They reached the front doors, then the front walk. 

“Allow me to tell Cassian to bring your carriage around,” Feyre said.

Rhysand laughed. “I am perfectly capable of going to the stables and fetching my own horse. No carriage.”

“You rode your horse to supper?” Feyre asked, stopping in her tracks. “In your fine clothes?”

Rhysand raised a brow, meeting her gaze. “Does that surprise you?” 

It did, but Feyre wasn’t sure why. “Well, then I’ll leave you be. Good night.”

She didn’t step away.

“Is that all?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

This time, she did turn to leave, but that familiar hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back to him. She fell close to his body, and did not dare to move.

“This is inappropriate,” Feyre whispered, although there was no hostility in it. “You are a Lord, and I am a Lady.” 

“Almost as inappropriate as being alone together at an inn?” Rhysand asked. For once, he wore no stupid grin. 

“Almost,” Feyre confirmed.

He was standing close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her forehead, could smell the oaky scent of his cologne. 

“I think I have proven that I have no ill intentions toward you,” he said, his hand brushing along her own. “Yet, all night, you seem to have wanted me gone. Do you truly hate me that much? I thought, perhaps, after the other night, I had grown on you.” 

His words were light, but his stare was intent. Dangerous. His stare made Feyre’s thoughts run wild with thoughts that a Lady should not think. 

“You are cocky and rude,” Feyre said, words shaking.

Rhysand bit his lip to keep from smiling. “Perhaps. But, so are you.”

Feyre thought that he may kiss her then, and she knew that she shouldn’t but she did, she wanted him so badly to close the distance between them and press his mouth against hers. 

But he didn’t.

He stepped away, and bowed, before meeting her gaze, once more. “Goodnight, Feyre. Until next time.”

Feyre turned to watch him as he strode past her, down the path toward the stables. She hated him for not looking back. 

~~~~~

Cassian mounted Marigold the moment Lord Rhysand walked into the stables.

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, but Rhysand just smiled. “No need to explain. I’m just here for my horse. Going out?”

Cassian cleared his throat. “Just to the tavern, my Lord.”

Hoping that barmaid is there. He hadn’t realized Nesta’s bracelet had been a gift from her mother. It was all he had thought of the entire evening. 

Guilt. He was filled with guilt.

“Please, call me Rhysand,” he laughed, charmingly, taking his own mare out of her stall. “Mind if I join you?”

Cassian blinked. “You want to join me? At the tavern? You do realize I’m the help, right?”

Rhysand grinned as he pulled his horse into the open. “I do. I also realize I could go for a drink.”

He’s serious, Cassian realized, as Rhysand hopped onto his horse and looked over his shoulder at the stableboy.

“Coming, then?” Rhysand asked, digging his heels into his horse’s side.

“Apparently so,” Cassian muttered, still in disbelief as he followed the Lord of Velaris into the village.

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books​ @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth​ @queenofillea1​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @levivlio​ @hellolenas​ @burritowithfeels​ @that-other-pineapple​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @raghad-50725 @musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld​ @negativenesta  @welcometothespeaknowworldtour​ @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit

[sp00kworm]

A Den of Iniquity (Part 4)

Pairing: Dracula/Count Dracula/Vlad Tepes x Female Reader

Warnings: Death, Murder, Blood, Gore, Injuries, Violence, Vomiting and Adult content.

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Part 1    Part 2      Part 3    Part 5 

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The vampire felt a tiredness seep into his very core. His rest in the icy cold storage had made him lethargic and slow. He eased himself upwards, standing on two legs out in the grass of the hospital gardens, wobbling on his legs a little. The night air was cool, but not as cold as the locker had been on his dead flesh. There wasn’t a soul in sight as he peered around, red eyes burning against the dark. Dracula felt his cold flesh regain a bit of movement. He was lethargic as he took a few steps forward, heading towards the fences where the hole he had entered through remained. Thankfully, there was no one to witness the naked form of a man rushing through the gardens, and the vampire turned his gaze to the moon before shifting into a wolf and rushing through the metal wire fencing and into the streets. He raised his black nose and sniffed at the air, remembering where his closest apartment was in a flood of pictures, turns and jumps towards the property. The beast howled before it took off, pink tongue hanging between sharp teeth as it bolted through the streets of inner London. The night air was cool against his black coat as he ran.

 The apartment block was quiet, and he awkwardly stumbled in through the window before regaining a semblance of grace, snarling as he shed fur and sniffed at the air. There wasn’t anyone here, and the cleaning lady had been recently. Lemony scents clung to the floor as he moved through the apartment, bare feet dragging along the carpets and slapping against the stone floor of the kitchen. He turned on a light, and squinted at the brightness, before turning it off again and heading towards the small bedroom. There was a wardrobe with some clothes he had stashed in case of an emergency. The vampire drew out a shirt and a pair of trousers, forgoing underwear in favour of collecting a pair of boots and heading to bathroom. The water was cold, but he showered quickly, scrubbing the clotted blood from his mouth, chin, neck and chest. He turned his hands under the spray and gouged at the blood beneath his nails before daring to run his hair under the spray. Pink water circled down the drain as he scrubbed his hair with whatever shampoo had been left. The smell of roses clung to his nostrils as he washed and washed, removing as much of the evidence of his murder as he could manage.

Dracula dressed slowly, twisting, as if unused to the human skin covering him as the shirt clung to him tightly, the material feeling claustrophobic against his skin. He towel-dried his hair and hissed at the mirror, watching the glass erupt into shards with his cursed gaze, the reflections of shadows and bones shattering before he could really catch a glimpse of it.

“The vanity of man.” He grumbled as he rubbed a hand over his styled facial hair. His form was still the same, not a hair had grown nor a freckle on his face. The same. Cold and dead but changeable, malleable to his own and other’s desires. With a deep breath, he stood and tied his hair back, before heading to the door, snatching a coat off the hook as he headed back into the dark London streets, intending on getting home with another meal in his dead stomach. As he took a deep lungful of air, he scented a cut on the wind, and headed towards the scent with a deceitful smile on his face.

 His home was dark as he arrived back, feeling energized yet ready for the rest of the night in his bed of foul earth. He’d had a little bit too much of an adventure over the past couple of days. He was becoming an old vampire with the taste for the sedentary luxuries of wealth. Striding up the drive, he came to a halt as he spotted a black cat splayed across his doorstep, its thick tail flicking with irritation as he approached. The cat hissed, claws flashing as his shadowed form loomed ever closer, flickering and spitting back at the beast.

“I will have her.” He promised in heavy Romanian, amidst the fog of his own form, “Whether you want me to or not.” The words echoed around him as he watched the beast snarl at him again, claws scratching his leg through his trousers, opening three tiny wounds which sealed as soon as they opened. The black cat bounded from his doorstep, fluffy with anger as it leaped into the bushes and disappeared into the street, yowling as it went. Dracula watched with a smile before a leaned over into his front lawn and clicked on the cat repellent machine, grinning as the awful noise warded off another beast that was hiding in his bushes.

 It had been three days since you sent the restocking email to Vladimir, and you’d yet to have a reply. A text message was still sat unread but received and you were beginning to wonder if you had stepped over an invisible line.

“Maybe he’s not interested, Drac?” You cooed as your black cat wandered around the shop, purring against your legs before he jumped onto your serving counter and chirped for your attention. You ran your hand over his thick, black fur and smiled at your cat as you messed with the fur on his neck. A sharp tone rang through the shop. Your phone blinked awake as you received a text message. His name was across your screen.

‘I apologise for my absence. I had to attend a business meeting in Romania. I only just got back. Forgive me, for I did not mean to make it seem like I was ignoring you. I look forwards to seeing you again soon.’

 Another notification chirped before appearing on your screen. The invoices for the next order and the scheduled payment date. You smiled at the text message and replied as Drac attempted to bat the top of your phone.

‘Don’t worry about it. See you soon.’

He read the message as soon as you sent it, the bubble indicating he was typing a reply.

‘Shall I see you at my home again this weekend? I found an interesting selection of English movies I have never seen in Romania.’

With a smile you sent him a small bat emoji and a time for the date before he replied with how he was going to bed, claiming to be tired from the flights and work he’d been dragged into. Drac successfully hit the phone onto the counter with a yowl, his tail swishing back and forth over the wood until you relented, laughing as your cat pushed himself into your arms and purred, a sandpaper tongue licking underneath your chin as he enjoyed your sole love and affection.

 Your movie night was cut short with your own business. Vladimir hadn’t been too upset with the disruption to your plans together but did pop in to see you in the shop. He’d even gone as far as to offer his help dressing the place for the wine tasting you had booked, grinning and joking about his own brands that were laid on the table for the guests to give a try. You’d enjoyed his presence, the man helping to calm your nerves with soft gestures and consoling words.

“You have nothing to be nervous about, my dear. The shop is dressed to perfection and the wines are delectable. You will do fine.” You could remember the ghost of a kiss on your cheek before he left you in peace to host the evening, his coat fluttering as he disappeared past the glass front windows of the shop and down into the dark street. It had been a success, and many people had complimented the low lights and fine decorations. When you thanked him, he was nothing but kind, turning the success around, pinning it on your own abilities.

 The supermarket was dead this time of night. You scowled at the tins of tomatoes and beans on the shelf, looking for the usual deal with a huff of hot air between your lips. The deal was on another brand this week, and you shrugged as you threw four tins of tomatoes into your trolley and ticked your list on the scrap of notebook paper clutched in your hand. You still had quite a few things to collect. You peered at the list as you walked up the aisle. You trolley collided with another with a metallic bang.

“I’m so sorry!” You rushed to apologise to the other person before gazing upon the tall stature of a familiar man, “Vladimir? I didn’t expect to run into you!” You laughed as he tipped his head at you, clutching his own list of shopping in his hand.

“I too did not expect to see you here.” He chuckled before holding his list up, “I decided to come and collect the ingredients for my next dinner event.” The man tucked his trolley to the side of the aisle, pressed against your own, to give other shoppers room to pass, “Are you here doing your…how do you say it here? Weekly shop?” He offered, his accent thick and heavy as he rushed to think of the words.

 With a nod you laughed, holding up your own list, “I’m here doing my weekly shop, yeah. I was running out of cat food, so I figured I should come before Drac kills me in my sleep and eats me instead.” You joked.

Vladimir gave a thin smile, “Cats are such mean beasts.” He offered, “I did not know you had one. What was its name again? Drac? Is it short for Dracula, perhaps?” He joked.

Embarrassment coloured your cheeks, “Ah yeah, it is. He’s so big and scary so I just named him that when I picked him up from the rescue woman. He used to bring me all sorts of bleeding things, so the name just stuck with him.” You explained before tapping your trolley handles, “Do you want to walk together? I can help you find the things you have left, if you want?” You offered.

Vladimir smiled, “But of course. I am a little lost, I must confess.” He admitted before offering you his list, “I do not know where the meat counter is.”

“Oh, all this is on my route around anyway! I’ll show you.” You smiled up at Vladimir before waving for him to follow you, “The meat counter is just up here, but I think this cut of beef will be expensive.” You offered him his list back.

“Money is no problem. I must impress these men. They are part of the chain I would like for my warehousing here.” He confessed as you both approached the small butchers counter.

“Well then we best get you the finest we can find!” You joked as Vladimir turned to take his meat from the butcher on duty.

“Only the finest, indeed.”

 Your trip around the shop was brief, or it seemed very brief as you both laughed and talked about what had happened since his impromptu trip abroad.

“I heard Miss Westenra is engaged?” You asked, “Harker told me the last time he was in the shop buying that wine he likes to impress with.” You rolled your eyes at your friend before smiling at Vladimir.

He nodded, “She and a man named Doctor Harvey Seward are to be married. Apparently, his family are all Doctors, and have been since the Victorian era of this country. I hope the marriage is favourable.” Vladimir stopped at the end of the aisle and smiled, “I think I am finished shopping, my dear, but this has been wonderful.” He took one of your hands in his own and placed a kiss on the back of it, “Will I see you this weekend?” He asked as you looked into his dark eyes, admiring the way his long, dark hair framed his face.

“How about we have coffee in the square by the shop?” You whispered as he drew close.

“Nothing would make me happier.” He whisked himself away with a grin and a flip of his coat, and you were left holding the pack of toilet rolls, flustered and hot to the touch.

 When you got home you found a bunch of black roses tucked on the doorstep of your shop. You picked them up and admired the deep, scarlet ribbon that was wrapped around them, styled into a beautiful bow. There was a tag attached with a small note.

‘I hope we can spend more time together- Vlad’

You took them inside with a smile, unaware of the red eyes and fanged grin watching you from the mist curling in the shadows across the street.

 The vampire watched as you entered the book shop across the square. The café inside the book shop was where he was supposed to meet you. He looked into the window as you passed them by, smiling to the clerk before you headed into the back through the aisles. Curiously, the vampire followed, ducking through the crowd as he entered the shop and smiled as the cashier with a wave of his hand. She smiled back pleasantly at him and continued to price the books stacked on the counter. He followed the route you had taken into the back of the shop and paused in the entrance to an aisle as you passed around the end aisle with a heavy looking book in hand. Dracula smiled as he watched you, ducking into the next aisle to watch again before he looked at the metal watch on his wrist and peered at the time. It was still early. He too, had some time to look around and pick up something to read. With a graceful spin, he headed towards the world books and peered at the titles, wondering if there was something in his own language that he would be able to read properly.

 “Vladimir?” You asked as you turned the corner in the bookstore, gazing up at the man curiously, “I didn’t expect to see you in here just yet. With a smile, you tucked the book under your arm and looked up at the ‘around the world’ section.

Vladimir jumped at your interruption, smiling as quickly as he could as he held up a selection of a couple of books. They were all rather heavy looking reading. He offered you a smile, “I was looking for something to read in my home language.” He looked embarrassed, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck, tucking a few stray hands of his dark hair back into his bun after the motion.

“I thought you could read in English?” You asked, confused.

Vladimir smiled before tapping the cover of a novel that was in Hungarian, then another that was in Romanian, “I can read English, but the meanings of many words and phrases escape me in it. My home languages are much easier to comprehend.” He confessed.

You looked at the adaptations of old horrors before tapping the front of your own book, “Maybe I can help? I know you find it easier to read in your mother tongues but maybe if we read together you can get better at understanding certain words?”

Vladimir considered your offer for a moment, dancing from hip to hip before he hummed, “This was not the ideal coffee date I had in mind.” He joked as he plucked another Romanian book from the shelf.

 “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.” You soothed with a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll happily sit and read with you…It…” You tucked your book higher, “It actually sounds like a nice time.”

The vampire felt his chest ache as you smiled, face red from the cold outside.

Vladimir smiled back at you and tipped his chin, “You have convinced me. I will read and you will instruct.” He offered you his arm as you both headed to pay for the books in your hands. As you reached the register he plucked the short stories from your hands and smiled deviously, “I insist.”

You reached to take it back, “You don’t have to do that! I can afford it, you know.”

Vladimir shook his head, his gloved hand raised to silence your protests, “Think of it as payment for your instruction.”

“Thank you.” You relented and smiled warmly. Vladimir returned the gesture by reaching for your hand, giving it a firm squeeze. The lady at the register took the total from his card and packaged the books before ushering you both on your way. With your book in hand you headed upstairs to the café, Vladimir following close at your heels.

 The smell of black coffee was somewhat calming as you sat by the window and watched the British rain fall in violent sheets. It didn’t seem to want to calm so you and Vladimir had ordered a second coffee each to pass the time a little more, hoping to not have to run out in it. You listened to him read, your head rested in your palm as you listened to him read softly across from you.

“The subway train lost its life current between two stations and for a quarter of an hour they could hear nothing but the dutiful beating of their hearts and the rustling of newspapers. The bus they had to take next was late and kept them waiting a long time on a street corner, and when it did come, it was crammed with garr…” Vladimir scowled at the word in the book before spinning it to you, pointing at the word in the middle of the page.

You leaned forwards, hot coffee clasped between your hands, “Garrulous.” You smiled at his confusion, “It means, chatty or talking excessively about something trivial.”

Vladimir nodded, rolling the word around his mouth as he repeated it back to you and then himself. He turned the book back to himself before starting the sentence again, “The bus they had to take next was late and kept them waiting a long time on a street corner, and when it did come, it was crammed with garrulous high-school children. It began to rain as they walked up the brown path leading to the sanatorium.” He continued reading, his English seeming to get better and more pronounced as he practiced aloud, and you listened in a trance, watching him for a while before looking out at the bouncing rain.

 Vladimir’s soothing voice lilted in the air as you took another sip of coffee and looked back at Vladimir’s handsome face, admiring the angles of his strong jaw and the stylized facial hair. Dark eyes locked with your own as he finished the last line of the story.

“He had got to crab apple when the telephone rang again.” He closed the book around his finger as he reached for the receipt and marked the page for now. He’d gulped his expresso down in the true way, three quick swigs before he’d continued reading to you. Vladimir smiled as he moved his chair out, “Excuse me a moment. I must use the bathroom.”

“Oh, its fine. I’ll be here when you get back!” You joked as you sipped your coffee and turned your gaze back to the window.

 Vladimir’s shoes tapped as he walked across the café to the small, single male toilet. The door was heavy and wooden. A thick fire door. He locked the stall with a snap of his wrist and inhaled the smell of bleach and toilet cleaner before he crouched down over the toilet and pushed the seat out of the way. The vampire drew a vial from his trouser pocket and grimaced at the sight of the heavy Ipecac syrup in the plastic tube. Dracula drew the stopper out before squeezing the tube harshly, feeling it coat his tongue and throat before he tossed it into the waste and swallowed with a violent gag, waiting for the influx of coffee stained stomach lining to pour from his body. He stared into the water, a reflection of bone and ash, and gaged as the first mouthful of vomit dripped past his lips.

 “You took a while.” You observed with a light tone as Vladimir returned, sitting at the table with his usual smile. He’d changed his hair, “But now that I look at you, I realise that you spent time messing with your hair. Preening in the mirror were you.”

“My hair was a mess, what can I say.” Vladimir teased as he turned his cup upside down on its saucer, pushing it to the side of the table for the waiting staff to pick up.

Gently, you reached to tuck a long piece of his hair behind his ear, watching the man remain still to let you do so, “I think it looked just fine. You always look handsome, Vlad.”

Vladimir took a deep breath as he caught your hand, pressing it to his cool cheek before he laid a kiss on your palm and leaned forwards, “Just as you are always beautiful.” He complimented before releasing your hand and nodding to the window, “We should make a dash for your home while the rain has paused.” He stood up before you to wrap your coat back around you before storing your book in two layers on plastic bag, “Hopefully we can keep the books dry.”

“Here.” You took your card out and paid for the drinks before he could protest, “You can get the next one, Mister Gentleman.” You teased as you paid and turned.

Vladimir offered you his arm with a chuckle. As your arm wrapped around his own, he purred, “Are you implying you would like to go out again, my dear?”

You jabbed his side with a finger, “Yes I am, you big tease.”

 The two of you laughed as the sun set, making the streets of London an even drearier grey, plunging them into darkness. The rain splattered across the pavements and tarmac, drenching everything, making the concrete city smell of ash and rain. You laughed, hand in hand, as you dragged Vladimir across the road, dodging a speeding cabby, who promptly stuck his finger out of his window along with some screamed verbal abuse, and jumped up the curb, heading towards the front door of the side stairs to your apartment above the shop. Vladimir dragged you back under his black umbrella as you rifled through your bag for the keys to your apartment. You laughed as the rain poured off the sides and snatched your leys, unlocking the door. Before you could swing it open, Vladimir pushed himself closer, taking your hand and pushing it against the wood before he dived to claim your lips. A cool kiss pressed to your skin and you responded tentatively to the pressure before opening your mouth and feeling the caress of his tongue. It was cold, chilled from the rain, but full of emotion, a desire that was locked deep inside both of you. The man pressed against you, his free arm dropping to wrap around your waist as you clutched at his neck. He drew back with a heavy exhale and pressed his nose to your throat.

 Dracula merely pressed a kiss to the hot skin, fangs sliding free at the feel of hot flesh and the blood pumping under his lips. He relented. He controlled himself and then, he pulled away, looking into your half-lidded eyes, wanting nothing more than to steal another intoxicating kiss.

 “What are you?” Vladimir whispered against your cheek, “It is like there is a force. A pull I cannot resist…” He kissed the column of your throat again, “It drives the beast wild.”

“What…” You heaved a breath, “What do you mean?” You asked before he kissed you again. Gently, you pushed him away by the chin, “Not…” You steadied yourself, “Not yet. I don’t…”

Vladimir’s eyes appeared black in the darkness, the whites gone, “I understand. I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He pressed another hurried kiss to your cheek, “Goodbye my darling. I will see you again soon, I hope?”

You nodded before opening the door, “I’ll message you.”

Vladimir turned his collar up against the wind, “I await your call.” A ghostly kiss pressed to your face once again before he disappeared. In the time it took you to open your eyes he was gone. There was an ache in your chest that you couldn’t describe as you entered your apartment and flopped onto your sofa.

 Your dates and meetings with Vladimir were few and far between as Halloween finally rolled around. Sales of his products went crazy and you found yourself contacting his supply team more and more often in the weeks leading up to the holiday. You closed early on Halloween, watching the kids rush around the streets in their costumes, giggling and screaming with joy as they held buckets of sweets and chocolates in their grasps. There was very little to do but finish tidying up. You jumped at a knock on the door and rolled your eyes as Harker made faces in your window.

You unlocked the door and peeked through the gap, “If you’d learn to read, you’d realise I’m closed.”

“Aw come on, love. I just want a bottle of that brandy you keep selling!” He remarked and you sighed before letting him in, rushing to grab him the bottle so you could get rid of him faster and close for the evening. You had a movie night planned with Drac, your ever faithful grumpy cat. Vladimir had insisted, with much regret, that he was busy tonight.

“Nice vampire costume. Very gimmicky.” You joked as you plonked the pricey bottle of brandy on the counter, “You sure you want to pay for this for a Halloween party?”

“Sure, I’m sure. I have some guests to impress.” Harker joked as he offered his card and slid the chip into the machine.

 A black wolf watched from outside the shop, snarling with teeth as it watched you hug Harker and usher him from the shop. The wolf became a man and snarled again before melting into the shadows, wishing a fall upon the accountant as he staggered back to the early starting party from which he had come. The vampire watched, his hand reaching towards the streetlamp as he moulded back into the shape of the great wolf-dog you had shown such love and affection for last time. He craved your touch. The caress of your fingers. It calmed the lust and hatred for a moment in his everlasting existence.

 The taste of your skin was sweet.

 A whine made you look up from the counter as you finished packing away the cash for the night. A great paw clawed at the glass and you smiled as you caught sight of the dark eyed, great black dog once more. It had been a long time since you’d seen it. You’d assumed it had been taken in or disappeared altogether. You walked towards the door and unlocked it, letting the hound inside the shop. He was dry this time and the dog rushed to jump up at you, snuffling and licking at your face as it whined and wagged its tail.

“Hey there. Its been a long time since I’ve seen you.” You cooed as you pushed the wolf-dog down and ran your hands through its thick fur, enjoying the warmth trapped in its fur as the animal curled around your legs close.

The dog sniffed his way to your door to upstairs and you smiled before sighing, locking the doors and lowering the shutters before you headed to the door and pointed at the big dog, “You can come up but only if you promise to behave, okay?” The dog stared at you and you opened the door, watching him bound on before you, up the stairs, turning on the landing to watch you follow it up.

He barked sharply and you laughed, “Okay, okay, I’m coming!” You petted his nose as you took the scruff of his neck and opened the door.

 Drac, your cat, scowled from the counter in the open kitchen as you eased the dog inside. He hissed, jumping up his fur on end as you looked between them. The dog was silent, watching your cat with a mild amount of interest.

“Come on Drac, be nice. He’s just here for the night. I’ll call the rescue service in the morning.” You cooed at your cat let go of the dog and watched the two glare at each other before Drac jumped up on top of your cabinets and bedded down for the night away from the new house guest. You fixed yourself dinner as the dog padded around. He saw fit to laying underneath your window, dark eyes looking up at the moon, ears pointed back to listen to the noise you were making in the kitchen. It slept as you ate, black fur like silk against your wooden floor. Only when you plonked yourself on the sofa did it open its eyes and perk up, standing from the floor in favour of pushing its way onto your couch.

“Come on, you can’t get up here.” You scolded before the wolf-dog was in your lap, its giant head rested in the crook of your arm, its tongue licking at you as a sign of peace and contentment. With a soft sigh, you began to work your fingers through its fur and turned on the television, content to watch the movies you had planned with your hot drink and the dog in your lap.

 “Sleep my love. Sleep without fear. Tonight, I will keep the darkness at bay.”

You felt your eyelids drop at the movie, your hand combing the fur before fisting at the hound in your lap, holding onto the beast as you listened to the movie and the soft lines whispered by a deep voice. A tongue lapped at your cheeks as you felt the great hound exhale. You lulled off into a pleasant, warm sleep, wrapped around the mysterious dog.

“For tonight, your dreams will be mine.”

 An old castle stood before you when you opened your eyes, as though you had been awake, and just blinked on a walk. Black silk rippled over you as you walked towards the castle in a dark trail of liquid dress. It almost flowed from you as you opened the great doors and peered inside. There was silence in the main hall, a great shadow of a cross blinding you as you peered down at the stone. You walked through the last of the sun’s orange light and cast no shadow as you moved towards the old, grand staircase. The stone was laid with plush carpet, Turkish and heavy, thick against the soles of your bare feet as you climbed, gazing at old paintings of great battles. Red curtains hung from the ceiling and you ran your hand along one as you reached the top of the stairs, feeling the fine material before you continued, walking in the direction of the ache in your chest. More old stone connected with your fingers as you continued into a labyrinth of corridors before eventually arriving at another old door, the wood engraved with a dragon spewing fire towards its own tail, curled around a sword. With a gentle push, you eased one door open enough to slide into the room.

 Warm candlelight greeted you, four giant floor-standing candelabras lit with twenty of so candles each glowing in every corner. A man made no move to greet you, laid across a luscious canopy bed, surrounded by sheer white fabric, hidden from sight. You walked over animal skins and pulled aside the sheer fabric to see a man asleep in a thin, billowed cotton shirt, his trousers loose as though he had simply collapsed into bed. Gently, you eased his face to the side and smiled down at the picture of your mysterious suitor. Vladimir’s sleeping face was restful and calm. A smile curled across his face, telling you he had never been asleep. The man reached to grab you with a great laugh, easing you into his lap on the bed, your hips pressed together as he reached to move a veil you did not know you were wearing.

“My love.” His words burned your throat with adoration, “I have missed you. My heart has longed for you.” You watched his lips move to reveal fangs and reached for his face gently, thumbs pressing to the points. He drew your hands away before continuing, “The beast in me cannot be sated without you, my little tamer.” He rushed to kiss you soundly, thoroughly, moulding his front to your own as his hands sought to pull at the silk covering you to reveal skin and flesh.

 You remained silent, soaking in the adoration in his touches and kisses as sharp teeth grazed at your skin.

“I remember your scent.” He purred as his features blended into something more beastly, his red eyes burning as his mouth filled with wolf-like teeth, “I kept your clothes close, everything to remember you.” The beast snarled, a wolfman’s claws tugging at your clothing. You watched the beast, mouth open, wondering where this dream was going as he laid back and pulled you on top of him, “Please, my dearest, let me feel you. I have missed you.” He blathered as you leaned over to kiss him again, tongue catching against the fangs in his mouth, blood mixing with spit. He was cold underneath your hands as you raised yourself, palms against his pectorals. You reached for his groin as he tore his shirt free and pulled his bottoms away enough to reveal his cock. As you grasped him you felt his nose press against your throat, human and cold. Raising your gaze, you looked back at a human shape with a mouth full of teeth, spit dripping between his jaws as they unhinged wide and grasped at your shoulder. With a cry of agony and bliss, you gouged your nails into his back and opened your eyes to see bats fly from the window, screaming into the sunset as your lover’s tongue licked blood from your neck. He dragged you down for another kiss then, blood and spit mixing as you slid him inside of you.

 Dracula felt himself stir in the dream, watching as a woman clad in black slid into his bedchambers. He remembered the woman and played at being asleep on the bed as the faceless creature parted the silks and crawled along his body, fingers teasing over his face, admiring his bone structure before he turned to catch her, dragging her hands up before he grinned with fangs and drew her into his lap.

“I’ve waited for you to return.” He purred, feeling the beasts of the darkness howl and coil outside in the beginnings of the night, “I have missed you.” The vampire drew her wrists closer and licked at the skin exposed out of the silk sleeve, “I have missed the taste of you, my love.”

She said nothing as she mounted his hips, watching through the black veil as he grunted, pushed back against the bed by some invisible force, his wrists pinned to the cushions and furs. Her hands dance over his chest and he feels the pull of his own change, howling as wings spread from his back and claws grab for her. He is naked, he realises with a start, before she draws her fingers between her legs and reveals a wetness to his gaze. The bat-like form howls at the scent, and Dracula pumped his hips upwards as her legs spread and she welcomes him inside of her. The hooked claws of his wings slam into the wooden frame of the canopy bed, anchoring him as his clawed hands reach to pull the veil free.

 Your face peers down at him, a mouthful of blood dripping from your lips as you look at the hole his other wing had made in your chest. He watched the hole between your breasts close and opened his mouth for a bloodied kiss. As he gazed up, claws shredding the silk covering your skin, he slowed his own hips, snarling when you refused to let him slow. A pair of greying wings thrust over his vision, appearing over your head, a thousand eyes glaring at him from within the feathers. The vampire’s claws snapped the faceless woman close, clutching her close before Death’s bony hands covered his eyes, the two eyes within each of the bony palms rolling, looking into his own in the darkness as he felt the form over him melt away into ash in his arms. Darkness crippled him, dragging his form in on itself.

 “She is not yours yet, Dracul.” Death whispered in his ear, “Not unless you can give me what I want?” The cloaked figure appeared before him in the darkness, wings burning with fire that was once radiant.

Dracula snapped his own leathery wings, “What do you want from me so badly?! Is it so worthy of you making my dreams so miserable and tormenting me with the agony I have suffered a thousand times over!?”

Death watched him for a moment before opening its palms, “One death.” He whispered.

“Give me the name.” The vampire hissed.

“Her.” Death offered him a burning flame, “I want her death.” He laid the small burning fire of your life in his hands before stroking the vampire’s leathery wings, “I need her life, but her soul is yours.”

The vampire whipped around with claws and fangs in the darkness, but there was no one there to listen to his dark screams of anguish.

 You awoke to an empty sofa and old horror movies still rerunning. Drac had taken the hounds place in your arms, curled tightly against you. You frowned and looked up as a chilly breeze graced your legs. The open window let in another frigid gust of air and you rushed to close it as a great black smog rushed around the corner of the building, just in the corner of your eyes. You ran a hand through your hair and swallowed as you remembered the dream that had haunted you last night. You clicked off the TV and clicked the hot water on before starting to make yourself some breakfast to distract yourself from the realness of what you had seen.

“Halloween is crazy.” You muttered as you boiled some water for a hot drink.

[handlewcaare]

Origins: ?

The first time he died, it was a little over in the 730’s.

No one really takes into account that immortality was not one evidently diagnosed, not when it first occurs. Similar to those who passed, he was subjected to smallpox. The manifestations were all there: malaise, chills that did nothing to coax the fever, he could even hardly stomach what food was provided to him. However, the mild mannered man—his birth name lost to him—never once barked or snarled in distaste of his family’s efforts. Rather, even in his enervated and delirious state, he always offered his gratitude in the form of a slight nod and a mumbled ‘thank you’ that weighed too heavy along his lips.

By the time the winter came, his immune system became more worn and enervated. His strength wilted like the flora underneath the pelt of the tundra. Had it not been so long ago, he would have described how his family’s voices sounded, what woe and distraught that would amplify by the final breath of their oldest brother and son—or maybe, he was the youngest? He vaguely recalled being an uncle, but maybe he was a father as well. He was a little attuned to a small one’s cry; a habitual feeling. He didn’t know now, as immortality never guaranteed a permanent memory.

For whoever his family was, it was the end of their line. One of their own would never survive to see how their generation would flourish. He would never witness the following summer, nor would he recall anything but the hearth of the fireplace as his immune system failed him. They would have been right, normally—

—until he attempted to breathe through a thick penumbra of dirt an hour later.

The suffocation of the cold, dark earth evoked natural panic thorough his senses. His fingernails nearly cracked under the strain of him clawing him out of his grave. The absence of home left him cold and pale, as if his circulation could never be initiated ever again. By the time he rasped out for a heave of breath he believed he didn’t need, his russet gaze blearily peered toward the silhouettes of astonished grave robbers.

As groggy as he was—as if stirred into the early morning—he could only provide an awkward “hello” until one of them attempted to ram the tongue of his shovel into his frontal lobe.

Everything around him always changed. Ailments became easier to cure, people lived longer (not as long as himself, but a decade or two later). Yet, he was drowned in an neverchanging state; no matter how many injuries he succumbed (with slight annoyance), no matter how many diseases infiltrated his system, he was in a constant within a world full of variables. He had been thirty-three for the past several centuries, not a wrinkle, nor a callus, nor a scar to his name. It made him somehow nauseated that children could develop more scars than he could.

While people lived longer, however, their actions became easier to predict. What desperate beau would ready his blade to kill his lover’s fiancé would be intercepted by his cold and unrelenting hand. An admirer of a serial killer would only copy their tactics (and their mistakes). Once he started to apply the patterns, catching felons was a habit of his.

It was roughly in the spring of the 1920’s that he countered a pseudo-Duchess, a beautiful woman should he be frank, but not enough to pry him out of his own head.

“And where were you last night, Madam?” His baritone was demure, soft enough to never be tarnished by the nicotine they both breathed in.

She could only align a cherry-lipped smile, a bit wistful at the contours, “I was over in New York City with a friend at West Egg,” unlike his voice, her’s felt coarse with one too many huffs of nicotine.

His brow raised, “Don’t have friends with old money?”

“They’re not as respectful with the loss of my mother,” her vanity perished under the devestating weight of her relative. Had he not been emotionally aware of such a loss, he would have entirely missed the falsetto of her chocking up. “Y-You have to understand, I was in need of some company to cope.”

The private investigator briefly skimmed over his notes scribbled in his pad. “I’m sure you did,” he reflected, reverence couldn’t have sounded so potent, “so much so that you had to pay your debts to a nicely suited man with a violin case.”

The Duchess’s verdant glare widened by the mention of her ‘company.’ As she guffawed, she hastily attempted to light up another cigarette after shakily snuffing out her half-finished one. She was getting restless, “what? So I can’t befriend someone from an orchestra?”

“Said friend is affiliated with many of the bootleggers of West Egg,” another bullet to fire that stained her pretty countenance with a snarl, “it wouldn’t be a problem, if you didn’t hire him to lay a hit on your mother for—“ he suddenly became rather pensive, “—ah, fourteen milli—!”

“I don’t have to answer a damn thing from you.”

She was right, she didn’t have to. As the prime suspect outright splashed her cherry wine into his face, he made no attempt to hastily chase after her for interrogation in sheer furor. Rather, he only trailed after her out of the restaurant neither of them could afford. Had he not encountered the same type of crime in the seventeen hundreds, he wouldn’t have put a wheel lock to prevent her from escaping so soon.

His smile was a bit too smug when she glared over her shoulder.

His detective work never got much recognition. In truth, it was what he preferred in the first place. The rough cases where he would hold the hand of someone who wasn’t the same as him left him sleepless at night.

Sanguine was never a pretty sight to see seep from the lips of a young woman just trying to go home late, nor was the sound of an old man’s whimpers—“I don’t wanna go”—the equivalent of a swan song. Death was a hideous thing that clambered and infiltrated what should have had warmth and color. None of them should ever look like him. Oddly enough, he could feel how much colder their hands were compared to his own. How lifeless and stagnant they were; a grotesque reflection, should he ever try to be the poetic type.

The more work he did, the more he couldn’t stomach the cases he failed in. There was always a private victory he would have in saving people from monstrous situations in the form of a simple shot of bourbon, but most of that had changed when he encountered a man in a well-dressed suit.

It was Autumn when a seat beside him was occupied at the pub, roughly thirty years later after the Duchess was hauled off to court for the murder of her mother. The glass balanced along the stranger’s frames held more hearth than the eyes that saw the detective through them.

“You’re quite handsome,” for a specimen, the sentence would eventually trail off to someone the private eye wasn’t. As acrimonious as the private eye was, his manners were still prevelent.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“More along the lines of what I can help you with,” the man assertively corrected. The smile that graced his demeanor would have disarmed anyone, but the private eye became too keen.

After that, it was all a blur. Immortality could never guarantee a permanent memory, but after he was succumbed to various experiments, he didn’t think they were worth it. As the cold water splashed over his cyanotic skin, his body jolted when the tongue of lightning crept along his scalp and left him a panting mess. What would soon follow would be his body partially submerged to an acidic bite that cindered and charred through bone and tissue; hungry for the blood that could only become more bitter and citrated the more Subject 66 aged.

He could handle pain easy, but not to this vehement extent.

“Can you get up, subject 66?” A hauntingly calloused baritone spoke to his hunched physique across the tessellated floor.

That isn’t my name.

When he didn’t answer immediately, the toe of a leather shoe prodded into the progressively healing ulcer from the acid. If only half of his body could function, he would have seized that leg with the acid still singeing through his withering palm. Instead of the guttural cries of the injured genetist, Genus hummed in a low tone.

“Your healing factor has improved marginally,” he declared, as if it was an advancement. “We’ll have to be more creative with our experiments.”

Subject 66 couldn’t help but align a coy simper, copper tasted heinous along his lips, “why don’t we trade places then?” He challenged.

Subject 66 couldn’t recall what his name was prior, not since he was under the knife of a genetist who conjured himself a god-complex (as if he wasn’t pretentious enough). Not since his brain was dissected in several quadrants, leaving him hollow. He was but a phantom that lurked within the murmurs of a shell. He was quite handsome for a specimen, but the compliment only served as pure vitriol for what would will him to escape.

Dr. Genus never accounted for the fact that near-perfect regeneration could be used against him. As clones of mutated animals and copies of the scientist’s self-made image were torn through by the weight of his arsenal—a fireaxe he stole from a little compartment, twin machetes he smuggled under his shirt from his torture, and a desert Eagle that always fractured his radius—he could only feel a sense of relief that swarmed his senses to the acrimonious aroma of copper and salt.

It wasn’t the rivers of blood that was euphoric. Not in the slightest. What was euphoric was the bleeding sunshine that welcomed him when he used a healing stump of his arm to open the door. The symphony of cicadas that beckoned the enervated to sleep the summer away. After—how long? Months? Decades?—some time of being confined to fluorescent lighting and pale, minimalistic cages. Subject 66 could only chuckle to himself as he staggered out and back to the world that would be ever changing.

[samthemarvelfan]

I Won’t Say: Chapter Four

-No One is Safe-

Summary: Ellaria Stark is the daughter of a king. When she is unwittingly betrothed to the King of a neighboring city, she isn’t sure how to feel. More importantly, she isn’t sure how the King will feel if he finds out the truth about her.

Pairing: James Barnes x OFC, Ellaria Stark. (Stark!Reader.)

Warnings: Royal!AU, Angst, alcohol, blackmail, murder, mentions of gore.

A/N: okay...ALL HELL HAS BROKEN LOOSE. Get ready, it just gets crazier! Taglist is open! Just send an ask!

“Sharon Carter? Why?” James asked, clearly confused.

Steve shrugged, “She didn’t give much detail, she only said that she’d heard the news of your betrothal and wanted to come see for herself.”

“Hm, I’ll uh...I’ll see her in the courtyard.”

Steve nodded and left. Why was Sharon here? After all these years, there had to be more to her visit than this.

Sharon had lived in Buchanan nearly a decade ago. When they were young and rebellious youths, they’d found a lot of comfort in each other. She and Bucky were close, then.

As close as a man and woman could be.

But he knew she wasn’t the one for him. While they had their fun and enjoyed each other’s company, he couldn’t lie to himself or to her—she wasn’t his forever.

That was the first straw for his parents. They’d tried to make him marry Sharon, but Bucky refused. He’d ended things with her and she hadn’t taken it well.

So she left, moved to Shieldian, and he hadn’t heard from her since.

And now she’s returned, awaiting in his home.

You retired the extravagant gown you’d worn to the parade in favor of a house gown.

Sam had informed you that Daisy found her mother who, when told the story of your encounter, was praising you for finding her daughter.

James hadn’t said much when you returned. Just that he could see how please his people were, and he was happy that they liked you.

His lack of affection towards you had begun to take its toll. You’d never expect him to be head-over-heels for you already, but at least friends. You longed to share a interaction with him that wasn’t forced.

As you pondered what you could do to change his heart, you heard a voice. A woman’s voice, along with the King’s.

You walked into the veranda looking onto the courtyard, the warm air doing nothing for the goosebumps on your skin.

James was there, along with a woman you’d never seen. She was quite fair, blonde of hair and slender. Her yellow gown’s beading glistened in the sun.

He grabbed her hand and held it in his, his thumb moving delicately over her knuckles. “You look well, Sharon.”

She smiled at him in a way you’d longed to admire him, stroking his arm as she spoke. “As do you, James. I can’t believe you’re getting married.” She said, her voice sarcastic.

You moved closer to them, remaining hidden behind a pillar.

“I am. Is that why you’re here? The wedding isn’t for some time.”

She smirked, “I just had to see it for myself. The woman finally able to sweep James Barnes off his feet.”

The King chuckled. “That’s not exactly how I’d put it.”

“Oh? Not love, then?” She said, grabbing his other hand in hers.

You watched James look down at their hands interlocked. You’d never been able to so freely reach out and touch him. Who was the woman?

James laughed. He actually laughed. “This is merely a caveat my parents willed in order for me to keep the crown. She’s an essential burden, I’m afraid.”

His words send your heart plummeting to your stomach.

The blonde laughed again, “Imagine if you’d listened to them all those years ago...we’d be the ones married. I’d be Queen, and we’d have a whole brood of Barnes’ roaming the castle...”

She pulled him in for a hug, he hesitated, but obliged. Tears swam in your eyes and you felt like you’d be sick any moment.

So you ran.

You tore through the castle’s halls, running straight for your room. Once inside, you locked the doors, and fell to the floor sobbing.

“What an awful mistake I’ve made.” You cried to yourself.

You were too distraught to notice Natasha emerging from one of your rooms. She’d just changed your bedding.

“Your highness? Ellaria? What’s the matter? Are you hurt?” She panicked, dropping the crumpled sheets to the floor.

You shook your head, sitting your back against the door. “Only in heart, Nat. I’ll be fine.”

“What’s happened?” She asked, crouching next to you.

You shook your head, allowing fresh tears to fall. “I’m merely coming to grips with what lies ahead of me in this life. I’m not sure I’m equipped for it, as it turns out.”

She didn’t understand, but then again, you didn’t need her too.

“Natasha, I’m going to lay down for a bit before dinner.” You said, as she assisted you off the floor.

Nat nodded, “If you need me, just call. I’ll be here in a moment.”

As you climbed into bed, you heard Natasha leave. The decision to wallow in your misfortunes exhausted you, but at least now you knew why James would not and could not love you.

His heart belonged to another.

Dinner came far too fast. You’d almost told Nat not to bother, and that you weren’t hungry, but you knew she’d never stand for that.

As you walked into the dining room, you notice the table was set beautifully. Candelabras, and beautiful white linens with a navy table runner.

...and three place settings.

You’d never been joined for dinner. Not once in the time you’d been here.

The doors opened and in walked James, with the blonde woman on his arm. Your stomach churned, is he really parading his indiscretions in front of you?

“Ah, Princess.” He called, realizing you were in the room.

He dropped the woman’s arm, and moved to stand next to you.

“This is an old friend of mine, Sharon Carter. She’s come to meet the new queen.” She smiled.

“Lady Stark.” She curtsied.

“Princess Stark, actually.” You corrected. Did she not just hear James call you by your title?

She smiled partly, “Forgive me. It’s an honor to meet Buchanan’s future queen. James has told me quite a bit about you.”

You smirk, “Has he? I was certain he knew nothing about me.”

You walked away and stood near your seat, one of the servers pulled it out for you. “Thank you.” You smiled.

James stared at you, but you didn’t care. He’s disrespected you to your face and worse, behind your back. If he wants to treat this marriage like a forced folly, then so be it.

“Sharon, where are you from?” You asked.

She put her wine down, “Buchanan, actually. Born and raised. Though now I live in Shieldian.”

You nodded, uninterested. “What made you leave Buchanan?”

She looked to James, almost for permission.

“You can tell me, dear. I won’t bite.” You said, taking a morsel of your dinner into your mouth.

Sharon cleared her throat, opening her mouth to speak, when James cut her off.

“I’ve invited Sharon to stay with us until the engagement ball. Maybe help you in planning it, if you’d like.” James jaw was clenched, clearly feeling the tension in the air.

You laughed aloud, “Yet another thing I wasn’t informed of. I hadn’t even known about a ball. When is it, your majesty? Am I even invited?”

“Ellaria...” he warned.

You backed your chair out from the table. “Lovely to meet you, Sharon. I do hope you enjoy your stay. Please let James know if you need anything, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to oblige.”

Sharon stood, curtsied, and nodded.

James stood quickly after her, but you didn’t care to hear him speak. You walked through the corridors, and back to your room, feeling disgusted.

Some time later, you’d bathed and dressed in your nightgown—a beautiful black silk and lace piece.

You been perched on the velvet stool by your vanity, brushing your hair, when you’d heard a commotion outside of your door.

Standing and moving a bit closer, you heard the familiar voices grow closer.

“Think before you do this, Buck. Let her be.”

Steve? You thought.

“Move, Steve. I won’t ask again.” It was James, and he sounded furious.

You were frozen by your bedside. Should you pretend to be asleep? No. He’d never believe you were.

With shaking hands, you placed your brush down, and moved to sit on the edge of your bed.

The wooden door burst open without so much as a knock.

James stormed in, looking enraged. His eyes softened however, when they saw you in your nightgown.

His cerulean orbs roamed your body when you stood, but the look on his face hadn’t changed—he looked disgusted.

“Would you care to explain yourself?” He demanded.

Your eyes narrow at his words. “Explain myself? What do you mean?” You feigned your innocence.

“That display of discordance and foul manners at dinner. You were rude to a guest—my guest. In my home.” He seethed.

Your blood was on the verge of boiling.

“And tell me this, your majesty, would we have had that dinner if that woman had not been here? Would you have ever told me about who your guest was in the first place?”

He stepped closer to you as you spoke, “I heard you in the courtyard. Funny how you introduced her as simply an old friend.”

He scoffed, “Is this the kind of woman you are? Jealous of someone you don’t even know?”

Your mouth fell open at his words. You took a step back, trying to escape his venom.

“The kind of woman I am? I am Ellaria Stark. I am the daughter of a true king, I am Princess and heir to the Iron Kingdom. You will watch your words with me, James.”

His features softened. Had he expected you to cower in fear and admit your wrong-doings?

“I heard how you laughed. How you mocked me. How you dishonored my name with someone whom I’d yet to meet. What kind of a man does that to the woman he is to marry?” You asked, feeling the emotion rise in your throat.

You tried your best to swallow it, but couldn’t help the few tears stinging your eyes.

James looked down for a moment, “Those words were not meant for you.”

“But you said them, and I heard them anyway. If you feel as though I’m no more than a burden you must bare, then I see no reason to fulfill this engagement.”

The Kings eye widened. “You’re—you’re not thinking clearly. You’re letting your emotions get the better of you.”

You scoffed, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Is that what I’m doing? Tell me more about myself, since you’ve come to know me so well.”

You watched his entire posture change. Shoulders slightly slouched, his weight shifting heel to heel. He looked ashamed.

“That’s not what I meant.” He whispered.

“Marry her—Sharon. It seems that was your parents wish many years ago. Marry her, have children with her. She spoke of it quite fondly earlier in the courtyard.” You spat.

“No.” He said quickly.

“Then don’t. But I can assure you this, I will not be the woman you marry. When the people of Buchanan are forced from their homes, when families are destroyed, you can tell them why. You can tell them it was you, James Barnes, who broke a heart that wasn’t even yours to break.”

“Ellaria...” he pleaded.

“You can tell them how I tried. How hard I tried to be someone you could want. How I withstood all of you venomous words and mockery until my soul could bare it no longer. Tell them everything, James.”

He stood before you, unmoving. His eyes locked onto you, trying to think of something-anything he could say to make things right.

You pointed at him. “I will not marry this man.” You said. “I will not.”

James eyes were screaming, begging you to reconsider, but the King remained silent.

Fast footsteps approached your door. There was a thunderous knock, before Sam appeared.

“Your majesty—.” He greeted breathily. “There’s been another attack. Just West of the city.”

James suddenly perked up, “Who was involved?”

Sam caught his breath, “A farm, set ablaze. The family is safe, but they lost their animals and their crop. Their home as well.”

Rage seemingly shaken from your bones, and replaced with grief. “This has happened before?” You ask.

Sam looked to James, who simply shook his head. “This is not for you to worry about.” He said stroking your back.

They began heading for the door, Sam explaining something to him in more detail, when James stopped walking suddenly, “Go, ready my horse. I’ll meet you at the gate.” He said.

Sam nodded, and left to follow his orders. James turned and walked back towards you.

“I beg of you, please. Please do not make any decisions now. We will talk, you have my word. For now I must go.”

What could you say? Nothing. So you nod. He grips you hand, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Thank you, Princess.”

With that, he leaves you.

Your heart broke for the family, you made a mental note to ask James what you could do for them. If there were any resources the crown could give them to rebuild what they’d lost.

A knock at your door jarred you thoughts. “Come in.” You said.

No one responded.

“Come in!” You called a bit louder.

Still nothing.

A sigh escaped your lips as you walked for the door, opening it quickly. “Hello—“ you stopped. There was no one.

A flick of something on the ground caught your eye. At your feet was a folded price of parchment with your name on it.

You reached down for it, looking down the hall, seeing no one around.

You open the black seal on the back slowly, and unfold the parchment.

Written in a hand you didn’t recognize, in bold and clear lettering was a message that sent ice water traveling through your veins.

I know your secret.

After reading the words, you felt faint and panicked all at once. Quickly retreating back inside, you slam the door shut and lock it tight.

How? How could someone know? Surely there was no way something like this could be known by just anyone.

Crumpling the paper, you walked to your fireplace, throwing it in without a second thought.

If someone knows the truth, then that means they intend to use it against you. Why? What purpose could that have? What could they gain?

More importantly...who knows?

You weren’t sure who, but it was clear whoever it was, was no friend to you.

The smell of burning animal flesh and crops made James sick.

He hated that this is what his reign had come too. His parents had never been forced to wage war, not once in the nearly 40 years his father had reigned.

But it seems these criminals will leave him no choice.

“You highness...” Sam said walking up next to him.

“Sam?” He questioned.

Sam nodded his head toward the king, and two other guards approached, carrying someone by the arms.

They threw the man down at James’ feet.

“Speak. Now.” Sam said forcefully.

The man stayed quiet.

In a swift motion, Sam drew his sword and placed it against the mans neck.

When James saw his face, he was bloodied and beaten. He had a crazed look in his eye.

“I said speak.” Sam ordered.

The man laughed maniacally, “Your crown is tarnished, Barnes.”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow at the lunatic.

“Hydralia...Hydralia remembers. Before the Barnes family came and destroyed what was once theirs.”

“Hydralia has ceased to exist for 50 years.” James said sternly.

The man laughed again. “When a city falls, and empire rises. We’re coming for you Barnes—he is coming.”

“Who? Who sent you? What do you want with my people?” James seethed.

With a shakey voice, the man whispered, “Lord Rumlow. He’s coming to take what is rightfully his.”

James stood suddenly. Rumlow? He was said to have been killed nearly two decades earlier.

“Lies.” James spat.

Sam grabbed the mans hair, pulling back, exposing more of his neck.

“He’ll come for you. He’ll come for you both. In one fist, your crown. In the other, your bride.”

That threat made Bucky’s blood boil. Without hesitation, he grabbed the mans jaw and pulled it roughly.

“Excuse me?” He said, pushing the sword into his throat.

“The daughter of King Stark guarantees his reign. He will be usurper to not one kingdom...but two.” The man said with a twisted smile.

James released the man, throwing him down before nodding at Sam.

With the rip his sword, he silenced the man forever. Blood spattered the blade and his boots.

“What do we do, Sir?” Sam asked.

James didn’t know. He didn’t have an answer.

This had been the reality he hadn’t wanted to face. He knew it was Hydralia that was behind his parents murder, and now they threatened not only him, but Ellaria.

He must keep his people safe, of course, but she is something he cannot lose. Not before he even has her.

“Rally our troops. I want guards rotating our perimeter 24 hours a day. No one is to enter or leave this city without me knowing it, understood?”

“Yes, my king.” Sam assured.

Despite everything that maniac said, his threats to Ellaria were most troubling.

Regardless of their fight this evening, she was James’ future. One he knew he didn’t deserve.

She could have had anyone, but she accepted him, and he’d pushed her to the brink of no return.

He would convince her to stay, he had to. He must keep her safe.

James vowed to himself to fix it. Whatever he needed to do to prove to her he wanted her he would.

Whatever it takes.

Chapter Five: Secrets, Secrets Everywhere

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @star-spangled-beard-burn @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide @snapcapquartet @ellen-reincarnated1967 @unlistedpond @my-drowning-in-time @supernaturalwintersoldier @kimvmarvel @roseboho @winterboobear11 @choicesloversstuff @disaffectedbarnes @igothroughphasesalot (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

[vxlkyrie]

partner

pairing: steve rogers x reader

genre: angst, fluff, detective!au

warning: cursing, graphic crime details, violence, weapons, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex

word count: 5.5k

summary: steve gets his first partner and doesn’t know how to act

a/n: hi everyone! i’m so happy that a lot of you enjoyed “forget you.” it just motivates me to write even more! i’ve wrote this detective concept a few years ago, and i wanted to revamp it with steve as the main lead this time. obviously i don’t have any knowledge in the criminal justice field and mainly based a lot of the story on the true crime shows i’ve watched, but i hope y’all like it! (also i stayed up until like 6 in the morning writing this, so if there are any mistakes before i go back to edit it, i’m sorry)

steve rogers – detective at the 12th precinct, the intelligence unit. he has a 97% success rate in closing cases, which was pretty fucking impressive. his charm, strength, and wits are the keys to helping him solve many of his cases. his looks have also played a big role. 

obviously steve was a handsome man, which has caused many people to flirt with him – whether they were a witness, suspect, or even a victim. they would all try to ask him out, only resulting in rejection. being a detective meant having little free time to socialize outside his job. all he had was his fellow colleagues in intelligence who have become his second family.

steve was also brave, keeping calm and collected especially during hostage situations. there would be a gun aiming at his head, but it didn’t phase him as he talked to the gunman into surrendering, succeeding every time. so you could say that steve rogers was the top detective in his unit. 

there is just one problem – he doesn’t have a partner. sure, there would be certain occasions where he would partner up with bucky or sam, but they were each other’s official partner. he would sometimes even pair up with wanda for undercover work, but she usually stuck with thor – an odd pairing, but successful nevertheless. steve was left in the squad room with an empty desk placed in front of his.

“good morning everyone.” captain fury said, gaining everyone’s attention. steve, who was fiddling with his pen stood from his chair as he saw everyone gather in front of his boss. “there will be a new addition to intelligence.”

“who is it?” wanda asked.

“this detective is transferring from the 18th precinct and has a 98% success rate.” he answered, earning gasps from some of the detectives.

holy shit. steve thought.

“shit, that’s higher that steve’s.” sam chuckled, earning a light slap to the head from bucky.

“when does he start?” bucky asked.

“she starts right now.” a female voice called as the detectives turned their heads. you walked into the room, smirking as you placed the box that was held by your side onto the empty desk – the one right in front of steve’s. you walked up next to fury, hearing whistles come from some of the male detectives.

“everyone, this is y/n l/n.” fury said.

you had transferred over from the homicide unit to intelligence. a lot of detectives knew you by your almost perfect percentage of success rate, being the lead detective on most of your cases. fury had personally asked for you after learning that you had a vast knowledge in every type of combat, ballistics, and anatomy. some referred to you as a wild card. not to toot your own horn, but you were amazing at your job.

“hello everyone.” you smiled.

“y/n will also be steve’s official partner.” fury announced before going back into his office, cueing everyone to go back to work.

“lucky bastard. i’m stuck with this guy.” sam said, earning another slap to the head from his partner, causing you to giggle.

you walked up to steve, reaching your hand out for him to shake. “hello steve, it’s an honor to be working with you.” you smiled.

steve froze at the sight in front of him wow, she’s kind of cute. he thought to himself. you looked at steve in confusion, waiting for him to respond.

“this is the part where you shake her hand and introduce yourself you idiot.” thor said, causing steve to slightly shake his head.

“sorry,” steve chuckled as he grabbed your hand and shook it. “it’s a pleasure to meet you, although i should be the one who’s honored to be working with you. i’ve heard great things about you.”

“yeah, like what?” you smirked.

“for one, you beat me in success rate percentage.” he said.

“it’s just a number, that doesn’t mean anything.” you laughed as you settled into your chair, starting to organize your desk.

“don’t be so humble.” steve said in a playful tone, making you smile. he actually liked that you didn’t have an inflated ego just because of your numbers. he watched you as you placed things onto your new desk until fury walked back into the squad room, causing everyone to gather around him once again.

“listen everyone. there’s been a murder at one of the stark hotels. i need you guys to head down there.” fury ordered. everyone started heading out.

“i’ll drive.” steve stated as you grabbed your jacket. you nodded at him in response.

as steve and you drove to the hotel, he decided to strike up a conversation. to get to know his new partner, of course.

“so, what made you want to become a cop?” he asked.

you looked at him as he kept his eyes on the road. “it was kind of a spontaneous decision. no one in my family is in the criminal justice field, but they supported me from throughout college and the academy and even now. but i know they get worried about me sometimes.”

“that’s sweet of them.” steve said, feeling a tug at his heartstrings.

“how about you?” you asked.

“me? well, my best friend peggy encouraged me to join after i had served for two years.” he simply said.

“that’s nice.” you smiled.

“although, sometimes i regret being a cop. it’s like every person i talk to wants to jump my bones and confess to murder before i could even open my mouth. this one lady i was interrogating, clearly guilty, was trying to change the subject and asked me out to dinner after she makes bail.” he added, making you snort.

“one of my friends in homicide told me about that. the hot detective in precinct 12 that every female suspect, witness, and even detective wants a piece of.” you joked.

“oh, does that include you?” steve smirked, making you roll your eyes as your face heated up a bit. luckily before you could respond, you two had arrived at the hotel, passing by sam and bucky who were currently questioning staff.

-

in both your’s and steve’s years of being a detective, neither of you have witnessed a crime scene so brutal. before you could even notice the bouquets of flowers and bottles of wine that sat at the vanity in front of the room, there was blood that covered most of other side of the room. it was all over the walls, there were burnt marks on the bed sheets along with a ton of blood. the sheets were supposed to be white, right?

you held yourself together as you carefully walked around the room, trying your best not to contaminate evidence the crime scene unit was gathering. you and steve approached the body that was being examined by the medical examiner.

“hey bruce.” steve said.

“hi steve.” the older man responded as he looked up, locking eyes with you. “and you are?” he asked politely.

“i’m y/n, steve’s new partner.” you answered.

“it’s nice to meet you.”

you looked at the victim – body covered with every type of wound known to man and a pool of blood.

“the victim doesn’t even have a face anymore.” you muttered, feeling chills run down your spine.

bruce looked closely at the limbs.

“your perp burned the victim’s fingertips to the bone.” he said.

“they didn’t want the victim to be identified.” you blurted out loud.

“what’s the cause of death?” steve asked.

“it’s hard to tell. i’ll have to wait until i do the autopsy to find out which wound killed him first. overall, it looks like the victim has cuts, thin stab wounds, probably from an ice pick that was found a few feet away, and burns from both fire and rope.”

“let me guess, the perp wore gloves and there were no fingerprints found on the pick?” you asked, earning a nod from bruce. “it looks like the victim was tied up and tortured.” you added.

“i’m surprised no one heard any screaming.” steve said.

“well, this is a penthouse and the only one on this floor. and if you look closely, there are small specs of adhesive of what looks like duct tape by the mouth that was probably burned or ripped off either perimortem or postmortem.” you said, responding to steve’s comment.

“you got a good partner here, steve.” bruce said. steve turned his head to you, impressed by your quick wits.

maybe that’s why she has a higher success rate.

steve found himself lost in his thoughts again, not noticing you walking around the room to examine more evidence. you looked up to see him still in the spot you had left him.

“uh, steve?” you called out to your partner, interrupting his thoughts as he turned his body towards you.

“yeah? sorry, i got lost in my thoughts.” he chuckled nervously as bruce shook his head in second-hand embarrassment.

“i have a thought too.” you said, slightly teasing him.

“yeah, what is it?”

“well, it might be a reach, but i think the victim was knocked out, possibly drugged, in this room and was tied up to the bed and tortured,” you said as you point out the remaining rope on the headboard. “the victim had finally freed themselves. and judging by the blood on the walls, they leaned on the walls as they tried to make it to the door, eventually bleeding out and falling to the floor. or the perp could have returned and held them up against the wall and tortured them even more and dumped them onto the floor to die.” you continued. 

you looked at steve who was just staring at you in awe while bruce gave an impressed chuckle. to be honest, he zoned out as you kept talking, but was fascinated on how quickly you came up with a theory while still at the scene. that, and he also got lost in how beautiful you looked as you spoke with confidence.

“earth to steve?” you said as you waved your hands in front of him. “for a top detective, you sure do zone out a lot.” you joked.

“he’s not usually like this.” bruce commented as he passed you two.

“sorry,” steve blinked. “and you’re right, if the victim did try to escape, our guy must have left for a bit. if he was still in the room, there wouldn’t be this much blood. maybe our perp caught him trying to escape and decided to rough our victim up even more before they died.” he suggested. he was proud of himself for even coming up with a theory so quickly as opposed to thinking about it in the squad room after returning.

“that’s also possible. let’s check in with thor and wanda back at the precinct to see if the cameras caught anything.”

-

a few hours passed by in the squad room as everyone took a break, waiting to hear back from bruce and jarvis, the tech expert.

“how’s your first day in intelligence so far?” sam asked as he sat on your desk.

you leaned back in your chair as you looked at the man.

“honestly i’m impressed. i didn’t think i’d see a scene so gruesome. did you see how much blood was in that room?” you said.

sam noticeably gulped. “mhm,” he said, trying to keep his cool. obviously this man has also never seen a crime so horrible. you tried to not laugh in his face. “so, what do you do in your free time? do you bake? hang out with your boyfriend?” sam oh so casually asked. you could hear steve and bucky snicker in the background.

“never had time for either.” you casually said as you went back to filling out paperwork.

“is that so?” sam raised an eyebrow. 

“sam.” steve said, signaling his friend to stop trying to flirt with the new detective.

“yeah, i don’t think guys find it attractive that i look at dead bodies and get gunned down by drug lords all day.” you casually said as sam’s eyes widened.

“fair enough.” sam said, lifting himself off your desk and hung his head in shame as he returned to his, steve’s and bucky’s snickers getting louder.

“just got back from banner,” fury called out, getting everyone’s attention as he pulled up a board with different images pinned to it along with writing. “our victim is none other than tony stark.”

“tony stark, as in the owner of the hotel he was found dead in?” steve said.

“why was he even in a hotel room? doesn’t he live in a tower on the east side of new york?” you asked with concern.

“was he meeting up with someone?” steve asked.

“the hotel said the penthouse was under his name.” sam chimed in.

“suspicious.” you muttered to yourself.

“stark was probably killed by someone who was probably pissed at him and wanted some of his money.” bucky said.

“stark pisses a lot of people off and everyone wants his money. i don’t think that’ll get him to meet up with someone.” you counter-argued.

“maybe he was threatened by someone.” steve said.

“none of the above actually.” wanda said as she and thor walked in. she placed more images onto the board. “jarvis went through the tapes of the camera angled at the entrance to the penthouse and found stark entering the room.” she pointed out as everyone examined the low quality image of what looks like tony stark with an arm around a lady’s waist.

“the female has blonde hair. that could be pepper potts, his wife.” steve said.

“that’s just motive. if he dies, everything goes to her,” you added. “is there footage of her coming out?”

“unfortunately, no. it seems that the camera went out as soon as they entered the room and did not come back on until seven in the morning.” thor explained.

“interesting. talk to the widow.” fury ordered.

-

you and steve were escorted through the stark tower, meeting up with a grieving pepper potts.

“hello mrs. stark.” you greeted.

“mrs. potts. i decided to keep my maiden after tony and i wed. but please, call me pepper.” she said, giving a small smile.

“pepper, first off, i’m sorry for your lost.”

“thank you.” she sniffled.

“we just have a few questions to ask you that could help in solving your husband’s murder.” steve said.

“of course.”

“to start off, where were you on the night of your husband’s murder?”

“are you suggesting that i’m a suspect?!” pepper exclaimed.

“it’s a standard question we ask everyone. it’s just procedure.” you said, getting pepper to calm down.

“obviously i was at home. i was busy with paperwork for stark industries.”

you and steve looked at each other, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

you looked back at the widow. “pepper, we have you on tape with your husband around the time of his death. steve said, handing her a photo taken from the security camera.

“what are you suggesting?” she said, sounding appalled. “how dare you, i loved my husband!” she practically yelled.

“i’m sure you did. but with him gone, that leaves you, what, at least $500 million and sole inheritance of all of his property, including the company?” you said coldly. steve knew you had to get pepper to start talking, even if it meant being a little rude.

“you’re a bitch.” pepper practically spat at you.

“look, just tell us what happened.” you said, unfazed by the harsh comment.

pepper looked at the photo, holding it close to her face as it scrunched up.

“wait a minute, that isn’t me.” she said as she placed a hand over her mouth. “h-he’s been cheating on me?”

steve looked at you in shock.

-

back in the precinct, steve looks at the board, taking in every image and written detail as he tried to piece everything together.

“so if that’s not potts going into the room with stark, then who is she?” steve said to himself as he stared into the photo as if it would give him a clear answer.

you walked up next to steve, holding a cup towards him.

“coffee?” you asked, eyebrows slightly raised.

“sure. thanks.” he said, grabbing the cup from your grasp, loudly chugging down the hot beverage, masking the beating of his heart.

“obviously tony has a mistress. i thought he had stop his playboy days after meeting pepper.” you said as you took a sip of your own drink while looking at the board. steve couldn’t help but look at you, not moving even when you turned to catch him already staring. your face started to heat up until you both hear someone clear their throat behind them.

“i’ve got a lead.” wanda said, smirking as you two snapped your heads at her as if you two had been caught.

“what’d you find?” steve said, straightening his back.

“well, jarvis has been going through stark’s call logs, and there have been many calls over the past three months to and from one number. it belongs to a natasha romanoff. here’s her address.” she explained, handing you the file, letting you take a look. you were slightly confused at the red hair that sat on top of the lady’s head in her license photo.

“i’ll drive.” you said as you grabbed you jacket and headed over to the garage filled with squad cars.

steve was about to follow after you when he felt wanda grab his arm.

“so, you like the new girl?” she smirked.

“i just met her.”

“you’re not saying no.”

“i mean, she’s cute and very intelligent.”

“so you like her.”

“yeah, is that what you wanted to hear?” steve raised an eyebrow. wanda smiled, walking away from him like nothing happened, leaving him flushed.

-

later that day, you and steve arrived at the address. you knocked on the door.

“natasha romanoff, nypd.” you said loudly.

the door opened slightly as a blonde woman peaked through the small opening.

“may i help you?” she asked softly.

“we would like to ask you a few questions about tony stark.”

“the millionaire?” she raised an eyebrow. “he’s a celebrity. what’s that got to do with me?”

“oh not much, just that you’ve been seeing mr. stark for the past few months.” steve said.

“i don’t have to tell you anything.” natasha panicked, trying to close the door. luckily, you stopped the door with your foot.

“miss romanoff, you know if you don’t talk to us it just makes you look even more suspicious, right?” you raised an eyebrow at her. she managed to get your foot away from the door, slamming it in your face.

that went well.

-

“think she did it?” sam asked after you and steve explained what had happened to the squad.

“she won’t talk to us, which raises suspicion that she might be involved.” you answered.

“she could be involved, but do you think she had the will to carve up his body like that?” steve asked.

“who knows? she’s a mistress. tony’s probably been buying her expensive things and when she gets cut off or tony might want to break things off with her, she must’ve had a lot of anger built up and took it out on him. if she can’t have him, no one can.” you said as steve nodded at your wishful thinking.

“i got off the phone with hill,” fury said as he exited his office. “she got the warrant for romanoff’s residence.”

steve quickly drove you two back to the address, not minding how dark it had become outside.

you loudly knocked on her door.

“what are you doing?” she exclaimed. “i said i’m not talking.”

“you don’t have to.” you said as you held up the warrant to her face, pushing pass her. you and steve looked through her apartment, noting the different expensive brands that littered her rooms. “where do you work miss romanoff? i’m curious to know how you could afford all of these things.” you said as natasha sat on the couch, bouncing her leg anxiously.

“i found condoms in the trash,” steve said, exiting one of the rooms. “if we have them tested, will it match tony’s dna?”

“i suggest you start talking to us natasha.” you said as you and steve sat near her.

“fine.” she sighed. “tony and i have been having an affair – but i would never in a million years hurt him. i even bleached my hair for that man just so people would think i was pepper.”

“then why were you at the hotel the night he was murdered?”

“sometimes we would go there when we didn’t want to go back to my place. but that night, i wasn’t feeling up to it, so i told him i wanted to go home. he understood and let me leave. i think i left ten minutes after we entered the room.” natasha explained.

“well that doesn’t explain the cameras going out.” steve said.

“tony had automated the cameras to go off from the moment we enter the room until around seven in the morning to give both of us time to leave separately, so we can avoid getting caught.”

“he was covering up his affair.” you scoffed.

“i know i’m not a good person. i loved tony, and i would never hurt him, let alone kill him.” natasha said as her eyes glossed with tears.

“i believe you.” you said, laying a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

you and steve shortly exited her apartment and sat in the car. you let out a deep sigh.

“if we have more than eight hours of footage missing, how are we going to know what happened?” you asked, sounding frustrated as you leaned back into the passenger’s seat.

“it’s gonna be okay y/n. it’s only the first day of the case and your first day in intelligence. you did an impressive job so far.” steve said as he patted your shoulder.

“thanks steve.” you smiled tiredly.

“it’s getting late, do you want to grab some dinner before i drop you off to your place?” he asked.

“sure, i’d like that.” you shyly smiled.

-

you two munched on your burgers at the local diner as you two talked.

“i know sam beat me to this question, but seriously, how was your first day at intelligence?” steve asked, taking a sip of his coke.

you chuckled. “i liked meeting everyone. they’re very interesting. it’s refreshing actually. new people and a cleaner building.” you answered, emphasizing the “cleaner” part. steve laughed.

“oh yeah? do you like your new partner?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“i do. even though he likes to zone out while i’m talking, i think he’s very cool.” you laughed as steve pouted at your comment.

“well, does he live up to the hot detective expectation like everyone says?”

“oh definitely.” you smirked.

later that night, steve drove you back to your apartment complex, walking you to your door.

“thank you for today and for dinner. do you do this with all of your partners?” you teased.

“you’re actually my first partner.” steve said, nervously laughing. your eyes widened.

this man really never had a partner?

you blinked back into reality. “well, i’m honored to have the title of being your first partner.” you smiled

steve smiled back, getting lost in your eyes. he unconsciously flickered his eyes from yours to your lips, making you blush. you reflected his actions, leaning in. steve leaned in as well, meeting you in the middle as your lips met, molding perfectly against each other. what was supposed to be one kiss turned into a few and then to many kisses. you pulled away to unlock your door, leaving it open to invite steve in. as soon as you closed the door, steve pushed you up against the wall, continuing what was happening moments before.

-

the next morning rolls in. you wake up to see your body entangled around someone else’s bare and muscular body. you looked up to see steve sleeping peacefully as you smiled to yourself.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” steve said as his eyes were still closed. you laughed as you lightly smacked his chest as he slowly opened them. “good morning beautiful.” he said, kissing your forehead.

you checked the time on your alarm clock.

“it’s almost noon.”

“it’s still morning.”

before you could respond to him, you heard a ringtone echoing through your bedroom.

what a way to ruin the mood.

both of you sat up to see steve’s phone ringing on the floor. steve picked up the phone.

“hello?” he said as you watch him listen to the person on the other side of the line. “okay.” he said as he hung up the phone, laying himself down back onto the bed.

“who was that?” you asked.

“fury. there’s a new lead in the case.” he said, relaxing himself into your pillow. you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“okay? get your ass up, we gotta get going.” you said, hearing your phone ring moments shortly. you answered it, getting the same message steve got earlier.

“do we have to get up?” steve groaned.

“yes,” you said sternly as you got off the bed. “maybe this is why i have a higher success rate than you.” you joked.

“wow. that hurt.” steve sarcastically said as he reluctantly got up.

-

“crime lab came back with the results from the evidence found in the many blood samples taken from the scene. there was one sample that had another set of dna that did not belong to tony stark.” fury said. 

“our perp got cut in the middle of wounding stark.” bucky said.

“results show that the dna belongs to a virginia potts.” fury added.

“also known as pepper potts.” steve said.

“the wife?” wanda asked.

“it makes sense now. she probably already knew about the affair. that night, she probably wanted to catch them in the act, but natasha left early, leaving pepper to confront only her husband. whether or not he denies the affair, pepper loses control and kills him.” you said, earning impressed hums from the squad.

“you think that woman really tortured her own husband?” sam asked.

“if she already knew, she probably had to keep her emotions to herself. all that built up anger can make you lose control. she wanted him to suffer like she did.” you answered.

“l/n, rogers, pick up mrs. potts. she was said to be seen at a house just outside the city.” fury said.

“yes sir.” you both said as you both grabbed your jackets from your desks.

“also,” fury said, making you two look up at him in confusion. “nice matching hickeys.” he smirked as he walked back into his office.

you and steve looked at each other, only now noticing the faint bruises on peeking out of your shirts. you both blushed as you briefly shy away from each other. the rest of the squad tried to contain their laughters.

-

you and steve arrived at the suburban residence.

“mrs. potts? nypd.” steve said as he knocked on the door. there was no answer.

“pepper?” you shouted through the door. no answer. 

you looked at steve, then looked down at the door handle, gesturing to him to check if the door is unlocked. steve grabbed the handle, slowly turning it to prevent any noise. he successfully opened the door. both of you pulled out your guns as you searched through the house as quietly as possible. most of the rooms were cleared. but when you two reach the kitchen, you were both surprised to see two figures standing behind the island. one of them was natasha, fear written all over her face as a gun was held to her head by none other than pepper, whose face was ridden with red eyes and tears.

“natasha. pepper.” you said, acknowledging the both of them.

“pepper, please put the gun down.” steve said as you two aimed your guns at her.

“no!” she exclaimed.

“well that didn’t work.” steve muttered.

“i thought you were more of a blade kind of gal, virginia.” you smirked, obviously mocking her.

“excuse me?!” pepper yelled, feeling offended.

“come on. we know you killed tony. you found out he was having an affair, and you were pissed. you took out all of your anger out on him. you tortured him, wanting him to suffer like you did.” you said.

pepper buried the barrel deeper into natasha’s temple, causing both of them to cry even more. natasha’s begs became louder.

“no one needs to get hurt. let natasha go.” steve said.

after a few moments, pepper pulled natasha away from the gun, shoving her towards you two, suddenly aiming her gun straight at you. natasha ran towards steve, causing him to pull his gun down to grab her.

“get out of here steve.” you said, never breaking eye contact with pepper.

“i’m not leaving you.” he argued.

“it’s okay, i’ve got this, just get natasha out of here.”

steve knew you weren’t going to back down. he sighed as he escorted outside, reporting everything through his radio.

“listen to me pepper, you don’t want to do this.” you said, your gun still aiming at her. you watched her pull the safety off the gun, ready to pull the trigger. you weren’t affected at all.

“pepper, i don’t want to kill you. and if you kill me, you’ll also be arrested for murdering an officer, adding more to your sentence.” you said as you kept your cool. although, it didn’t seem to convince pepper.

steve’s eyes widened as he heard a gunshot ring through the house. “shots fired, possibly an officer down. i need back up and an ambulance.” he immediately called in. he was about to run back inside when he saw pepper walking outside as you followed right behind her, holding her cuffed hands behind her back. steve let out a breath in relief.

-

“mrs. potts. you need to start telling the truth about what really happened to tony that night.” steve firmly said in the interrogation room, with you sitting next to him.

pepper sniffled, the handcuffs that wrapped around her hands jiggling as she tried to adjust herself in her seat.

“okay. our marriage was going downhill and tony had been acting different. sometimes he would stay in one of his hotel rooms just to get away from me for the night. but then i found out about natasha. i’ve known for a few months, only getting angrier when he would try to be nice to me. that night, i walked up to the room he was staying at and i knocked on the door, seeing a surprised tony.” pepper said, sadly chuckling. “before he even knew it was me, he said “you’re back so soon?” and he had fear in his eyes. i honestly think he shat himself. i looked behind him to see how he had the room set up, ready to make love to natasha like he couldn’t do to me.” pepper cried. “so yeah, i only wanted to confront him, but i lost control.”

you honestly had no sympathy for her.

“only wanted to confront him? well, mrs potts, seeing that you knew about the affair months prior and there is clear evidence of torture, you planned all of this.” you said, acid basically dripping from your words. pepper gulped nervously.

“i want my lawyer.” she said quietly.

“well, we already got your confession.” you said as you and steve left the room.

you turned to fury and a.d.a. maria hill who were looking through the one-way mirror from the other side.

“think she’s doing time?” steve asked.

“definitely. she just confessed to premeditated murder – that’s murder one in my books.” maria said as she and fury left the hallway.

after closing a case on your second day in the unit, you relaxed at your desk as you finish some paperwork.

“you scared me earlier,” steve said as he sat across from you, interrupting your focus.

“aw, were you worried about me?” you playfully pouted at him.

steve smiled at you. “yes, i don’t want my partner and girlfriend dead on the second day of her job.” he said, making you laugh and blush at the same time.

“oh, so i’ve also earned the girlfriend title?” you joked.

“that’s if you want it.” steve smirked.

“being the hot detective’s girlfriend? sign me up.” you said, making him laugh. you didn’t care that you heard throwing up noises from bucky and sam.

“come on, let’s get out of here,” steve said as he stood in front of your desk. “you had a long day. how about we grab some food and crash at my place?” he asked with a cheeky smile

you smiled as you grabbed your bag, taking your free hand in his.

“i would love that.”

[ryanmeft]

Ryan’s Favorite Films of 2019

A stuttering detective,

A top hat-wearing vamp

A forced-perspective war,

A bit of Blaxploitation camp

Prisoners on a space ship

Having sex with bears

A writer goes remembering

Whenever his pain flares

  A prancing, dancing Hitler

A gambler high on strife

Here will go cavorting with

A mom who becomes a wife

A family plot with many threads

Three men against their own

A stuntman and his actor

A mobster now quite alone

Doubles under the earth

Two men in a tall house

Are here to watch a woman who

Is battling with her spouse

A family’s plans for their strong son

Go awry one night

A man rejects his country

Which is spoiling for a fight

 A house built by his grandpa

(Maybe; we’re not sure)

Looks out upon three prisoners

Whose passions are a lure

  All these are on my list this year

It’s longer than before

Because picking only ten this time

Was too great of a chore

  What are limits anyway?

They’re just things we invented

I don’t really find them useful

So, this year, I’ve dissented

  You may have noticed this time out

That numbers, I did grant

Promise they’ll stay in this order, though?

Now that, I just can’t

  I’m always changing my mind

Because, after all, you see

Good film is about the heart

And mine’s rather finicky

  There are a lot more I could name

(And I’ll change my mind at any time)

For now, though, consider these

The ones I found sublime

 20. Motherless Brooklyn

I’ve got a (hard-boiled) soft spot for 90’s neo-noirs like L.A. Confidential, Red Rock West and Seven, and Edward Norton’s ‘50’s take on Jonathan Lethem’s 90’s -set novel can stand firmly in that company.

19. Doctor Sleep

There’s something about Stephen King’s best writing that transcends mere popularity; his work may not be fine literature, but it is immune to the fads of the moment. So, too, are the best movies based on that work. This one, an engaging adventure-horror, deserved better than it got from audiences.

18. Jojo Rabbit

There was a time when the anything-goes satire of Mel Brooks could produce a major box office hit.  Disney’s prudish refusal to market the film coupled with the dominance of franchises means that’s no longer the case. If you bothered to give Jojo a shot, though, you got the strange-but-rewarding experience of guffawing one moment and being horrified the next.

17. By The Grace of God

I’d venture this is the least-seen film on my list; even among us brie-eating, wine-sniffing art house snobs, I rarely hear it mentioned. Focusing on the perspectives of three men dealing with a particularly heinous and unrepentant abusive priest and the hierarchy that protects him, it’s every bit as disquieting and infuriating as 2015’s Oscar-winning Spotlight.

16. Waves

You think Trey Edward Shultz’s Waves will be one thing---a domestic drama about an affluent African-American family (and that in and of itself is a rarity). Then it becomes something else entirely. It addresses something movies often avoid: that as life goes on, the person telling the story will always change.

15. Transit

You’re better off not questioning exactly where and when the film is set (it is based on a book about Nazi Germany but has been changed to be a more generalized Fascist state). The central theme here is identity, as three people change theirs back and forth based on need and desire.

14. American Woman

Movies about regular, working class, small-town American usually focus on men. This one is about a much-too-young mother and grandmother, played brilliantly by Sierra Miller, dealing with unexpected loss and the attendant responsibilities she isn’t ready for. 

13. Marriage Story

There is an argument between a married couple in here that is as true a human moment as ever was on screen---free of trumped-up screenplay drama and accurate to how angry people really argue. The entire movie strives to be about the kind of realistic divorce you don’t see on-screen. It is oddly refreshing.

12. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Quentin Tarantino’s love letter to 70’s Tinseltown is essentially a question: What if the murder that changed the industry forever had gone down differently? Along the way, it also manages to be a clever and insightful study of fame and fulfillment, or lack thereof.

11. High Life

Claire Denis is damned determined not to be boring. Your reaction to her latest film will probably depend on how receptive you are to that as the driving force of a film. Myself, I’m very receptive. I want to see the personal struggles of convicts unwittingly shipped into space, told without Action-Adventure tropes, in a movie that sometimes misfires but is never dull.

 10. Dolemite Is My Name

And fuckin’ up motherfuckers is my game! Look, if you don’t like naughty words, you probably shouldn’t be reading my columns---and you definitely shouldn’t be watching this movie. Eddie Murphy plays Rudy Ray Moore, the ambitious, irrepressible and endlessly optimistic creator of Blaxpoitation character Dolemite. Have you seen the 1975 film? It’s either terrible and wonderful, or wonderful and terrible, and the jury’s still out. Either way, Moore in the film is a self-made comic who establishes himself by talking in a unique rhyming style that speaks to black Americans at a time when black pop culture (and not just the white rendition of it) was finally beginning to pierce the American consciousness. What The Disaster Artist did for The Room, this movie does for Dolemite---with the difference being I felt like I learned something I didn’t know here.

 9. 1917

Breathless, nerve-wracking and somehow intensely personal even though it almost never takes time to slow down, it is fair to call Sam Mendes’s film a thrill ride---but it’s one that enlightens us on a fading historical time, rather than simply being empty calories. Filmed in such a way as to make it seem like one continuous, two-hour take, for which some critics dismissed it as a gimmick, the technique is used to lock us in with the soldiers whose mission it is to save an entire division from disaster. We are given no information or perspective that the two central soldiers---merely two, in a countless multitude---do not have, and so we are with them at every moment, deprived of the relief of omniscience. I freely admit I tend to give anything about World War I the benefit of the doubt, but there’s no doubt that the movie earns my trust.

8. Ash Is Purest White

Known by the much less cool-sounding name Sons and Daughters of Jianghu in China, here is a story that starts off ostensibly about crime---a young woman and her boyfriend are powerful in the small-potatoes mob scene of a dying industrial town---but after the surprising first act becomes a meditation on life, perseverance and exactly how much power is worth, anyway, when it is so fleeting and so easily lost. What do you do when everything that defined you is gone? You go on living. This is my first exposure to writer-director Jia Zhangke, an oversight I must strive hard to correct in future.

7. Knives Out

The whodunit is a lost art, a standard genre belonging to a time when mass audiences could appreciate a picture even if someone didn’t run, yell or explode while running and yelling every ten minutes. Rian Johnson and an all-star cast rescued it from the brink of cinematic extinction and gave it just enough of a modern injection to keep it relevant. Every second of the film is engaging; Johnson even manages to have a character whose central trait is throwing up when asked to lie, and he makes it seem sympathetic rather than juvenile. The fantastic cast of characters is backed up with all the qualities of “true” cinema: perfect camerawork, an effective score, mesmerizing production design. As someone who didn’t much care for Johnson’s Star Wars outing, I’m honestly put out this didn’t do better at the box office than it did.

6. A Hidden Life

After a few questionable efforts and completely losing the thread with the execrable vanity project Song to Song, Terence Malick returns to his bread and butter: meditative dramas on the nature of faith, family, and being on the outside looking in, which encompass a healthy dose of nature, philosophy and people talking without moving their lips. That last is a little dig, but it’s true: Malick does Malick, and if you don’t like his thing, this true story about a German dissenter in World War II will not change your mind. For me, what Malick has done is that rarest of things: he had made a movie about faith, and about a character who is faithful, without proselytizing. That the closeness and repressiveness of the Nazi regime is characterized against Malick’s typical soaring backdrops is a masterstroke, and the best-ever use of his visual style.

5. The Lighthouse

Robert Eggers is a different kind of horror filmmaker. After redefining what was possible with traditional horror monsters in The Witch, he returned with something that couldn’t be more different: an exploration of madness more in the vein of European film than American. Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe are two men stranded in a lighthouse together slowly losing their minds, or what is left of them. The haunting score and stark, black-and-white photography evoke a nightmare caught on tape, something we’re not supposed to be seeing. It’s not satisfying in a traditional way, but for those craving something more cerebral from horror, Eggers has it covered.

4. Us

I have become slightly notorious in my own little circle for not thinking Get Out was the greatest film ever made, and now I’ve become rather known for thinking Us just might be. Ok, so that’s definite hyperbole: “greatest” is a tall claim for almost any horror movie. Yet here Jordan Peele shows that he can command an audience’s attention even when not benefiting from a popular cultural zeitgeist in terms of subject matter. It’s a movie with no easy or clear message, one that specializes in simply unsettling us with the idea that the world is fundamentally Not Right. I firmly believe that if Peele becomes a force in the genre, 50 years from now when he and all of us are gone, his first film will be remembered as a competent start, while this will be remembered as the beginning of his greatness.

3. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

Ostensibly about urban gentrification, this story of a young black man trying to save his ancestral home from the grasping reach of white encroachment is a flower with many petals to reveal. Don’t let my political-sounding description turn you off: the movie is not a polemic in the slightest, but rather a wry, sensitive look at people, their personalities and how those personalities are intertwined with the places they call home. Though the movie is the directorial debut of Joe Talbot, it is based loosely on the memories and feelings of his friend Jimmie Falls, who also plays one of the two central characters. If you’ve ever watched a place you love fall to the ravages of time and change, this movie may strike quite a chord with you.

2. Uncut Gems

When asked why this movie is great, I usually say that it was unbelievably stressful and caused me great anxiety. This description is not usually successful in selling it. The Safdie Brothers have essentially filmed chaos: a man self-destructing in slow-motion, if you can call it slow. Howard Ratner has probably been gradually exploding all his life; he strikes you as someone who came out of the womb throwing punches. He’s an addictive gambler who loves the risk much more than the reward, and can’t gain anything good in life without risking it on a proverbial roll of the dice. His behavior is destructive. His attitude is toxic. Why do we root for him? Perhaps because, as played by Adam Sandler, he never has any doubt as to who he is---something few of us can say. He’s an asshole, but he’s a genuine asshole, and somehow that’s appealing even when you’re in his line of fire.

1. Pain and Glory

When I realized I would, for the first time, have the chance to see a Pedro Almodovar film on the screen, I was overjoyed. His movies aren’t always great, but that was of little concern: he’s one of the handful of directors on the planet who can fairly call back to the avant-garde traditions of Bergman or Truffaut, making the movies he wants to make about the things he want to make them about, and I’d never seen one of his films when it was new and fresh, only months or years later on DVD.

It seems I picked right, as his latest has been almost universally hailed as one of the best of his long career. An aging, aching filmmaker spends his days in his apartment, ignoring the fans of his original hit film and most of his own acquaintances, alive or dead---he tries hard to put his memories away. Throughout the course of the movie, he re-engages with most of them in one way or another, coming to terms with who he is and where he’s been, though not in a Hallmark-movie-of-the-week way. Antonio Banderas plays him in the role that was always denied him by his stud status in Hollywood. It isn’t simply him, though: every person we meet is engaging and, we sense, has their own story outside of how they intersect with his. Most engaging is that of his deceased mother, who in her youth was played vivaciously by a sun-toughened Penelope Cruz. Perhaps Almodovar will tell us some of their stories some day. Perhaps not. I would read an entire book of short fiction all about them. This is the year’s best film.