#with a bookcase that leaked when it rained

[rosestthorns]

Talking about the shit that I've gone through helps a lot but holy shit it's a lot.

[parfaitblogs]

september rain ❀ s. reid x reader

in which lightning and thunder is a little less scary with spencer reid. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: fluff (comfort) tags: thunderstorm. established relationship. word count: 1k a/n: we r going into storm season in aus. obviously that means obligatory spencer reid fanfic?? sry this is me headcanoning that you have a fear of storms :/ if you don't just pretend. this is sooo simple and not revolutionary LOL hope u enjoy anyways!! as always talk to me if u did!!

You were ninety-nine percent sure the creaking your ears were picking up came from the window frames bending from the sheer force of the wind. And you were mostly certain that the prickle on your skin was from an unexpected leak in the ceiling after a tree had fallen into the building. Not your imagination. 

Neither could be true. For the windows were not bending even slightly, and there is no tree tall enough to have fallen through the apartment above you. 

That didn't really soothe your fear.

You were curled up on the couch under a blanket, a silent film playing — Nosferatu, ironically so — that you weren't really paying attention to. Your eyes were instead fixated on the only source of light the room had — a warm glowing lamp in the corner by the bookcase adorning too many books to count. 

Spencer was not home yet. 

He was on his way. You knew that much. The first crack of thunder had ripped through the sky and you were calling him almost immediately. Then... hanging up by the first ring, feeling pathetic for calling your — very busy — boyfriend, just because you were scared.

He had called you back immediately, and because he knew you so well, he was asking if you needed him home because of the storm. Your heart had swelled, and you had mumbled a thousand yes's into the phone, until he was promising he'd be on his way as soon as he finished the case report he was working on. 

Despite the slight comfort him being on his way brought you, you were still shaking, your heart was still thumping uncomfortably in your chest, and your knuckles were still white from your petulant clutching of the blanket around you. 

You could only faintly hear the click of the front door lock over the deafening rain, but you turned regardless, eyes softening at the sight of your boyfriend entering the apartment. His hair stuck to his forehead; clothes to his body. He was soaking wet, but you were standing on wobbly legs and heading towards him for solace regardless. 

He placed his messenger bag down by the door, opting to deal with the damp leather later. His eyebrows had furrowed when you had opened your arms. 

"I'm drenched," he said, side stepping away from your attempt of a hug. "You do not want to hug me right now, honey."

"I do," you protested, voice wavering from the tightness in your throat. 

"Let me go dry off, then you can hug me forever and never let me go, okay?" he offered instead, watching you come to terms with his idea, and nod your head. 

So, he did just that. Allowing you to follow him around like a lost puppy the entire time, blanket dragging along the flooring of your apartment as you kept it wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

You sat in the middle of your bed, watching him almost too carefully as he picked out his towel from your ensuite, starting with drying his hair in a way that had your face scrunching up.

When he caught the look, he asked, "What?" in a sort of amused, laughing way.

"You're ruining your curls," you said.

"The rain already ruined them," he replied. "I'll fix them when the storm passes and I can shower."

"This is why I hate storms."

"Because it ruins my hair?"

"No, but that's definitely going on the list," you huffed, folding your arms across your chest — he laughed at that. "You literally can't do anything! You can't shower, you can't cook, the power goes out, it's loud, you can't go outside because what if you get struck by lightning? And also the rain. Which is cold, by the way... where are you going?"

"To get clothes," he explained, then being completely unsurprised by the fact that you were leaving your safe haven atop the bed to trail after him. "I was coming back."

"Two seconds is all it takes for a storm to take me out," you said. "Then you'll feel really bad."

"The storm is not going to take you out," he replied within a sigh, peeling his wet button up off his body. 

"It could."

"The main cause of death during storms is drowning. The apartment is not flooded. Neither is the street," he was almost nurturing with his tone, unfazed by your locked in stare on the towel he was drying his body with — you weren't really staring at him, simply zoning out on whatever was in front of you as he spoke. "The second is debris flying from the wind, which is nowhere near harsh enough for anything to be flying around. Let alone at this height. The third is a lightning strike, which is impossible when you're indoors because this building has lightning protection."

He spent the time he took debunking all the possible death scenarios to finish drying himself off and changing, and by the time he had stopped speaking he was standing in front of you. Still seemingly unconvinced due to your inner anxieties, your face was painted with a disagreeing frown, that his shoulders slumped at the sight of. 

"They're still scary," you mumbled, and he nodded his head, arms looping around your body and pulling you into him. His skin was still cold, but it was a welcome comfort nonetheless. 

"I know they are," he decided to say, instead of attempting to deny all your worries with logic again. The two of you stood there, in your closet, for minutes. His hand found your hair, entangling within it, chin resting on your shoulder. With his face buried into the crook of your neck, he mumbled, "There's ice cream in the freezer. Movie?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, so he broke the hug with a step back, lips tugging into a smile at the now less worried expression on your face. 

"But we have to eat with wooden spoons," you said as he led you out, hand clasped firmly in yours for your own peace of mind. 

"Why?"

"Metal attracts lightning," you mumbled, watching his shoulders shake with more laughter. 

"No, honey, it doesn't. That's a myth," he said.

"Whatever."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[soriseerakyra]

All of You

The suit loomed inside its case like a silent sentinel. Jet black from mask to boot, it absorbed the light around it, matte plating layed over a dense mesh of armor weave. Its structure was brutal and functional—sculpted to intimidate and endure. The gauntlets bristled with small, sharp fins like the bones of a predator’s wing, and the heavy cape hung in rich folds behind the mannequin, draping like a shadow given weight. At the center of the chest, the iconic bat symbol was carved in raised graphite-black, a subtle but unmistakable sigil of fear.

The mask—no, the cowl—was the worst of it. Sleek, angular, and impassive, it was molded to resemble something less than human. The pointed ears curved backward with menacing grace. The eye sockets, dark and empty, stared outward like twin voids. You imagined Bruce behind it, his features hidden and voice distorted. It wasn’t just a disguise. It was a wall—one built of grief and fury, meant to separate him from the world and everything in it.

It’s hard to describe the emotions running through your mind. You can’t rightly say you’ve been lied to. But you had known Bruce for years before you started dating him. For almost a full two years of this relationship, you still had no idea.

A part of you had known that something was wrong. He never seemed fully engaged, especially on dates. Always watching, looking out for something. You had assumed it would be paparazzi or ex-partners. But no. It was this.

This. This part of him that is cut off from you and the rest of the world. How many people knew? It was no question that Alfred knew. The trusted butler likely knew most, if not all, of the man’s secrets. He had raised him since he was young, after all. But who else?

Your name rings through the cave.

It’s not accusatory, just surprised.

You know that voice so well, but how well do you know the man behind it?

You turn slowly, your heart hammering. Bruce stands at the edge of the platform, soaked from the rain, blood trailing down his temple and onto the dark material of his undersuit. The lower half of the cowl still clings to his face, his mouth tight with something between fear and resignation/ For a moment, neither of you speaks. The hum of the Batcomputers fills the space like a third presence—alive, watching. Then his voice, quitter now, hoarse: “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

You can’t help the laugh that forces itself from your throat.

Before he left you, hours ago now, the third time you’d been abandoned in his home after you’d been invited under the premise of a date, he had left in a hurry, smiling at you and telling you to, “Feel free to explore.”

How that had come back to bite him.

You’d known much of the manor now, with the many times you’d been left to your own devices to explore. The expansive rooms and studies you had marveled at, you’d come to know like the back of your hand.

So it was a surprise to find a room you didn’t know. A bookcase you’d never noticed, by the gap left behind it that led downstairs and to a dark cave.

It’s hard to see his expression under his mask. His mouth and the lines around it do most of the work to tell you how off guard he is. How surprised he is. That this was something that you were never supposed to find out about.

A part of you aches at that.

But you swallow it back when he stumbles forward a bit, blood leaking through his gloved fingers and leaving a trail down his path.

“Bruce!” You gasp.

He groans and stumbles into a chair to catch himself before he falls to the ground.

You are by his side seconds after he collapses into the chair.

“What happened?”

It feels silly to ask when he is so clearly injured. He slides the broken cowl off his face, letting it fall to the wayside.

“A blade made its way through the suit.”

You gulp down the anxious feeling in your chest, your mind making the effort to disregard the ton of information that is being tossed at you so that you can worry about his health first.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

It’s the first thing you ask, because it’s the first thing that regular humans would do when they are injured.

“No.”

His voice is calm, and it's for your sake. Not only because he’s been stabbed, but because you have found out his secret.

You meet his blue eyes and find them tinged with worry, not pain. It’s such a foolish thing. How could he be worried about what you think when he’s bleeding out in some cave?

Your irritation causes you to purse your lips, a slight frown pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to—”

“Where?”

He pauses for a moment, searching your face, before pointing you in the direction of a drawer.

By the time you retrieve it and return to him, he has already taken off his shirt, exposing the wound.

The wound is small but gushing, no doubt a result of him pulling the knife out before he’d made it home.

“We need to put pressure on it.”

He simply nods. “Do what you need to do.”

Trust. How funny.

You aren’t sure how much gauze you use, and there is a used bloody pile of it beside you by the time you finish stitching up the gash on his side.

You lean back in a chair you’d found not far from the expansive desk and rest for a moment. It had taken more time than you’d like to admit to patch him up, to get him to a point where he would be able to heal. But the stitches weren’t straight, and you weren’t sure that the wound wouldn’t get infected.

But you had tried your best at something you had never done before.

“Thank you.”

He looks at you with concerned eyes. He’s still unsure about what to do next, and so are you.

You sit in silence for a moment, him watching you for your reaction, and you still looking at the fresh wound that you’d patched together.

“I shouldn’t ask why you didn’t tell me. It’s your secret to keep, even now. But I can’t help it. I still want to know.”

His eyes soften slightly when yours meet his. Perhaps there is a hint of hurt in your gaze; you know there is confusion.

His brow furrows, his mouth opening and closing multiple times as he struggles to find the words to explain. Or instead, tries to find the words that won’t hurt you.

“It’s not my goal to tell anyone,” he says finally. “I don’t want anyone to know that doesn’t need to know. And for your safety, it was better for you to only know Bruce Wayne.”

“For my safety?”

You feel silly for asking the question in the first place. Of course, that is what he would say. What other explanation could he provide for you?

“But what would have happened if I never found out tonight?”

You don’t mean to speak the words out loud, you’re still ruminating over your feelings, but you do. “What if I never found out why you always run off in the middle of dinner. Or why do you sometimes just abandon me here? Or why it seems like you don’t take me seriously?”

“I do!”  He says, confusion lining his face. “More than anyone ever before. I want this to work.”

“It doesn’t feel like it. You don’t know how lonely it can be when it feels like you are always getting ready to leave, even when I think we are having a good time.”

His face falls, the line of guilt and exhaustion deepening around his eyes. He drops his gaze, as if ashamed to meet yours.

“I thought I was protecting you from the worst parts of my life,” he says quietly. “But maybe I’ve just been keeping you from all of it, even the good.”

You say nothing at first. The pain in your chest is too real, too layered for words. But you don’t look away either. Your silence is as loud as his admission.

He swallows.

“The truth is, that I didn’t—don’t—want you to see me as this. This, him” his eyes flicker behind you for a moment. You don’t have to turn around to know that he is looking at the case. The cowl has been watching the pair of you since the beginning. “I don’t want you to have to deal with him and all that comes with it.”

“But I want to be with you, and he is you.”

It’s slightly exasperated. Your tone, and you feel even more frustrated when his eyebrows seem to furrow in confusion.

“The problem isn’t that you’re Batman, it’s that you’ve been lying to me this whole time and making me feel crazy for seemingly caring about you more than you did me.”

Yes, that's it. Hurt. It is the core of what you are feeling right now.

Bruce flinches like you’ve struck him. There’s no dramatic denial, no defensive rise in his tone. Just a heavy stillness. The kind that only comes with the realization that he has truly, deeply hurt someone he never meant to.

“I never wanted you to feel that way,” he says, barely above a whisper. “You weren’t crazy. You were right. I just…didn’t know how to let you in.”

You sigh, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “That’s not enough, Bruce. Wanting something isn’t the same as doing it. You can’t just hide behind good intentions.”

A pause. The sound of his massive computer’s idle hum fills the silence again, a soft constant reminder of where you are—of the truth between you now.

“I know,” he says finally. “But I want to do better. If you let me.”

You let your hands fall to your lap, heart pounding with the weight of the choice. The trust that was shattered was not easily built. But this is what you’d wanted all this time. To be closer to him, to know all of him. And he’s offering it to you now.

A part of you feels like it may be too late. How many other secrets is he hiding that you’ll have to pry out of him so that you feel like you’re on the same page?

But another part looks at the man in front of you, bruised, beaten, bloodied, and raw—feels the sincerity in his voice, sees it in the way he doesn’t look away—and wants to believe him.

“I’m not sure. Can you give me some time?”

The words have his shoulders dropping, but you’re glad to see that his open eyes don’t close themselves up to you when you say it.

“As much as you need.”

***

You find him in the kitchen before the sun rises, a cup of coffee in hand.

His movements are slower than usual, the bandages around his torso visible beneath the half-buttoned shirt he’s tugged over his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks over and places the mug gently in front of you.

“Alfred makes better coffee,” he mutters, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

You offer a tired smile, fingers wrapping around the warmth of the cup. “I’m not here for the coffee.”

You both sip silently for a few minutes, shy eyes meeting each other’s and then looking away. There is a weight between the two of you—a worry on his part and yours.  When you finally feel brave enough, you hold his gaze for a moment, and he lets out a tense breath.

“I don’t want a perfect version of you,” you say softly, eyes on the steam rising between you. “I don’t want just Bruce Wayne, and I don’t want just Batman. I want both. I want all of you.”

You finally meet his gaze. There’s no anger left in your voice, just a quiet strength.

“But if we’re going to do this—really do this—there can’t be any more lies. No more vanishing acts. No more keeping me in the dark.”

His expression folds into something small and reverent. He nods once, and you see the promise in his eyes before he even says it.

“No more lies.”

The words settle over you like dawn breaking over the skyline. Soft, hesitant, but real.

You take a sip of the coffee, let the moment linger. You can’t smile yet, the hurt still lingering. But there is a flutter in your chest. A hint that this may be the start of something new. The beginning of something real.

For now, it’s enough.

[askmsideblog]

look around to make sure no ones there, and then run ig? whatever gets you out

ASK 32: IRꙮN OLEANDER ✧˖*°࿐

I'm in the living room now, and I could've sworn I- "Awh, Did I not tie you down well enough?" "That's a shame." I whirl around instinctively. I feel my blood run cold. Twisted stands in the doorway, he smiles at me. "I could've sworn I did a better job." "I was in a hurry, M! You're way more resilient than your supposed to be." He holds a metal rod in his left hand. I jolt backwards when he holds it up. "When I found out you came back, I couldn't help but make sure you stayed! It gets so lonely without you, and you're such a big help with... everything, my little Alexandrite." Twisted reaches for my head with this open hand. He rustles my hair. I let him. "Did you not miss me? Come on, wipe that look of shock off your face." I hold the knife—his knife—in my right hand. I shake the shellshock out of me before I push him away. "AUGH- YOU-" Twisted grunts before swinging at my side. He hits me and I stumble into a bookcase. I grab a book from it, throwing it at him. I scramble too my feet, holding the knife out in-front of me. Twisted dodges the book, running towards me, swinging at my skull. I dodge, in the process knocking over the bookcase as all of the stuff in it flies out with me in tandem. I grab a few more books and start hurling them at Twisted as I try to sit up. I knock off his opal brooch, and it falls onto my bag. I whirl around, forcing it into a pocket, as I slice a deep gash into the flesh of Twisted's ankle. He stumbles, leaning on a nearby wall. His blood gets everywhere the floor and on me. It leaks into my bag and stains my notebook. "YOU DUMB☆SS B☆TCH!" Twisted hisses in pain as I get up onto my feet. I have a clear shot of his throat. I run past him, slicing a cut into his throat as gain enough momentum to slam myself into the door, forcing the old, decaying wood open and making a mad dash into the night's rain. I can't bring myself to kill him. Why can't I bring myself to kill him? I collapse into the wet grass after what felt like hours of running. I curl into myself, crying my eyes out in silent, crimson agony. I couldn't bring myself to kill him. I should be ashamed. And nothing burns the soul quite as bitterly as shame.

[despot-despair]

Despot Despair, Chapter 5.2: Yahari’s Execution, The Butler Did It

♕ Art and animation by Talentlesshuman:  https://twitter.com/talentlesshuman or https://talentlessartblog.tumblr.com

♕ Sketches by Ysther: https://twitter.com/_ysther or https://hystherics.tumblr.com ♕ Line and coloring by Capi: https://capilune.tumblr.com/ or https://twitter.com/capilune

Full execution under the cut, written by Kaz

The world around Yahari is dark. They cannot see anything, nor can they hear anything.  There is no noise, no light, no life here, save for themself. They peer through the darkness, trying to find something, but after a few moments, they no longer need to, as the world around them fills with light.

Now that their surroundings have been illuminated, they find themself in an ornate dining room, standing before the table in the center. The lighting is dim, and all of the chairs surrounding the table are empty. Hanging from the ceiling is a diamond chandelier, and hanging from the chandelier is a Raiouji plush.

Eyes widening, they step closer to it, but something against the wall moves. A shadow, and it’s coming towards them quickly. They can’t quite tell what it is, but they know in their gut that it’s what killed Raiouji. Cursing under their breath, they quickly turn and flee the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

Next, they find themself in a luxurious lounge, the lighting slightly darker than the dining room. When they enter, the first thing they see is a Yunime plush lying on the floor, leaking stuffing, with a bloodied knife beside it. Behind them, there’s a pounding on the door they just shut.

Now scowling, Yahari clenches their fingers around their cane before darting forward. Whatever that shadow is, it’s chasing them. This situation already feels a little familiar to them-the rooms, the weapons, the placement of the bodies. But if this is like that, they just have to expose the killer and then they’ll be safe, right?

Right.

That’s what they tell themself as they try to ignore the sound of a door opening behind them and continue forward into the next room. It, along with the other rooms after it, follow the same formula as the preceding rooms.

Karaju shot with a revolver in the kitchen.

As they pass through the kitchen, they nearly trip on a fallen spatula, wincing in pain as they’re forced to put pressure on their bad leg. Is it just them, or are the rooms growing darker every time they enter a new one? From behind them, they can hear the shadow laugh. Gritting their teeth, they push themself up and towards the next door.

Hakumei burned with a candlestick in the billiard room.

As they continue onward, they find themself growing more panicked. The shadow is growing closer and closer with every step, and their leg is beginning to ache. But they force themself to even out their breathing, to remain somewhat calm. They can’t slow down. They can’t falter. They can’t afford to.

Sujaku bludgeoned with a lead pipe in the conservatory.

That’s five weapons. Five weapons for five victims in five rooms. Fear blooms in their chest as it occurs to them that they’re likely the sixth. After all, that’d make sense for the game, wouldn’t it? As they pull on yet another door, their mind is racing, trying to think of some sort of way to escape, and-

Mukuro bashed with a wrench in the ballroom.

Six. Six weapons. Shouldn’t that mean the game is over? Shouldn’t that mean they can go free?

Before they can go too far down this line of thought, a bookcase along the wall slides away, revealing a passage. A grin spreading across their face, Yahari moves towards it and begins making their way down the stairs. Behind them, they can hear the ballroom door open, indicating the shadow is still in pursuit, but they’re too filled with relief to care.

Upon reaching the bottom, they expect to see a cellar, but are instead greeted by a glaringly bright Olympic stadium full of cheering fans. By contrast, the floor is empty, save for themself and one single piece of gymnastics equipment.

A vault.

Even just looking at it causes memories to flood their mind. Their nightly training sessions, their refusal to sleep, their determination to become the best, all culminating in a single, small mistake. Only a few degrees too far to the left; had they landed a fraction of a second earlier, they would have made it. But they didn’t, and their leg shattered, sending a splitting pain through their leg and ruining any hopes they had of becoming a professional athlete.

A small part of them can’t help but find it funny, that this is what things have come to. Of course they’d be pit against what changed their life in the first place, and-

“Next up is Raiko Yasui, on the floor exercise!”

Huh?

Yanking them from their thoughts is the sound of a voice booming through the stadium’s speakers. Confused, Yahari looks around, only to see that, behind them, the door they entered through has disappeared, replaced by a pristine, springboarded floor, open for the taking.

For a moment, they consider fleeing. Rebelling. Fighting back. But where would they go? The walls surrounding the floor are high, and they would easily be overwhelmed by the throngs of people in the crowds. Even if they simply stand by and do nothing, surely they’ll be killed somehow, won’t they?

So they figure they might as well have fun. Stepping into place on the mat feels natural, routine, instinctual, even though they haven’t performed in years. This always was their favorite part, after all. Their siblings always performed the uneven bars and balance beam, and the vault was about skill, but the floor exercise… it was about expression. Flair. Passion.

A hush falls over the crowd as upbeat music, some song about shooting stars, begins to play from the speakers, and Yahari bursts into motion. As they mix flips and jumps with modern dance moves, snippets of their moonlit nights practicing alone flit through their mind. They never could have left their passion behind, even if they couldn’t compete, and it’s clear that their practice has yielded results; each movement is careful and deliberate, choreographed to favor their bad leg. Despite it having been six years since their forced retirement from the sport, and despite their occasional wince and stumble as pressure is placed on their bad leg, their performance is beautiful.

They always were the best at this. Their floor routines were what had made them famous, what had made _Raiko_ famous. Even now, over a decade later, there was still talk of Raiko’s debut, of _their_ debut, of how, after Raiko’s hiatus six years prior, her floor routines had lacked the sort of infectious energy present at her debut.

As Yahari finishes, they take a bow, and the crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers. Heart pounding and chest heaving, the servant wipes sweat from their brow and looks up with a grin.

This is what they’ve always wanted. Applause. Adoration. Admiration.

Love.

Love from those they don’t and never would know, love born from idolatry and envy, love both deeply personal and particularly detached in nature.

Love born from fame. Before they can move, the crowd grows louder. It’s only now that the butler notices that their faces are all indistinct, almost as if blurred out. They’re all anonymous, if they’re anyone at all, and they’re all the same.

Though, as the faces fade, the crowd’s words grow clearer:

“Encore! Encore! Encore!”

It’s enough to make their grin widen even more, and they almost want to laugh. For a moment, it nearly makes them forget their situation, and as they rise from their bow, giving a nod to the crowd, the mass of fans shouts another chant:

“YA-HA-RI! YA-HA-RI! YA-HA-RI!”

Their name.

_Their_ name. Not Shiori’s, not Itsuya’s, not _Raiko’s._ It was _their_ name, and after years and years of being seen by the world as someone else, it causes tears to well in their eyes as they go through the starting movements of another routine. Confetti blasts from cannons on the ceiling as they begin to perform once more, feeling happier than they have in a long time.

But this jubilation is short-lived.

As they spread their arms to regain their balance after a series of jumps, they feel a sharp burn on their arm, enough to make them gasp in pain. It only takes a glance for them to realize what’s happening, and after that, it doesn’t stop.

One by one, pieces of confetti land on their skin, then burn right through, dissolving their flesh as if it’s paper. No, it isn’t confetti, it’s tiny, colored pieces of acid, searing through them, threatening to melt them down to nothing. With each piece, the crowd seems to grow louder in their screams, and a forced, nervous laugh makes it past Yahari’s lips. But their smile doesn’t fade.

If they’re going to die, they’re going to do so as the star of the show.

Maintaining their wide grin, they continue their performance with renewed vigor, gritting their teeth as the acid confetti continues to rain down upon them. Even as they lose the ability to hold back their cries of pain, they continue their routine, until there’s nothing left of them but a pile of half-melted flesh.

Even the brightest stars burn out eventually.

[the-fiction-witch]

The Tower

REAL LIFE: x OLD TIMES  COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: SWEET

I sat on my old rusty bedframe, in the dark corner of my bedroom. This room has been this way for as log as I could remember. The bed, in the corner with the metal frame rusting the white paint chipping from the metal, it would come off if I touched it. The window tall and pretty, but someone had painted it black from the inside, there was a small section where the black paint had chipped away giving a tiny glimpse to the little tracks in the garden. Next to my window is a little table and two chairs for me to eat dinner even If I haven't been eating for ages., The other corner had a bookcase, I had read them all a hundred times. There was a small door to the little bathroom and just beside it as the little bed for my cat Lucas who was currently under my bed anyway. "Knock Knock my angel" I heard her voice smile from the door as it unlocked and opened "I brought you your dinner" she smiled putting a tray of food on my bed "I'm not really hungry mother" I admit "Why ever not my angel?" She asks picking up my chin go look at her "I'm just... Not mother" I told her looking away from her hollow blue eyes "mother... could I come down?" I asked "No," she snaps "Mother please, not for long, just to get warm by the fire, get a couple new books-" I began "Out of the question" she yells slapping my face "you have to stay up here my angel where you’re safe" she smiled kissing my head and leaving locking my door as she left. I sighed seeing Lucas climb on to my bed to have my food his black fur looking a little matte where he was still wet from the leaky roof across the other side of the room I went to pet him but he hissed so I stopped and laid back on my bed

I sat watching the little path, a lot of carts had come back and forth today I had counted six had come and only four have left so far. I could hear noises downstairs but I didn't think much off it, my mother often has people over. The hard rain was constantly pounding in my roof a bowl sat on my floor clinking with each drip from my leaking roof. I saw a cart pulling away empty meaning there is only one left, A minute or so later another cart pulled away into the rain, a man sat at the front directing the horses, and a girl sat on the back her feet hung off the back. She had a dark y/f colour and black dress with a plait of y/n hair cascading on her shoulder she quickly out the hood of a black cloak over her head to protect her from the rain wrapping herself up in it like a blanket as the cart disappeared from my view. I couldn't escape the feeling I had... Seen her before

I sat listening quietly, I could hear noises coming though the wooden floor to the kitchen a little way below, I could hear singing. It was a beautiful song, a song that I... Seem to remember. Sung by a voice that I seemed... To remember. I knew the next words before the heavenly voice sung them "Days, and dreams of wonderland. Of pixies and of goblins. Of woods and rivers far away. Beyond the old romances" The voice calmed me somewhat, like my soul felt better hearing this little innocent singing. The song began to go quiet like moving away, until I heard it so much louder, I looked out the window and it was that girl with the plait and y/f/c dress stood in the garden she wondered away from my view still singing the little song, before coming back with a bucket of water and starting to water plants in the little pots by the door she seemed so happy. I was confused at first, because she made me feel happy and I haven't felt happiness in so long that I... I hardly remember what it was like to be happy. She stopped her watering and looked up to my window, I hid away Incase of her seeing me. I didn't want her to see me looking, mother always says outside wasn't good that it's wasn't safe for me, but I couldn't help looking I peaked a little trying to keep myself hidden she was looking at my window a small sad smile on her face before she hurried Inside. I smiled sitting quietly on my bed listening to that girl sing her sweet little song, she makes me so happy. Until I heard the familiar sound of footsteps, but they where coming from the stairs I went to the door to listen and... The song as getting louder the steps soft and quick I heard the beautiful voice and little steps hurry Past my door I felt heartbroken hearing that beautiful voice just rush past like I wasn't even here. I heard a door unlock on the other side of the corridor she kept singing as she did whatever it is she is doing, and I heard her steps coming close again. I didn't know what to do, or how to do anything I froze hearing that heavenly voice. I knocked on the door. Just lightly, two little knocks and the singing stopped suddenly. I didn't know what to do until a knock came on my door from the other side I knocked a couple of times back and she returned them "I knew there was someone up here," the voice smiled "who are you? What are you doing up here?" She asked I couldn't speak, I tried but no words arrived at my mouth so I knocked again "Hehehe, why won't you speak to me?" She asked All my fears, all the warnings my mother had given me about the outside world, I didn't want to be but... I was terrified. So scared at the idea of a girl being in the other side of my wooden door "I know this room..." She said sounding upset "my friend used to live up here, until the-" she began "y/n!" a male voice calls from downstairs "Coming" she calls back knocking a couple of times and then running off down the stairs. I hurried to my window looking out the little gap to the path, I saw the cart again and she looked up to my window as she sat on the back I moved away so she wouldn't see me but I couldn't help but peak she was smiling but looked so sadness the cart left my view.

I sat impatiently at the window watching for the little cart with that little kitchen girl named y/n, I saw her little cart come in down the path and as soon as it was out of my view  I began to hear her beautiful and gentle song from down in the kitchens, I just sat listening to her sweet song. Until I heard her coming up the stairs and a tap on my door. I leapt from my seat and went putting my hands on the door and knocked back "Hehe, hello again" she smiles "You sweet little thing" she smiles   I didn't know what to say as her words had made my face heat up so much "Aren't you going to speak to me?" she giggled "Y/-y-y-y/-y-y/-y/-y-y-y-y-y/-y/-y/" I stutter "What's the matter?" she asks "y/-y/-y/" I stuttered trying so hard to get the worlds out "what are you trying to say?" she asks "y/- Y/- n- y/n" I stutter "Awwww, thats so sweet" she smiles "y/-y/n Sweet to me" I forced out "aww thats so cute" she smiles "what are you doing in there? locked away from everything" she asks "I- I can't" I explain "she keeps you locked away in here?" she asks "tho-?" she began "y/n!" the voice yelled from downstairs "I'll be back tomorrow" she smiled before rushing off downstairs.

I sat listening to steps hurrying up my stairs and the door quickly unlocking my door, it was my mother, Lucas instantly ran under the bed trying to hide. "Come down," she says forcing me to follow her I tried my best to resist her but she just kept pushing me along till we reached the stairs down to her lab, "No... no mother please" I begged her "Go on" she warns "No Mother, please... I feel fine. I don't need to go up there. Please mother" I begged "Go!" she yells pushing me down the stairs and I blacked out. When I woke up I was in the kitchen a bowl of soup sat on the table Infront of me so I sighed starting to have some soup even if I wasn't very hungry, until I heard the sweet little singing on the other side of the kitchen door. I panicked and ran into the pantry just as the door opened. I couldn't help but peak into the kitchen at the beautiful girl in her little y/f/c dress as she ties a white apron around her and begins sorting boxes and food humming her heavenly song for a while until she noticed the soup on the table and my obviously just used chair "Madam?" She asks around the kitchen but nothing till I heard her stop and began gingerly walking towards the door to the pantry I hid myself away not wanting her to find me "it's you isn't it?" She asks "Thomas?" She asks and I froze, my heart beating out of my chest I could hear my heart in my ears she... She knew my name. How did she know my name?   "Thomas..." I stuttered my own name sounding so strange to me "Won't you let me see you?" She asks "y/-y/n shouldn't see" I stuttered "Ohh Thomas... What has she done to you?" She asks "my sweet Thomas, are you still my little knight?" She asks I tried to remember my soul seemed lightened by those words her little knight... Like I knew that somehow and I knew what I was supposed to say back "Pr-pr-princess y/n" I stuttered forcing out the words "Ohh Thomas it is you" she smiled "y/n!" A voice yelled it sounded like my mother so I hid myself better wanting to make sure she wouldn't find me "Yes madam" y/n answered "Have you decided?" She asks "Yes of course madam, I would be thrilled" y/n answered "Good you start tomorrow," she says before my mother left "I'll be seeing you tomorrow Thomas" y/n smiled before she left, I slowly came out and blushed hard she knew my name, she knew me, she's amazing.

I laid in my bed listening to the rain on my roof, the dripping into the little pan where the roof is leaking, the Thunder cracking ever now and again, Lucas purring very so often when I pet his soft fur. I felt strange as I laid there.... Like for the first time for as long as I can remember. I dreamt of something. "Help help! The dragons got me captured!" "Ohh no! My beautiful princess y/n is being held captive in the tower! I must save her!" "Horray! My wonderful knight has saved me, he won a hundred kisses" "A hundred? I slayed a dragon for you my princess, that's atleast a million kisses?" "We should get married then we could be king and queen" I remembered flames, inescapable wooden flames "Thomas!" I shot up in my bed Lucas jumping off my lap as the thunder cracked in the sky that was... A dream? Or was it real?

I smiled waiting by the door I could hear her heavenly singing but she didn't come to see me, I had begun to lose hope sitting on my bed, but she promised she would come see me.. There was a quick knock on my door and I jumped to my feet but I heard It unlocking so I moved away trying to hide from my mother, but I saw... It wasn't my mother, it was y/n! So I hid myself away in the bathroom closing the door with just enough to peak out as she came in and shut the door again "You don't have to hide from me Thomas" she smiles to the door "Don't worry your mother's gone out to her meetings she won't be back till next Tuesday," she explained "I won't tell her I was up here if you don't" she giggled winking at me and starting to change my bed for me "y/-y/- y/n...." I stutter "I don't think you should be up here" "Really Thomas? Honestly I can handle myself, I'm not scared of you" she says coming towards the door but I made sure she couldn't see me she sighed finishing my bed fixing the fresh sheets and going over to light a candle her face looked so beautiful with a warm orange glow below it "Thomas please... I just want to see you" she smiles "No ones ever seen me, but my mother" I answered "Not since last I saw you, there is nothing that could have happened since I saw you last that wouldn't make me want to see you" she smiles pushing on the door lightly before she could see me I put my hand over her eyes making her giggle "Hehehe, Thomas I'm serious" she laughed as I blew out her candle leaving us in darkness again and moving my hand...

She froze... Her eyes wide and she looked awful, a mix of so many things, fear, nausea and much more she looked confused looking at me before resting her hand on my cheek her hand felt so warm and soft I nuzzled into her hand like a cat it feeling so soft and sweet "What... What has she done to you?" She asks "What are you talking about?" I ask her "Thomas what do you remember?" she asks "about what?" I ask "about everything?" she asks "I remember...fire, ash, wood-burning and I remember you" I explain "I remember, my princess y/n" "Oohh... My sweet, sweet Thomas" she smiles "Is that all you remember?" "It is" I nod "what happened? what happened between then and now?" I ask "It's hard to explain," she says "I have to go, I have other work to do, come down later I'll make you dinner" she smiles blowing a kiss and going off again but leaving my door unlocked

[reecedarlene]

It's kind of like rent, you know, this thing love. You pay and pay and never really own anything. But, at first you both really love the place; and you arrange all your shit pretty much the same way you had in the last place, but for some reason it just seems to fit better.  And you're happy to pay the bills that go along with living there because the space just seems right. And, "If she's happy, you're happy" you say, with the pride of showing off that decal stripe on your car. The one that wasn't there a couple of years ago when you were living in the old place. It maybe doesn't look quite the same as when you first put it there, but you still love to talk about it. And then you wake up one night - the rain. Yeah the roof started to leak a little bit; and you walk from room to room taking inventory and - that table. You've thought it before but it just doesn't seem to fit there as well as it used to. But you don't say anything because if you move the table then the bookcase is going to have to go and well, you've had that bookcase forever and Lord knows there's really no place else for it. And it's been raining a lot lately. And though you've tried to fix it, you can't seem to remember the old place leaking this bad. And why should you be too concerned about paying the bills for place that really isn't even all that nice? And you never seem to be able to find a razor that will last more than a few slicing cuts to the bone when you know that she's been with someon - laughing. And the grass has grown really long and you never would have let that happen last year.

[bedlamsbard]

1300 words written today, which you can read here: the first scene of the S4 AU I’m currently not working on, appearances aside.  Also posted today was an Ezra scene from the story preceding that one (duology), which I am also currently not working on.

We had a storm go through earlier today, after which I walked into my bedroom to find water dripping from the ceiling (onto the floor, right next to my desk, a bookcase where I have no books but several piles of art, and more art that was leaning up against the wall).  It then stopped dripping, but at that point I had already called my landlord in hysteria, since it’s supposed to rain all week (of course), so I spent the rest of the day waiting around for the repair guy my landlord called to come by and look at it.  He looked at it, agreed that it sure was a leak, if a small one, and that he couldn’t do anything until it was no longer raining.  My landlord says it should be fixed by Thursday or Friday (yes, I am aware it is Tuesday).  So there’s a bowl down (I don’t have a bucket. why does everyone think that most houses have a bucket sitting around? not once have I ever actually had a bucket on any of the previous occasions in my life, at previous apartments, when water has come out of the ceiling) in case it starts dripping again, and in the meantime I moved the computer and the art and the power strip, which was about six inches away from where the water was dripping WHAT FUN.  So I’m still a little hysterical and did not get all the things I wanted to get done today done, nor was I able to go to the Roman archaeology talk tonight since I was still at my house, waiting for the repair guy.  I’m very AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH right now.

[thepropertist]

Prepare, Protect, Preserve: Essential Monsoon Maintenance for Your Property | The Propertist

The monsoon season brings relief from the summer heat but also poses risks such as mildew, seepage, and leaks. To protect your property from potential damage, it's crucial to take proactive steps and conduct essential maintenance tasks. In this blog post, we will discuss key maintenance tips that will help you prepare your property for the monsoon season, ensuring the safety and integrity of your home.

Waterproofing:

Protect your home against water damage by inspecting for leaks and vulnerable areas. Address any issues promptly with the help of professionals. Implement waterproofing measures to prevent moss growth on walls.

Electrical Systems:

Prioritize electrical system maintenance by ensuring proper grounding, shielding of connections, cables, and outlets. Address and repair any faults or vulnerabilities identified in switchboards, wiring, or fixtures. Install voltage regulators and circuit breakers and enclose exposed electrical plugs.

Drain Maintenance:

Schedule a visit from a plumber to clean, inspect, and unclog drains before the monsoon. Prevent stagnant water and potential health risks caused by mosquito breeding and disease-carrying germs.

Furniture Care:

Protect wooden furniture and floors from rainwater damage by wiping them regularly with a dry cloth. Use cleaning products designed for wooden furnishings and consider applying a waterproof coating, wax, or polish for added protection.

Roof and Wall Care:

Inspect ceilings for signs of seepage or stagnant water on the roof. Patch and treat these areas to ensure a secure roof before the rains arrive. Address cracks on walls with adhesives to prevent leakage and peeling paint. Seal gaps in doors and windows to maintain a watertight environment.

Balcony Maintenance:

Shield balconies and terraces with awnings or canopies to prevent water splashes and entry into the home. Opt for minimal outdoor furniture and keep the space clutter-free for easy cleaning. Choose durable materials that prevent water accumulation.

Air Ventilation:

Maintain your AC and dehumidifier to reduce moisture and ensure comfort in high humidity. Open windows to allow fresh air in when the rain stops.

Additional Tips:

Keep furniture away from windows and walls.

Place naphthalene balls in enclosed spaces to absorb moisture.

Roll up carpets as floors tend to stay wet.

Change bed linens frequently to prevent dampness.

Use moisture absorbents in bookcases or wardrobes.

Replace heavy drapes with translucent curtains to let in sunlight.

[azvolrien]

First Steps

I originally intended for this to be just a short one, but somehow it ended up almost four thousand words long. What can you do. Bit of a prequel story; mostly worldbuilding, but also some character backstory and the first ‘on-screen’ mention of High Master Carwel’s given name.

~~~

           The door was slightly ajar, but Nicholas tapped his knuckles against it regardless. “Can I come in?”

           There was a noncommittal grunt from inside the room.

           “I brought you up some cake.”

           A pause. “…What kind of cake?”

           “Sponge with buttercream icing and strawberry jam.”

           Another pause. “All right.”

           Nicholas shouldered the door open. The room on the south corner of the house was well-placed to get the sun all day; even in the early evening, light streamed in through the tall, wide windows, casting shifting shadows through the linen curtains and the mobiles hanging from the ceiling. Nicholas didn’t duck quite in time to avoid hitting his head against a carved dragon, sending the mobile spinning on its string as its wooden wings flapped in place. A model of the solar system spun gently in the breeze from an open window, five little planets rotating around a painted yellow sun. In the far corner of the room, eleven-year-old Wygar huddled cross-legged on his bed, a white bandage wrapped around his head, a woollen blanket draped over his shoulders, and a large ginger cat curled up loaf-fashion on his lap. A few spots of blood had leaked through the bandage where it covered his right ear.

           Nicholas set the plate down on the bedside cabinet. “I… I see Gregor’s keeping you company.”

           Wygar didn’t look up or even smile, though his eyes darted sideways for a moment. Gregor purred happily as Wygar stroked his fur.

           Nicholas sat down on the bed. “How does your ear feel?”

           Wygar sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Still hurts,” he mumbled.

           “I’m not surprised!” Wygar’s breathing quivered and he bowed his head. Gregor repositioned himself slightly and continued to purr. Nicholas sighed. “I’m sorry I shouted earlier,” he said more gently. “I was just so scared when I came in and saw you with the knife to your ear like that. Were you really going to cut the point off?”

           Wygar nodded.

           “Oh, son. Nothing should be so bad that it’s worth hurting yourself over.” Wygar looked up at that. “Would you like us to take you out of that school?” asked Nicholas. “We thought it would be good for you to be with other children your own age, but if you’re really that unhappy there, we can find a tutor for you. You wouldn’t have been there for more than another few months before moving up to secondary, anyway.”

           Wygar shook his head.  

           “No?”

           “Why should I leave?” asked Wygar, scowling. “They’re the problem.”

           “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,” said Nicholas with a small smile. “So. I know you’ve had trouble before, but… None of the past times have resulted in half the windows at your school broken and you trying to cut your ear off. Talk me through what made it so much worse than usual, eh?”

           Wygar took a deep breath. “I was outside at lunch break, reading my book. Usually I stay in the library at breaks, but they’re replacing all the bookcases so it’s closed, and they don’t let you hang around in the corridors or the assembly hall so I had to go outside instead. People sneaking whispers during class, it’s not great, but I can handle it and if the teacher’s there then they don’t push their luck too much. But, you know, outside… it’s a big playground and the teachers and helpers don’t pay as much attention as they do in classes, you know?” Nicholas nodded. “So I just… sat down on one of the benches under the rain roof and had my lunch, and I almost, almost made it to the bell without anyone noticing me. But then there were about five minutes until we had to go back to class when Darren Williams and his gang of, of cronies came over.”

           “Which one is Darren Williams again?” asked Nicholas, frowning.

           “The tall one. Well, everyone’s tall compared to me…”

           “About so high, blonde hair and brown eyes?”

           “Yeah, that’s him. It’s not the first time he’s picked on me, but he’s good at sweet-talking the teachers and getting his gang to back him up so he always gets away with it… Well, they just started off with the usual stuff, just saying… saying stuff, so I just sort of hunkered down behind my book and tried to block them out, you know? Because there’s just the one of me and they had me cornered in the shed, and I’m too small to fight past them so ignoring them’s all I can do.” Wygar sighed, and fell silent for a few seconds before continuing.

           “But then Darren grabbed my book off me and started going through it really roughly, tearing the pages and reading bits out loud in this really sarcastic voice, like it was so stupid that anyone might actually enjoy reading it, and then he got to my favourite part – the scene where Lord Rathus defeats the Red Hills Revenant – and just got this look on his face, and then he said-” Wygar’s breathing shuddered and both of his hands closed into fists. Gregor looked up at him. Wygar adopted a fair imitation of Darren’s voice. “‘It’s no wonder you’re always reading this rubbish – books are the only place some long-eared freak could ever be a hero.’ And then he just chucked the book over his shoulder, pages coming loose, and I… I just lost it and went for him. But he’s still bigger than me and he has all his friends, you know? And they were all around me, all poking and grabbing at me and chanting their stupid chants and pinching their ears into points, and then… I’m not really sure? Things went sort of… weird and shimmery, sort of like above the road on a really hot day, only it wasn’t hot? It was like the air was shaking around me, and then there was this, this weird rumble, then this sort of, of wave went through the air with a funny snapping sound. All of Darren’s gang were thrown back, but the wave kept going until it hit the school and broke the windows. Then everyone got sent home, but the headmaster – he doesn’t like elves either, he’s just better at hiding it – kept giving me this look like it was all my fault and sweet little Darren couldn’t have started anything, no, even though he’s like twice my size and with a whole gang to back him up… And I got home and thought to myself, maybe if I didn’t look so different to everyone else…” A few tears leaked from his eyes, but he rubbed them away before they could really fall.

           Nicholas laid one arm around his shoulders. “If you’re sure you want to stay at that school, that’s fine,” he said. “But before you go back, I’m going to go and speak to your headmaster, and I’m going to rip him a new one for letting things get this bad.”

           Wygar let out a half-hearted giggle at the idea of his even-tempered merchant father ripping anyone a new anything.

           “But that’s not the only thing to take from your story,” Nicholas mused. “This wave you described – it sounds a lot like a technique I’ve seen the wizards use now and then. I think before you go back to school – before anything else – we need to talk to the College.”

           The following afternoon, the doorbell rang. Wygar did not look up from his book until his mother called for him to come downstairs. With a sigh, he trudged down to the hall with the book under his arm and Gregor trotting at his heels.

           “You’ve got a visitor from the College,” Mari said brightly, waving towards the living room door. “We’ll be in the next room the whole time,” she added in an undertone. “Just shout if you need a hand.”

           Wygar just nodded and let himself into the living room. A cup of tea rested on the coffee table; a tall, broad-shouldered man with long black dreadlocks and skin a dark, warm shade of brown stood by the window, his hands folded behind his back as he looked out at the street. At Wygar’s footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

           “I heard there was an incident at your school yesterday,” he said.

           Wygar perched on the nearest sofa. The man took a seat on an armchair, still on the opposite side of the room, and tied his dreadlocks back with a strip of green cloth. Gregor hopped up beside Wygar and made himself comfortable.

           “Are you… Stormlord Llewellyn?” asked Wygar. “Am I in trouble?”

           The man laughed. “Am I-! No. My name is Master Idris Carwel. And no, you’re not in trouble for what happened. I’m afraid a few broken windows is far from unusual for a first manifestation.”

           Wygar blinked.

           “It happens a lot when people first come into their powers,” Carwel explained. “It can be a stressful, confusing experience, especially if they haven’t grown up in a magical family. I expect you have questions; I’m here to answer as many as I can.”

           Wygar looked down at the book he still held. “Have you ever fought a revenant?”

           It was Carwel’s turn to blink. “…Nnnot what I thought your first question would be,” he said. “No, I’ve never fought a revenant. I have seen a few, though; the best examples have been found down in Kemet and up in the far north of the Sea Loch Country, created to guard the tombs of important figures – kings, priests and so on.”

           “Oh.” Wygar tucked the book behind Gregor.

           “The Barrow of the Red King is a pretty accurate depiction of ancient Kaldrfjord burial practices in most respects,” said Carwel, “so you can tell the author did do the research. She just upped how dangerous the Revenant would be for dramatic effect. The magic involved in creating a revenant is actually not very different to animating a built construct, but even laden with spells a mummified corpse is just too fragile to do more than walk back and forth looking scary.”

           Wygar’s eyes widened. “You’ve read Fireclaw?”

           “Of course.”

           “Lord Rathus is my favourite character,” said Wygar in a confidential manner.

           “The rest of the group wouldn’t have got far without him,” said Carwel, nodding. “But we might be getting a bit side-tracked. Do you have any questions about your magic?”

           Wygar screwed up his face in thought and ran his fingers through Gregor’s fur. “Can you tell how powerful I’ll be?”

           “Well, it’s not something that’s easily quantified,” said Carwel, “though the number of windows you broke suggests ‘very’.”

           “Ooh.”

           “There is a safer way to get some idea. Do you know how to conjure a witchlight?”

           “No, I’ve never done any magic on purpose.”

           “Right.” Carwel cracked his knuckles and held out one hand, palm up. “It’s one of the simplest magics there is; it requires nothing but a little concentration and willpower. Focus on the energy inside you. I like to visualise it as a sort of vortex just under my heart, but you might find something else more helpful; everyone has their own way of managing it.”

           Wygar closed his eyes. “All right.”

           “Then draw on a little of it, and will that energy to convert into light.”

           Wygar took a deep breath and thought about what had happened the previous day. There had been a sound like thunder, a shockwave through the air, and a lot of broken glass. A big fire could do the same thing; he had once seen a half-razed house, the remains of its windows blasted outwards by the heat. He pictured a crackling orb of flame in his chest, and imagined pulling a strand out like drawing a string from a ball of yarn, guiding it down from his heart to the palm of his right hand. It itched, as if roiling under his skin. He took another deep breath and tried to tell the energy what to do, changing it from the rage of a forest fire to the warm glow of a candle.

           “That’s it,” said Carwel.

           Wygar opened his eyes to see a ball of yellowish-white light, perhaps three inches across, hovering steadily above his hand. An involuntary smile appeared on his face.

           “Now,” Carwel went on, “feed that little light as much energy as you possibly can, and we’ll have a better idea of how much power you have at your fingertips.”

           Wygar furrowed his brow in concentration, and channelled the rest of the fire into the ball. Immediately, it grew five times the size and flared a brilliant, blinding white, so bright that it leached all sense of colour or texture from the entire room. Wygar gasped, clapped his other hand over his eyes, and cut the magic off. Gingerly, he lifted his hand back off his face and, blinking, waited for his vision to return.

           When it did, he saw that Carwel still sat across the room, his mouth hanging open.

           “And you’re only eleven,” he said faintly. “Once you’re a grown adult, with full access to your power… Harbinger’s fire.”

           “What?”

           “Wygar.” Carwel sat forwards, clasping his hands in front of him. “I’ve been around magic for my entire life,” he said. “I grew up in a house full of wizards even before I attended the College, and as a Master I’ve worked with mages – wizards and witches alike – from all over the continent. So I want you to really understand what it means when I say that I believe you have the potential to become one of the most powerful wizards I have ever seen.”

           “…Wow.”

           “Indeed. Which makes it all the more important that you attend the College.”

           “So… if I have magic, I have to go to the College, right?”

           Carwel nodded. “It’s been part of Stormhaven law almost since the founding of the College itself. An apprenticeship lasts a minimum of four years; after that, you have the option to either continue your studies as a senior apprentice, or you can leave the College if you decide you’d prefer to follow a different path. After another four years, you can decide if you’d like to stay at the College and move up to journeyman rank.”

           Gregor, oblivious to this conversation, climbed up onto Wygar’s lap and sprawled across it. Wygar stroked his fur, thinking. “Mr Griffiths at school said that they made it the law to go to the College just so they can control the wizards.”

           “I take it Mr Griffiths is not a wizard himself.”

           “No, I don’t think so.”

           Carwel shook his head. “Mages are required to attend the College so that they can learn to control themselves. Because the consequences of a mage losing control can be terrible, and for many more people than just the mage alone.” He paused, drumming his fingers on his knee, and went on more slowly. “Have you ever heard of the Andari Event?”

           Wygar shook his head.

           “No, I don’t suppose it comes up much in a primary school curriculum.” Carwel cast an eye over the bookcase. “I see there’s a copy of Maps of the Known World up there; do you mind if I take it down?”

           Wygar shook his head again. Carwel got up to lift the hefty hardback book from its shelf, laid it on the coffee table, and flicked through to a page showing part of the land between the Eastern Lakes and the Inland Sea.

           “Here.” Carwel tapped a finger against an irregular blob about two hundred miles long and more than a hundred wide, completely encircled by a thick black-and-grey line. Tiny letters painstakingly written along the line labelled it ‘The Andari Wall’.

           “Andari was the biggest Imperial city east of the Lakes,” Carwel went on. “It was an important trading hub between the Imperial heartland and the Kingdom of Huaxia on the other side of the Inland Sea. At its peak it had more than ten times the population of Stormhaven, though still smaller than the Imperial City. And eighty-seven years ago, it was utterly obliterated by the most devastating explosion in recorded history. The people who survived the blast – mostly by being far enough away – started falling ill. After a couple of years, when people made the connection between the Event and what became known as Andari Sickness, the Empire evacuated the remaining survivors and built the Wall to keep people a safe distance from the blast site. We don’t know all the ins and outs of exactly what caused the Event – even today, people who spend too long inside the Wall get sick, so nobody can get close enough to the origin point to study it – but we have determined with certainty that a local mage lost control of an experiment that quickly went horribly wrong.”

           Wygar stared at him in silent horror, hugging an indignant Gregor.

           “See, this is why I don’t usually teach the children’s classes,” said Carwel. “I have trouble calibrating just the right amount of fear to instil.”

           “What’s the right amount of fear?” stammered Wygar.

           “Oh, simple. Enough to make you careful without making you timid.”

           “That… makes sense, I suppose.”

           “Yes, I’ve always thought so.” Carwel clasped his hands in front of him. “What about the College itself? Do you have any questions there?”

           “What’s it like?” asked Wygar as Gregor squirmed out of his arms and back onto the sofa.

           “Big question, but I’ll cover the basics.” Carwel held up a hand and one finger from the other. “The College is divided into six Schools. Journeymen and Masters all choose one school to specialise in; junior apprentices such as yourself take basic classes from all of them, while senior ones usually narrow their field of study once they have a better idea of where their powers lie and what interests them most. I’m with the School of Combat, where we teach you how to fight both with magical techniques – what you accidentally did yesterday is called a ‘concussive wave’, by the way – and mundane ones, as well as classes on tactics and strategy. There are also the Schools of Healing, Constructs, Portals, Sight, and History.” He folded each finger down one by one. “Magical history, that is, studying both its use over time and trying to suss out how it actually works. Each School is led by a High Master, who in turn answers to the Stormlord, the head of the whole College. Then there are all the non-faculty staff such as the cooks, the cleaners, the librarians, the administrators… and the maths teachers.”

           “Maths?”

           “Afraid that’s a skill even wizards need to have,” said Carwel with a smile.

           “All right,” said Wygar slowly. “So… would I have to stay there?”

           “No, in fact. Students from other parts of the country do have to board except during holidays, but since you live in the city you can either just attend during the day like a normal school, or board during the week and come home at weekends. It’s completely up to you, and you’re welcome to change your mind if you think the other option would suit you better.”

           Wygar was silent for a long time, stroking Gregor. Carwel got up to put Maps of the Known World back on its shelf.

           “Are there bullies at the College?” Wygar finally asked in a very small voice.

           “There are bullies at every school,” said Carwel gently. “But we take a very dim view of it, and Matron Inkfoot in particular – she looks after the apprentices – will help you sort out any trouble you’re given. She’s very protective of her charges.”

           Wygar gave this some careful thought before he nodded and went on, still quietly. “I won’t be starting at the College until after the summer.”

           “That’s correct. Term starts mid-River Moon.”

           “So… Can you teach me a shield spell, for the rest of the term? Just in case.”

           “I don’t see why not,” said Carwel. “Those spells are a little more complicated than conjuring a witchlight, but I’ll show you a fairly straightforward one to try. Tap into your magic again, and start off by imagining a shield between you and your attacker…”

           The shield was barely visible other than as a faint shimmer in the air forming a rough disc in front of Wygar. They spent a few minutes practising keeping it up as Carwel threw cushions at him from across the room. Gregor watched in quiet bemusement.            

           “We mostly use beanbags for shield practice at the College,” said Carwel as he collected all the cushions and put them back on the chairs. “You can throw them harder, but they’re still not going to hurt anyone if they drop their shield. This one isn’t strong enough to stand up in serious combat – it wouldn’t stop an arrow or a sword – but the amount of battering your average group of school bullies can dish out won’t leave a dent.” He rubbed his chin, considering Wygar in silence. “I think you’ve been using magic without knowing it for a long time,” he said. “Do you ever feel that you’re tired all the time, or too warm?”

           Wygar nodded.

           “Thought so. We call that ‘bleeding’, up at the College; when a mage is almost constantly using magic on an unconscious basis. It’s not uncommon, especially in powerful, but unaware young mages, and usually shows up as excess heat. It should mostly stop now that you’ve learnt to channel your magic consciously, but it would explain why you’re so thin.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Mages need to eat a little more than other people. I’ll give your parents a few pointers about your diet.”

           “Will I get taller?”

           “People rarely stop growing at eleven,” said Carwel, smiling. “Yes, you’ll get taller. Though how much is between you and the gods.”

           “…Huh.”

           “I should start getting back to the College,” said Carwel. “Have you got any more questions before I leave?”

           Wygar thought for a few seconds, then shook his head.

           “All right. I’ll see you after the summer, then.”

           He walked out into the hall, where both of Wygar’s parents were not trying very hard to look like they hadn’t been eavesdropping.

           “What was that about his diet?” asked Nicholas.

           “He needs more of it,” said Carwel, and smiled to take the sting out of it. “For starters, more meat, milk and eggs. I’ll confer with the Healers for more detailed advice; we’ll send a messenger within the next few days.” He nodded to Wygar, collected a two-handed sword from the umbrella stand, and let himself out into the street, where a sturdy construct with the horns of an aurochs waited for him. He tied the scabbard across his back and climbed into the construct’s saddle.

           “Don’t hesitate to get in touch if you need more help,” he said as he took the reins. “Helping young mages is the foremost purpose of the College.”

           “Wait,” said Wygar. Carwel raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Why do you keep saying ‘mage’ instead of ‘wizard’?”

           Carwel grinned. “Because you’re only a wizard once you’ve been trained.” He flicked the reins and turned the big construct northwards. “Good luck for the rest of term. Cadair, go!”

           The construct broke into a lumbering canter, its flat, three-toed hooves drumming on the cobblestones. Both it and Carwel were soon out of sight around the next corner.

           “So, how did it go?” asked Nicholas, laying a hand on Wygar’s shoulder.

           “You probably heard most of it,” said Wygar.

           “Well… Yes,” admitted Mari. “But we want to know what you think.”

           Wygar held out one hand, conjured a small golden witchlight above his palm, and smiled. “I think… I think that things will be better now.”

~~~

See? Wygar is a cat person.

The Andari Event has never come up in a story before, but it’s been part of the canon for some time nevertheless; the Wall is marked on this map of Stranatir that I drew last year. Carwel doesn’t go into detail about the symptoms of Andari Sickness, but suffice to say... it’s something we’d recognise.

[cos-wow]

Fallacy of the Fallen

“You're mine, you know.” Her fingers paused on the spine of a large leather-wrapped tome, and she allowed herself a small smile before continuing the lazy walk of slender digits over the hardened spines of several other tomes, seeking out a single weakness in the otherwise tightly packed shelf. The words lingered in her mind, bidden there by the unseen desire to hear a voice that had been too many days absent. Again, her lips twisted in that little quirk of amusement before parting to release a breath of triumph. Her hand pushed, spreading the gap between two thick books wider, just enough for her to slip in the slender book cast in black demon-skin. Some wrapped their gifts in colored paper and bows; Xaedryx took instead the more amusing route of a special brand of irony. There were several such books hidden throughout the personal library she was in. Each was warded by her own skill, a skill that could never be contested except by the most powerful of those among the Kirin Tor. It was lucky then, that no such people were among her close friends. She hated turning a friend into an enemy, though she knew that some could never help what had been drilled into their minds by the past. Standing atop the delicate footstool that she had pulled up along the bookshelf, she cast her silver gaze to the others. To her sight, the books blazed as though light was contained within each of them, a little gnomish light bulb caught between pages just waiting to be found.

These were gifts, slipped into the masses of knowledge that the owner of the study had to call his own. They were histories that none could hope to experience, studies that only the most hardened would be able to observe. They were her private wealth, ten thousand and more years of life crammed into countless journals that she had only just begun to open again and condense into these little slices of her long and tiring life. There were few who would understand what lay between them, countless who would be driven mad by the scribblings within. She should have bought him a hound for the season of giving, but hounds were hard to give a man who could snap his fingers and have all that he wanted.

Knowledge, however... there were things within these slender tomes that not even the dragons would dare to peek at. Personal experiences laid raw and bare, anatomy of living creatures as they lived, and as they died. Details that none could even hope to imagine about things that had been gone from the world, or thought long gone. When you had nothing to give, you gave what was left of yourself. Xaedryx had come to realize this and embrace it as best she could, but she wondered sometimes if the credit she gave the man was sometimes too much. Were he any lesser man, the books would remain blank. Seven demon-skin novels, all useless beneath the eyes of those too weak. Not him. Bracing a hand against one of the shelves, she eased herself off the footstool silently, only the whisk of her gown sliding over the rich fabrics and wood heard to anyone who might have been listening. In truth, her discovery there might have lead to her death. It would have been a poor one; there were none but one who knew that she could not truly die. One of Nathrezim blood did not simply die. Banishment was a simple possibility, but among the humans who made up the court she lingered in, her very existence was more deadly than that of the warlocks that toyed with magic they could never hope to understand. But a Nathrezim was never so foolish as to wander unhidden. Oh, demons were brazen and haughty, she knew. Of all those who existed and were known, the blood of the most cunning of them all ran thick in her veins. This, though she had fought for centuries to disguise it, was known. Only a few knew, but the minds of humans were easy to crack, and the minds of elves were prone to selfish behaviors. In a court, her very existence could have been used to throw a meager peasant into the highest of nobility. Her head would have fetched thousands of gold, her blood even more. Humans were so fickle with their short-sightedness. Yet... … all of her current kindness was for one of them. Not all human, true. Not at all simple and daft as she considered many of them to be. No, this one was capable of being just as cunning as she, and he was the only one who could bring true fear from her. What had she, this lovely mix of chaos and nature, to fear from anyone mortal? Nothing, but he was no mere mortal. A shiver chased itself up her spine, and her lips parted once more to expel a soft sound of discomfort as she padded across the thick carpeting, the sound of her leash brushing against itself echoing in the otherwise silent chamber. Foolishness had leaked itself into her illusion of life. A year ago, she was nothing more than a ghost among the shadows, some nameless priestess who was dead in the annals that listed those who had fallen in the battle against Archimonde. A year ago, there were none who knew her or wanted to. Those who had glimpsed her saw nothing more than the absolute average of women. It had been enough, for all those years. But time had continued, as it was prone to doing. Time had passed, and a year had whittled itself to half of that, and someone had seen things that she had struggled to hide. Goldshire flitted through her mind like a butterfly over a field of flowers, and she shook her head, moving a hand to catch the silver and mithril-twined chain that comprised her leash and shifted it behind her as she walked around the room to replace the books that she had taken to read to herself the last few days that she had made this chamber her own. She had been there in that hive of filth looking for prey; someone who would be easily missed, and easily used to sate her lust for pleasure and knowledge. They had bored her, all of them. She supposed that her boredom acted like a shield for them. They had gone home safe, all because of one little distraction. It amused her how quickly he came to her mind, when she had once filled it with everything but the opposite gender. Until he had come into her closed off world, side-stepping all her barriers and showing her what it was like to laugh again. The thought was sweet enough to make her groan, almost sickeningly so. He might laugh, if he could ever hear the thoughts that danced within her mind, but they were not so tightly bound. She had become weak, she thought as she grabbed a book from his desk and stacked it upon the others in her arms, its corners pushing painfully into her breast. Standing before another of the large cases, she found herself harboring loss and frustration. The two seemed to travel hand in hand as of late with her, and she knew the cause. Perhaps, she considered as she put away the first of the books, it was merely a desire to be fully mortal that left her with such foolish fancies in her mind. Ah, but he was quite the man to wish to be mortal for. Another book was tucked away, and she slipped to another bookcase, the chain attached to the collar around her neck whisking against the desk legs as she moved further from it. Not for the first time, she glanced to the doors that led out from the study, barely visible in the glow of candles she had lit when she had first slipped into the room. Now, the candles had burned low, and he had still not returned. How many days had it been? Something tightened around her heart, a sense of foreboding that she couldn't quite shake. What if his time was now? The wind outside shifted, setting the rain she had forgotten was even falling tapping against the glass window. Her eyes watched droplets hit and vanish, until she could no longer take the dread feeling within her mind. He was fine, she told herself. It mattered so much to her that those words be true, and there was no one she could tell them to except her mind. A mind that had only just begun to realize that hope could be used for more than just hoping that her prey would scream just a few more times before the last of their blood stained the floor. Disgruntled, Xaedryx shoved the last of the books where it belonged before moving to the window, her arms crossed over her chest. One more night, was her self-aimed reprimand. She would wait one more night for him, and then she would leave and seek out yet more knowledge. Her body cried out for more than just a touch, now. It wanted blood and pain, it wanted screams and bliss. One more night, she would wait, and then it would become too much for her to hold back. Above all things, though he knew so much she had hidden from others, she refused to show him that side of her. Especially if he would be the one that all control was lost on. A sigh left her, staining the chilled window with a mist that spread in miniscule designs, broken only by the graze of her fingertips when she sat on the window seat. Her head propped against the cold stone, and she let her eyes drift closed, allowing herself to linger on the brink of waking and slumber, soon succumbing to the second as rain pelted a soft lullaby against the window. The click of the latch roused her, the sound of the door a forgotten memory in some wayward dream that had quickly set itself up to be a nightmare. Her eyes remained half-lidded, a natural desire to remain undetected hindering rationality in a room that was by now dark. Darksight was one of the very few gifts that she had not inherited from her mixed blood, but she had always had Shadyx for that. Her long ears twitched just once, the only movement she allowed herself so as to not betray her presence in case the one who had entered would not take kindly to her presence. Her blood rushed in her veins, pushing a greater urge forward and making her even breathing stagger for just a moment. Control was becoming harder, and though her eyes closed against the darkness, she could feel the heartbeat of the one in the room, could smell his scent as if he sat with her where she was. The seared circle of skin around her throat began to itch in response to the sudden warmth that flooded her, and she let her eyes go to where she knew the desk was as a weight fell into the chair that matched it. She knew, as she stood in one graceful motion from the window's ledge, that he had seen her. There was a chance that he had seen her when he had closed the door behind him. As the clouds parted enough to let the light of one moon filter through the window, she saw his lips pull into the near-feline smirk she had become so used to. While he made no motion to beckon her forwards, she moved in time with the thundering heartbeat in her ears, until her fingers touched the wood of his desk. It was a motion she had practiced, though she'd never tell him that herself. Her hand reached, pushing the pile of papers he had brought with him into the room aside. The weight of it made other papers, no less important, fall to the ground with a faint noise that was disguised as she slid herself into the vacated place, casually looking him over. She did not move as his hand lifted, tangling in the chain she had so frequently moved out of her way the last few days and pulling until she was bent near double. Her eyes never left his, meeting arrogance with arrogance as his fingers touched along the silver collar. “I never put this on you.” His voice was a dangerous whisper, as chilly as his fingers that touched her skin beneath the metal. “I also warned you the last time you touched my papers. Your punishment will be most fierce.” A mischievous grin formed on her lips, long ears twitching as she made her reply. “Were there someone who wandered into your sanctum while you were absent, I would rather have them believe you were keeping some craven slut tied as she should be, than have them believe you allow some strange woman to read your books. I also remember, keenly, telling you that you could do your worst when you made that threat.” “That you did, and that I will.” He jerked the chain, and was rewarded with the faintest gasp and her hands breaking their stoic rest on the top of the desk to grip the side in an attempt to stay seated where she was. He released the chain and slid his hand downwards, ghosting over the silken fabric that comprised the long robe she wore. She offered no resistance as he slipped his fingers into the folds, pushing it roughly down and off her shoulders while he stroked his palm over the swell of her breasts. Xaedryx bit back a moan, but did not stop herself from pressing herself into his palm. She was content to let him explore, usually, but this time was going to be different. Apologies swam in her mind, unspoken as she reached out her own hands and pushed the heavy traveling cloak off of his shoulders, perhaps more roughly than she had truly meant to. Perhaps. It was more surprising that she nearly tore the laces of his tunic from the fabric, an action that she covered beneath a veneer of concern when she pressed her lips to his collar. His skin was like ice beneath her lips and fingers, and her warmth sent goosebumps over the flesh as she fell forward, guided by gravity and his hands that had found their way beneath the robe to grab her ass and pull her to him. To say she landed gently would have been a lie; the only thing that was soft was the silver-blue sheer silk robe falling over her parted thighs as she straddled him, nestling his still covered and hardening cock between her bare folds. Her hands raised, cupping his face while she tilted his head back, spying eagerness within eyes of green. Eagerness, and so much more. Need was no longer in question. Whatever had been need was now a requirement, and her fingers brushed through his hair to dispose of what ties might have been there, slender blue fingers of one hand coursing through ash-blonde locks as she pulled herself closer to him with the support of her other hand on the back of the chair, crushing her breasts against his chest while she ground her hips against his, coaxing him to full mast with only his leggings to constrain him. “You're cold,” she whispered, looking down at him from where she was. His words came with the sudden squeeze of her hips, far beyond a gentle touch and well into the realm of bruising, his grip brought fire and pain as he forced her down as his own hips lifted, his mouth opening only to close on her neck. “Then warm me.” The roughness of his leggings ground at her sensitive mound, bringing forth shuddering gasps that he felt in his mouth while his tongue traveled over skin that was clasped between his teeth. He played with that breathing of hers, making it stagger into plaintive mewls when he clamped hard enough to leave marks over her flesh, releasing it only to nip and bite at the lobe of her ear, drag his teeth along her jaw and then settle on her shoulder. There, he did break her skin with his bite, and she did little more than revel in the pain that it brought her, shuddering against and then unleashing her own brutality upon him. She saw the world as nothing more than a glimmer of silver fire and his eyes, moonlight shedding light over skin that was becoming warm and receptive, sweat beginning to glisten. Her own nails dragged from the back of the chair, scoring the hard plane of his shoulder and around until she eased at his naval. Blood touched her senses, his and hers mixing like a perverted wine that made her mind spin. She braced her knees, lifting herself and hissing when he tried to stop her, his nails tearing shallow gashes into her hips. His leggings stood as much a chance as his tunic had beneath her fingers, and she tore what she could before roughly shoving the rest away until her hand could grasp what she hungered for. Their moans entwined; hers muffled against his temple while deft fingers slid around his shaft and her thumb skated over the crown already wet with his precum, his own from her breast where he teased a stiffened nipple with the tips of his canines. She played with that moment, the cliff edge where she faced throwing herself into the unknown from the cave that had protected her all these long years. Once more, she yielded to want and desire, and threw herself into the utter unknown that was him. When he tired of her games, of her firm yet gentle stroking despite his biting, and slipped three fingers into her, she mewled. When he curled those fingers, she shuddered. And when he pulled them towards him, mashing that sensitive bundle of nerves roughly, she screamed her climax into his shoulder, muffling it beneath his flesh as she bit him until skin broke and she tasted his blood along her tongue. Her mind blanked, body moving on instinct to obey that silent command of the pull, anything to stop the overpowering mix of pain and pleasure that made her writhe and whimper, gasping against his skin. Her hand flattened, using the heel of it to guide his cock towards her slit, and when his hand did not move despite that obedience she showed, she coaxed it past the top of his hand, sliding it along his middle finger until he was sheathed halfway within her, only his fingers keeping him from easily hilting. For a blissful moment, she allowed herself to revel in the feeling of him within her, stretching her with both cock and fingers. Her breathing was ragged in his ear, and she knew the moment that she felt his arm move around to brace at the small of her back that she had let herself fade too far. His hips gave one swift lurch upwards, and then it was her lip that was bleeding, her pain-laced scream of pleasure bitten back into a mangled whimper that ceased to die as he lifted his hand and she followed only to keep his palm from ravaging her clit when he gave no sign of easing. His other hand slid down her back and into the cleft of her ass, dancing playfully over the tightly clenched ring there before continuing on and forcing his fingers into her already painfully stretched folds. He lingered there, soaking his fingers in her arousal while she grabbed at his arms and shoulders, trembling fingers tearing new lines of red down his pale shoulders while her voice hitched in its begging. Oh, how she begged. As her hips rolled and she felt him stretch her painfully open, she whispered pleas into his ear that he simply chuckled at, his breath hitting against her neck in staggered waves as she rocked and ground herself onto him despite the pain she felt. It was a drug, that requirement taking what he wrought on her and turning it into the sustenance that she required. When he at last removed the fingers that had sent her into such a state, it was only to trace them back to her ass, deftly pushing the slick digits past the ring that tightened briefly to warn him away only to fail. Her body fell against his, a hand curling around the back of his neck while the other splayed over the back of the chair. “Are you so easily worn out,” he teased below his breath, twisting another helpless moan from her as his fingers delved deeper into her ass and pushed against the wall that divided his hands from each other, “that you would take only for yourself? Selfish. I thought better of the one I chose as mine. You are mine, you know.” His lips dragged over her skin as she shivered and whimpered, trying her best to clear her mind of his physical, and now mental, assault. “Mine, to do all that I desire with. Mine, to serve me. Mine, as was our agreement.” “Yours,” she murmured beneath another mewling moan, rolling the word over her tongue as she threw her head back and began to ride him, long rolls of her hips that made it easier to take his treatment and brought great groans and praises from deep in his chest. Her hand left him, sliding down his chest to fall slack at her side while the other remained coiled around the back of his neck, fingers tangled in ash-blond tresses. Though slow, the strokes were strong, with both of them panting before too long. His were muffled against her breast, where he left marks from his bites that would stay for days on her skin if she allowed it. She would, as she always did. A part of her believed he liked to see the marks of his conquest on her skin. For him, she let them stay. His name tangled itself on her tongue, spilling forth at last as her body tensed atop his, their breath escaping them in sharp hisses as both finally released; her with spasms that massaged his cock within her, milking his length with every stroke until she dropped herself hard and caught her heels beneath the seat of the chair, locking him within her as they rode out their climaxes together. She was loathe to dismount from him, relishing his warmth as he panted against her breast, parted lips wrapped loosely around her nipple. When he began to soften, she tempted fate by moving, a murmured moan leaving her as she stood and he fell from her completely. The silk robe she wore, bloodied now with red that contrasted darkly against the pale silver-blue material, slid back around her legs, and already she felt his seed leaking from within her. Her steps took her away from the desk, and she began to tie her hair back from her face. Began, but did not finish as she felt something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand, and a shudder ran up her spine before utter hate spilled into her veins. When she turned, it was to lunge at the newest figure, summoned by the will of the one she held dear. The Felguard watched her with amusement; it knew the outcome of this as much as she did, and it enjoyed what came next. When the Kaldorei half-breed flew at him in the rage he had come to associate with her, he was ready. Her outstretched arms were grabbed, twisted until she yelped in pain and went rigid as he spun her and tossed her down to the ground. When she rolled to recover, he stepped on the trailing hem of her robe, and knew he had won. Tangled, Xaedryx could do little more than hiss her displeasure, biting at the demon's hands as it pulled at her. For a moment, she was a hellion on her own, and made triumph a difficult task indeed, but within minutes, the Felguard had worked the half-breed to her knees, her robe torn to shreds. Her breasts ground into the fibers of the carpet, her breathing ragged as she looked up at her lover with pain and fear in her eyes. He smiled, that wicked smile that made her heart leap and her stomach burn, and yet terrified her all the same. “I did tell you, pet. You were to be punished.” “Anything but this,” her mind begged as the Felguard yanked her hair back with one hand until her mouth fell open, and he crammed a balled up piece of silk into her mouth. She bit him, and he did little more than laugh before pushing her torso down until her ass was high in the air. Her eyes never left those of her love, silently pleading, and she felt shame touch her cheeks as tears formed in her eyes. The Felguard was massive, and not gentle. The heavy clink of it's armor dropping away heralded the first brunt of pain as the demon took hold of her hips with one hand while he held her neck with the other, and thrust into her slit with one rough stroke that buried himself and set pain through her as he brutally hit her most inner wall. It's thrusts were rough and quick, forcing her to cry out in sharp pain against the makeshift gag in her mouth. More pain, as the force with which it penetrated her pushed her across the carpet, burning the skin that had been so recently marked. Her whimpers were ignored, even mocked as the demon spoke to her in a tongue she knew well, and hated. “Whore,” it called her as she seethed with rage, “filthy demon slut. Half-breed toy.” It hammered at her mind while raving her cunt, it's pace only becoming quicker as it neared it's own release. She squirmed as she felt the telltale shudder within the demon that foretold of it's pleasure mounting, and as she fought, it only gripped her harder, only thrust faster, until she was not only pushed across the carpet but very nearly lifted from it, too. Her sobs were constant, her face hidden beneath a wash of azure hair as she screamed her hate into the gag, and her anguish as the demon released within her, flooding her with it's seed. She felt it twitch within her, spasming wildly as it pumped itself empty inside of her, making her whimper with discomfort at the sting it caused her brutalized folds. When it withdrew, it shoved her forward, and she collapsed, completely uncaring to the world. The pain of it's rutting dulled somewhat, but she was keenly aware of the demon still lingering near her. With a soft groan, she attempted to move, but gave up and lay unmoving for long minutes that were finally broken by a soft rush of chiming metal, and the gentle tug of the collar around her neck. Her eyes opened, her head tilting to follow the chain, which she found coiled in the fingers of her lover. His grin was not gone, and he gave the leash another tug that made her moan as the simple motion seemed to travel through her entire body. It came again, and she struggled to her hands and knees as his little tugs became one constant, his hand winding the delicate chain around and around. She paused, bracing herself back, and he languidly used the force to pull himself to his feet, watching her follow that incessant tug once more, crawling ever towards him. Her eyes held pain and hurt within them, but deeper still there was the raw want and need that always lay there, no matter how he hurt her. Oh, how he loved to hurt her in all the best of ways, and how she loved to please him in every way they could find together. She sat before him, not unlike a dog before its master, on her spread knees with hands braced in front of her, her eyes meeting his for moments. Without words, she bent and crawled the last foot forward, her lips pressing to the inside of his knee in a reverent kiss that continued up until his sack brushed her brow, and only then did she let her lips leave his flesh. Her hands slid up and around his legs, nails combing fine white lines along his skin until she flattened her palms over the back of his thighs and grabbed, pulling herself upwards and into his groin while her lips parted, grazing over sensitive skin. Her temple rested on his inner thigh as she simply breathed him in, taking in the scent of them before she let her tongue slip over the root of his shaft, her breath warm on slickened skin. Silver eyes flicked up, watching him while she let her lips travel over the entirety of his shaft, finally parting to take in just the tip of his manhood. The fingers of his free hand twisted in her hair and she sat up straighter, coaxing his length into her mouth until her lips pressed against his pelvis. She swallowed, the only way that ever felt comfortable when he was so deep within her throat, and held herself there until her chest burned and she had no choice but to pull off of him, a thick stream of saliva left to bind his tip to her lips as she panted before him. When she took him in again, her hands moved from his ass around his hips and to his stomach, leaving the same fine lines. When his other hand clasped in her hair, she yielded to his force and let him buck into her, sheathing himself repeatedly within her throat. Saliva wet her lips, then dripped to spill from her chin onto heavy breasts, soon thickened with his pre-cum. His hand went to her throat, tightening dangerously above the collar that she had placed on herself, and she released a soft mewl as he ravaged her throat. A sound of distress that became more audible, became more a sob, when the Felguard once more approached and pulled her by her hips, leveraging her into a more suitable position. Just once, he thrust into her folds, allowing his cock to become slick with what had already been spilled and her arousal from her lover's treatment, and then she felt the demon's tip push at entrance to her ass, and she groaned around her lovers cock as the demon thrust, swiftly hilting itself within. Her yelp as it struck the swell of her ass with a gauntlet-covered hand was muffled, and almost choked, by the warlock's cock, and he no more relented than the demon did as it found a pace of it's own. Her hands lifted, and one reached back to grab her ass, spreading her cheeks for the demon while the other curled around the warlock's shaft, and kept time with her mouth as she could, milking his length in fluid motions that made him groan and pant his pleasure as much as she was doing herself. When the demon speared her folds with one thick finger, she staggered and choked on her lover's cock, somehow regaining herself as their pace quickened. Xaedryx lost herself as orgasms wracked her frame, making her burn until she had become lost on the waves of pleasure, becoming little more than a toy for the desires of those who rutted her. The demon gripped her breasts painfully, pulling her back against itself as it released and filled her ass with enough seed that it dripped from around its length as it pulled free of her and vanished, the pulse of fel energy acting as herald to the warlock's own climax. His hands fisted in her hair, he held her in place as he came, his cock twitching in her throat until he pulled back and allowed her to milk the last of it from him, letting it splash on her cheeks and chin, dripping on her breasts. His hands unwound, untangling from her azure hair and the delicate chain only to return as he gave a gentle touch to her skin, combing fingers through her hair while her lips grazed over his skin, whispering words of prayer that mended the scratches she had laid upon him. More than the scratches, as what aches he had faded under her tender care. “You're - ...” “ - yours. I know.” She looked up at him, the need that had filled her something like a memory as weakness set in, leaving her trembling. “I'm many things, but above all of them, I am yours.” Her fingers touched at the collar around her neck, a quiet word unclasping it to have it fall into her hand. Slowly, she stood and set the silver item onto his desk, her legs trembling beneath her weight. He held out his hand for her, and she took it, following him willingly into the darkness, trusting. For she had no other choice.

[enjolraswould]

Chapter 4 of DIAMB: Ouija

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

Last week on “Death Is A Miserable Business,” Cosette came face to face with the man in the Seine and realized things might not be as they first appeared. To complicate matters is Detective Javert, a frightening old officer who seems to harbor some of the same suspicions as Cosette...

Chapter 4

~

The apartment still didn't feel like home. Whether that was because Papa was gone or because even before he left our move here had been sudden and tumultuous, I couldn't tell.

It was modest, which had amazed Marius the first time he saw it. The door opened into the living room: pale blue pre-war wallpaper, heavy curtains pinned back with serious-looking brass pegs, heavy bookcase looming in the corner over a few brocade armchairs Papa had bought because I insisted we have a place to read together each night. The one out of place element in the room was the mantle: ornately carved white marble, probably the oldest remaining part of the building, upon which stood a pair of silver candlesticks, which Papa once said were an old family heirloom.

The fireplace itself had been boarded up to keep a draft out, and it was against these board I had tacked all the records of my search. In a folder taped to one side were copies of newspaper articles: "Local Philanthropist Missing; Reward For Tips" and "Daughter of Missing Man Still Determined" and "Recent Developments in Mysterious Disappearance." In the beginning, plenty of newspapers had been eager to help drum up publicity for the case. But with no new developments in a month, the articles had stopped reporting. Papa's disappearance was moved from front page to second, then to the columns, where he was mentioned in single lines alongside recent arrests and fundraising announcements.

The rest of the board was cluttered with scraps of paper: addresses, phone numbers, lists of people to speak to, much of it crossed out with red pen. Throwing my bag down by the door and collapsing to sit in front of the fireplace, I was reminded again of a wry comment I had made to Marius about needing a roll of twine to string between the parts to properly play the roll of paranoid conspirator. He hadn't gotten the joke.

I shivered, still shaken by the scene down at the river, and huddled closer to the board as though it would warm me like the fireplace underneath. How often had I done this, late into the night, trying to puzzle the pieces together? At first it had seemed easy: the whole city was in on the search and information seemed to pour in and assemble itself into tidy little paths, but now nothing came, or if it did it was wrong or misinformation. I could feel the warmth slowly leaking out from the case as it fell cold.

I think my discouragement had a lot to do with Marius being so far away in Venice, leaving me feeling lost and cold, with all the sun gathered there to beam down on the sparkling canals, with nothing left in Paris except fog and rain and murdered men in rivers. He had been my constant companion since Papa grew so distant, and he had been indispensable throughout the search. It was me who told him to go to Venice, lest he lose the internship he had worked so desperately for, even though in his absence loneliness became my most frequent bedfellow.

He called, when he could, the payphone in the hall, which I listened to constantly, hoping each ring was either Marius or a break in Papa's case, and which was hardly ever either.

My hands groped for a sheet of paper and a pen. I wondered whose hands they were, so pale and trembling, like I had been the one fished out of the river instead of the man who looked like Papa. I hadn't sketched portraits in years, had given it up back at the convent, but now my memory of the hour before seemed to huge for words. I watched my hands scribble, watched the drawing emerge.

I first I thought I would draw the man on the boat, but something else began to take shape. It started somewhere in my ribs, rocking like the police boat in the tide, a rocking that quickened until it became the speeding sway of the metro. I felt, again, the swimming of a stranger's tears down my neck and choked, about to be sick.

But I didn't throw up. I forced my hands to stop and gazed, in awe, at the half-finished sketch on the page before me:

A shadowy figure hunched in a seat on the metro, his face obscured but the lines of the scribbling coming together to shape something somehow menacing, yet sorrowful. And in heavy print above his head: DEATH and IS A followed by MISERABLE and finally, BUSINESS.

With a grimace, I pinned the picture to the center of the board, then whipped out a new sheet of paper and didn't stop writing until I had covered all the details I could remember about the man on the metro and Papa's poor unnamed twin, all washed in black water in the womb of the abandoned boat.

The shaking finally stopped.

[wolfeyeslonelynights]

Just a snippet.

The McCall pack was as bad as a bunch of old ladies when it came to gossip. Stiles, and surprisingly Corey, were the worse but everyone got involved when it was particularly juicy. In this case, the juice was the growing and baffling relationship between Liam and Theo.

Everyone was aware of it but nobody could really tell you when it happened. Even the two people themselves would probably pause and struggle with an answer before shrugging it off. It started off with the usual; near death experiences and too exhausted to function before collapsing on the nearest comfortable surface for a few hours. The first time had been Liam’s living room floor, the beta simply yanking the dragging chimera into the house before they softly tumbled to the floor. After that, they just gravitated towards each other.

Both would agree that it hadn’t been romantic or sexual in nature at all. In the beginning it had just happened because they had seen enough of the ugly parts of each other’s personalities that it was just easy to be themselves when it just the two of them. This caused some guilt on Liam’s side; he had friends that accepted him but there was always a part of him, the angriest, the most scared, that will always think they might abandon him if he loses control too much. Theo though, he took anything in stride, and was strong enough to handle any outcome without any judgement.

The chimera, well, Liam and Stiles had been the most upfront about how they felt regarding him. It just turned out that Liam was more forgiving. The little wolf naturally more easy going, more willing to look pass what had happened and instead focus on the future. Theo thought he was a weird combination of Scott and Stiles. It was comforting.

So they progress from being teamed up together for dangerous situations, to voluntarily joining. When things settled down as much as Beacon Hills will ever settle down, they started hanging out. They both enrolled in community college nearby. Theo because he refused to pay the ridiculous tuition fee for a university until he had to; he wasn’t even sure he wanted a four year, there were plenty of two year programs that had projected salaries and industry growth that would give him a more than comfortable life. Liam went because he didn’t get into Mason and Corey’s college, and despite his interest in history, he actually didn’t know what he wanted to do. Instead of figuring that out in an expensive dorm, he could continue living at home and work on the basic credits while figuring out his life.

Their classes would intermix. Theo would push Liam to study with him in the library after school. Liam pushed back that they needed to do it at his house because he couldn’t concentrate with all the extra noises. The chimera would roll his eyes but then make the twenty drive. Then they were carpooling; Liam would grumble but hang out in the cafeteria when Theo had evening shifts in the campus bookstore that was connected to it. He would shamelessly use Theo’s discount for his textbooks. Theo would sit out on one of the numerous campus covered picnic tables and study quietly when Liam got a part time job as a teacher’s aid.

Sure, they would run into a few other supernaturals but they were all students. They would nod a little at each other but then continue on with whatever they were doing. It was peaceful.

Neither had really taken the time to date. There hadn’t been much opportunity to even consider it when the hunters had been a problem. Then the post stress of waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it was apparent they were getting a reprieve, there was finishing high school and starting college. Jobs, and for Theo, finding a living situation that was more permanent than his truck. It had’t become a question or desire until they had finish their first year.

Theo had found a small house at the edge of town that backed up to the forest reserve. It had needed serious repairs, was a bitch commute every day, and was only a two bedroom one bath. Most important, with the small cushion of money he had leftover from his Dread Doctor days, he could buy it outright. He wanted it at first sight when they had pulled up on a Saturday. Why the beta had come along wasn’t questioned; he had just climbed in when Theo had shown up saying he was going to look at a house.

So their days off became days that they would fix up the small house. It was an interesting project, neither had ever done much house repair. One night as they argued over countertop samples in the Geyer’s kitchen, Liam’s dad, still Dr. Geyer to Theo despite the older man’s insistently telling him to call him David, had walked in and offered to help. From then on there were days when the three men would be hunched over Liam’s laptop - watching youtube videos on how to replaced a claw bathtub, fixtures, and other repairs.

Mrs. Geyer, by then she was just Judy to Theo, had bought two huge floor-to-ceiling bookcases and a beautiful leather loveseat as a house warming gift. Theo had argued that it was too much but she had simply brushed him off with a tight a hug and a murmured ‘proud of you’ that had the chimera hugging back just as tightly as he worked past a lump in his throat. The other two in the background trying to fix a leak in the kitchen sink.

They finished the living room first; one small wall holding the bookcases with the two-seater fitting perfectly between them. Theo had eyed Liam suspiciously as the former avoided his eye contact while grinning. Schemer. The walls had been panted soft browns and greens, matching the trees outside. Theo shot down Liam’s joking suggestion at adding some deer antlers. The bedroom was easier; large enough for a queen size boxspring and mattress - something Liam had seriously said would stay with the house if Theo ever moved because getting them into the room had been a event flavored with interestingly  chosen curse words and a brief fight.

After that, they studied at Theo’s house, Liam staying the night when it got too late to make the awful drive back. When this happened, they would share the bed, neither particularly bothered with the other being so close while they slept.

Slowly they filled the little home with things that were needed. Liam loved the kitchen with its old school oven, refrigerator, and cabinets. Theo gave up having an opinion on what happened to that room; letting Liam do whatever he wanted. He didn’t cook well enough to picky. He helped the wolf paint the walls a light teal and the cabinets a muted orange (an odd but somehow happy combo Liam had agonized over before deciding on). It didn’t clash with the faded white appliances at least. They replaced the single peeling laminate counter with a on-sale white granite that finished the theme. Theo installed wall mounts for the few skillets and pots Liam picked out while Liam filled the cabinets with food and drinks.

They scrounged estate and garage sales for a lot of the stuff. A decent small two person table that had a bonus leaf that could make it a four person that had two chairs and a bench was added in the small nook in the kitchen. Theo started filling his bookcases and Liam started on the second bedroom. This became a debate. Liam thought it should be a media room. Theo didn’t care but was confused on why the living room couldn’t have a tv? The beta’s answer was that when he wanted to game and Theo wanted to read they could help buffer the sound with a closed door. Plus two bookcases were going to fill up fast.

It hadn’t occurred to them that this house was more theirs than just Theo’s now. Judy had started joking that they so domestic together. The boys would scoff, even while they were heading out the door to pick up a television for the media room. Theo thought it was amusing that Liam insisted on calling it that, when the house only had two bedrooms and both were tiny but he went along with it. Just like he went along when Liam brought over his gaming systems.

There had been a lull while they searched for a way to get internet out to the remote place.

Luckily it had been installed before winter break. The house had a stove in the living room and they found that even if the power became shoddy in the winter, at least the stove could fill the whole house with heat.

It was during this time that the other pack members trickled back through town for the holidays. Suddenly Theo was looking up from his seat on the loveseat to see Liam opening the door with Mason and Corey trailing in behind him. The couple had been wide eyed an brimming with curiosity as the beta tossed his keys on the small table they put by the door for just that purpose, kicking off his shoes while motioning them to do the same. The chimera had watched as Liam had given them a short but thorough tour of the house; pointing out the kitchen, the new plush carpet they installed, the media room, the bathroom. Theo had taken remodeling the bathroom for himself, figured since Liam had the kitchen he could at least chose how he wanted the bathroom.

Not getting up from his spot, he simply listened as Liam showed them the new (a splurge Theo allowed himself) large claw tub with the fancy shower head Dr. Geyer had helped him install above. It had a setting that mimicked getting rained on and Theo loved it. It was also why he broke down and had the water heating system completely replaced. Something he would be making payments on for a long time but worth every cent. The sink had been easy. They had simply tore the old one out and replaced it with a pedestal sink. There had been some trial and error but eventually they figured out how to create shelves in the walls themselves; leaving the bathroom pretty minimal. Since Theo didn’t care what color it was painted he had let Judy pick out the color. The walls were a soft blue with fluffy white towels.

When Liam showed the bedroom, actually clean since Theo had picked up earlier that day, neither mentioned why there were two dressers. That each was on either side of the bed, no frame still, because each boy had their own. That Liam had most of his clothes here. Mason did notice Liam’s brand of shampoo and two toothbrushes in the bathroom but didn’t ask even though he was burning with the desire too.

After that, they all crowded into the media room, a name Corey agreed with Theo on being silly, and hung out playing games and watching movies for the day. It didn’t escape the two guests how Liam and Theo were comfortable being squished together on the large recliner while Corey and Mason shared the loveseat that had fit in there. Or that when Liam came back with popcorn and drinks he had simply moved the adult sized bean bag chair between Theo’s legs and plopped down. Chimera occasionally leaning over Liam’s shoulder to snitch some popcorn.

But they talked when they left. Suddenly Theo’s home was crowded with members of the McCall pack. Malia had unceremoniously burst through the door one day, followed with an apologetic (but curious) Scott, a loud Stiles, with a thoughtful Lydia getting pulled through by the hand. Liam and Theo had been discussing courses to take next when they came in.

That visit had been more direct, and shorter. Theo still slightly uncomfortable with Scott and Stiles. Malia softly hostile while Lydia was more curious about their classes and college then whether or not they were sleeping together. The last having been asked bluntly by both Stiles and Malia. The two had been caught off guard by that, saved from answering when Scott followed Lydia’s lead and started asking about school.

After they left, only when Lydia received a call from Parrish asking if they wanted to meet for dinner. A phone call that had Stiles growing quiet, and pensive while Lydia rolled her eyes. The old group left; not particularly aware of the crack they had created in Theo’s and Liam’s world.

That night Liam had gone to his parents house; something he hadn’t done in weeks. He had spent the night rolling around in his unused bed, trying to ignored the extra space he had because Theo was sprawled out next to him. Neither had thought their sleeping arrangement had been weird, but now that they pointed it out, it was. It was then Liam realized that neither had gone out with anyone since. Well in a year. This sent the beta into a spiral thoughts and realizations that made sure he didn’t get any sleep.

Theo didn’t have the crisis that Liam did. He was a pretty aware person when it came to his feelings and more importantly, his sexuality. Generally, the gender didn’t matter to Theo - being an experiment that involved two different animals and with the less than normal upbringing he was actually more open minded than a lot of people thought. What matter to him was more the connection he had with someone before sexual attraction. Which he was why he hadn’t bother to date many people. Or any if he was honest. The time spent doing normal human things had been enough for the chimera. To enjoy buying a house and fixing it up. Going to school and worrying about things like tests, project, and stuff. Waking up in a bed, having a real bathroom.

Besides, he knew he how felt about Liam. Had known for a long time. It hadn’t been an issue because he was okay with how things were now, how things were progressing. Really, Theo was more irritated with how the pack how gotten the beta to go to his parents house for the night instead of staying home. And it was their home now.

So when Theo had been woken up out of an uneasy sleep at two in the morning to the front door being open he had been more worried of what Liam was doing then at the possibility of an intruder. Instead of getting out of bed, he had tiredly sat up to watch the beta ease the bedroom door open, the small nightlight Liam had insisted the room have (it was a ridiculous yellow ducky that made the wolf smile every time he looked at it) slanting enough light to let Theo see pajamas.

It had been a surreal experience when the beta had remained silent, padding to his side of the bed to crawl under the covers. Theo expected maybe a denial, a refutal to the earlier questions and implications, he hadn’t expected Liam to wiggle up to him, wrap an arm around his waist, and promptly fall asleep with a sigh of contentment.

After that, they didn’t bother to act like Liam didn’t live with Theo. It almost seemed to be a relief when they told Judy and David - Liam’s mom laughing before wondering out loud why it took them so long and handing them a plate of her homemade snickerdoodles while making them promise to come over for Christmas dinner. Theo blushing at the soft kiss she gave him on the cheek as they were leaving

They didn’t tell the pack. Liam didn’t think they should have to announce themselves because it wasn’t anyone’s business. Theo agreed but did urge the wolf to at least tell Scott and Mason. The two people who mattered most to the beta. Liam grudgingly had agreed, slinking out the back door to make the phone calls while Theo listened at the window while munching on the cookies.

The next time the pack came over; it was all together and it was Christmas eve. This was when the two realize how much gossip the pack did. While they played board games at the crowded dinner table, Liam and Mason had fun baking cookies and pies in the kitchen. After a ridiculous game of Uno, Corey and Theo abandon the gaming table to decorate the cookies that had cooled. Theo eating more than he was decorating.

It was only when after a brief frosting fight with Corey that ended up with both Chimera’s faces covered in various color of sugar stickiness, did the question of Liam and Theo’s relationship get resolved. Liam had, laughing at the state of the two, snapped a quick photo before reaching up to wiped a particularly large goop off Theo’s forehead. The chimera had smirked before swooping down to land a quick kiss on the werewolf’s lips - leaving a colorful imprint behind. Liam had pushed him away laughing and grumbling, before shoving him and a laughing Corey towards the bathroom to wash up. Leaving the beta to fend off the exploding questions from Stiles.

It was a slow courtship, a word Lydia used and Theo scoffed at. More like, once school started, along with their jobs, they were busy again. Besides, Theo was never going to be a romantic wooing significant other. And he refused to be called partner or boyfriend. Partner was used for fighting supernatural baddies, and he wasn’t a partner, he was a half to a whole. That’s how relationships were for him, at least this one. If he was pressed for a term, which he wasn’t but if he was, he would probably say they were best friends. He knew that wasn’t accurate but the friendship was more important to Theo than whatever a romantic-ship was. Not that he didn’t the physical aspect of a relationship, because he loved that. But that came later, and slower, savoring each new aspect.

Liam, well, Liam was fine with just not labeling it. They were together and it didn’t necessarily need a title for him to be happy. His dad liked titles though, so when they had been over for a Friday night dinner, the beta had surprised the chimera and his parents when he said if they had to be called something then it can be committed.

[moisturecontrolservices]

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Turn-off any electrical items in wet areas (if safe to do so).

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Remove all small items off the wet carpet for protection.

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Commence to mop up excess water from timber floors first then tiles or vinyl. Remove any excess water where it is lying against timber based cupboards/kitchen benches.

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Mitigation and recovery of damaged property;

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Where possible, MCS “float dries” water damaged carpet. At the same time, the underlay, sub-flooring and skirting board area is dried and all in the shortest possible time frame. Furthermore, this method will minimise the browning affect which can be left on the surface of your carpet. Browning is where the jute backing wicks up the carpet fibre leaving a dark stain which is why carpet should not be dried on top. Our drying method means less time, less noise and less inconvenience to you.

MCS is converse in dealing with assessors, quantity surveyors, property managers, insurance companies, insurance brokers, body corporate management and real estate property managers (converse with tenancy rights). Separate reporting and invoicing between content damage, structural drying and common area restoration is standard practise for MCS thereby minimising your time with the administration of this unfortunate incident.

Work is undertaken with due care necessary to promote a safe working environment for all involved. Moisture Control Services OH&S standards are adopted for the protection of clients and our team members. All MCS technicians are experienced carpet layers, so you can rest assure your floor coverings are in safe hands.

No job is too big or small for MCS. With our team of experienced technicians we guarantee a quality end result and customer satisfaction.

Sewage Decontamination

MCS provides sewage damage expertise, assessment, restoration and remediation when you incur sewage contamination/inundation or flooding from outside to your apartment, unit, home, property, building affecting your carpet, furniture, ceiling, timber/wood floor, contents and walls. Our invoices are accepted by all insurance companies, body corporate managers and assessors.

Causes of sewerage decontamination and damage:

Sewage back-up

Blockage

Pipe backup,

Toilet overflow / leak

Burst sewage pipe

Sewage overflow particularly during heavy rain / storm

How to minimise damage before MCS arrives:

The first thing to do is try and limit the spread of contaminated water by closing the door to the toilet/bathroom with old rags/towels at the base of the door.

Call a licenced plumber, if they detect the cause or blockage is outside the boundary of the property contacts below for your respected council.

Brisbane City (Urban Utilities) Tel. 13 23 64

Logan City Council Tel.3412 3412

Redland City Council Tel. 3829 8999

Ipswich City Council Tel.3810 6666

Morton Bay Regional Council (Unity Water) Tel. 1300 086 489

Gold Coast City Council Tel. 1300 000 928

Scenic Rim Council Tel.5540 5111

Sunshine Coast City Council (Unity Water) Tel. 1300 086 489

In the meantime, mitigate further damage by taking the following steps:

Avoid cross contamination by using separate and dedicated footwear in the affected area. Change footwear on the edge of the contaminated floor-covering.

If you have a substantial area of your home/building affected where contaminated items need to be disposed, it is ideal to place plastic down over the unaffected areas exiting the house/property as close as possible to the contaminated area.

Turn-off any electrical items in the wet areas (if safe to do so).

If you have polished timber furniture, if moved as soon as possible after the incident at times this can be saved or alternatively if the item is too large to move, fold alfoil over several times and progressively work your way around the base of each timber item thereby protecting your furniture from the contaminated water/moisture.

Take photos and record all visible damage for insurance (if applicable).

If you have a full bookcase or large cupboard within the contaminated area, it should be emptied to allow MCS to remove this item.

CONTACT US

Moisture Control Services Unit 9/358 Nudgee Rd Hendra QLD 4011 Mon-Fri: 7:45am - 4:15pm 1800 800 675 24/7 Emergency response mcs@moisturecontrol.com.au

https://www.moisturecontrol.com.au

[eponymous-rose]

Things wrong with my apartment that have now been fixed:

Dishwasher had dirty dishes, caked-on soap and burned bits of plastic in it.

Ceiling leaked dramatically when it rained.

Freezer didn’t work.

Dryer didn’t work.

Range hood didn’t work.

Lights in living room and dining room didn’t work.

Light in bedroom didn’t work.

Shelf in bedroom closet snapped off.

Finally, finally, the amazing maintenance folks finished fixing everything up. A+ awesome, the guy even took home one of my bookcases that had been smashed in the move and fixed it up good as new! Going way above and beyond, this was clearly an unusual situation and they were quick to fix it, all good.

Signed off on the last work order today, settled in to enjoy my fully functional apartment...

... and my friggin washing machine started leaking a big ol’ puddle of water.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

The Seal Lullaby: Chapter 5

Chapter 5!

This one might feel a little bit shorter than the last because I’ve just started a nine to five job for four weeks so thats soaking up a lot of time. But still, I’m very proud of this chapter, in which the makeshift Hamilton family gets another member. Feedback would be insanely appreciated!

As always, so much thanks to some of the best people on this godforsaken earth @minky-for-short @childofdustandashes @purearcticfire @oversaturated-ocean

And huge, huge thanks to @brainypaperbullets @hollywoodx4 @kilocurican @arya-durin-77

Love you all

Alex sat cross legged on the sofa, his fingers so tightly tangled in his hair there was a definite chance he’d never get them loose. His eyes were fixed on Eliza as she paced back and forth like a caged tiger, anxiety and worry buzzing between the two of them.

“Alex?” Eliza moaned, stopping a minute to lean against the edge of the bookcase, pressing her free hand to the small of her back.

“Yeah?” he straightened up, waiting for instruction, eager for something, anything, to do to help.

“This fucking sucks,” she growled, her face twisting again.

Alex slumped, as lost as ever, as lost as he had been since Eliza had shaken him awake the night before after her first contraction. They must have passed fifty by now, a hundred, the sun was sinking below the horizon again and Alex had no more of an idea what to do now than he did then. Then, when his response to the fact that his wife was in labour had been to catapult to his feet so fast he nearly gave himself a concussion on the doorframe.

“I know, sweetheart,” Alex groaned, worrying the neck of his shirt now with anxious twisting hands, “Y’know I was reading, it’s because humans are bipedal? Like you guys evolved complex brains for thinking and the…the farming and the foraging and all that so that lead to bigger skulls on infants and then cos you walk on two legs that left less space for- “

“Alex?” Eliza grunted, cutting across his rambling, still braced against the bookshelf.

He bit his lip, “I…should shut up, shouldn’t I?”

“Good instincts,” she gasped, relaxing a little as the pain faded for now.

Alex closed his eyes, wishing that his run into the doorway had knocked him out. Maybe he would have been of more use to Eliza.

With all the books he’d been reading, the websites he’d been making pages and pages of notes from, the amount of times Eliza had patiently taken his hand and explained that no, they couldn’t do practise runs to the hospital, that would be a little too weird, how would they explain that to the reception lady? She already thought they were odd enough the amount of times Alex had been to the ER with electrical burns from forgetting that bread stuck in the toaster couldn’t be retrieved with a butter knife and regular burns in some very unusual places from not understanding the obvious dangers of cooking while naked.

With all of that, Alex had expected to feel more prepared for when it actually happened. But it had been nearly twenty-four hours, they’d driven the two hours to the hospital and back after being told that things weren’t ‘progressing’ enough and that Eliza needed to rest at home until it was ‘closer to the time’ and ‘there was no cause for panic just yet’. But now he was watching Eliza catch her breath and curl into a tight, painful ball every ten minutes, he couldn’t help but wonder how close things had to get because this sure felt a lot like panicking.

Alex just wanted to be able to do something. He just wanted some way he could make up for the fact that his Eliza, his beautiful Eliza was in pain and it was all his fault.

He’d held her until the sun came up, it hadn’t stopped her whimpering. He’d rubbed her shoulders but she still had to change positions every five minutes to stay on the bearable side of uncomfortable. He’d brought her ice and tied her hair back and painted her nails and read to her and rocked her but none of it had stopped her pains gradually getting worse to the point where she didn’t want him anywhere near her, apologetically shrinking away from his hands, preferring this restless, solitary pacing.

And all the while, a thought had started to grow in the stem of Alex’s brain, something black and restless that kept plucking at him with fingers like splintered tree branches nudging him. All they had to go on here was songs and stories, the information he’d been collecting like a magpie over the last few months could only take them so far. What if the reality was that he and Eliza just couldn’t work? Biologically, scientifically, physically?

And what if he’d only realised that too late to help her?

As Eliza gave another pained, keening cry, Alex forced himself to mentally smack the pinching, restless hands away. He could freak out as much as he wanted later, right now his mate needed him. He got to his feet, wiping as much of the anxiety and exhaustion from his face as he could manage, coming to stand by her, brushing errant hairs away from her pale face.

“Hey there,” Eliza whispered weakly, once the pain had faded enough to speak.

“Hey,” Alex couldn’t help but chuckle a little, awed by how brave and strong she was, “Come on, why don’t you sit down? Take another shower or something, that seemed to help?”

Eliza shook her head tightly, “Don’t think so. Think I want to keep moving.”

She couldn’t be sure of anything, she was only getting fractured information from her body in sharp, painful bursts, like she was tuned to the wrong radio station and all she had were garbled snatches of songs in languages she couldn’t place. It was sickeningly distressing; the only thing she knew for certain was that she hated it and wanted this to be over. Tears that didn’t just come from her physical pain were leaking from her eyes and dripping off her chin like a raw, endless waterfall.

Where are you? she thought, mournfully, her hands on her stomach

Alex gnawed on his lower lip as his hands kneaded her shoulders unconsciously, the way a cat paws at a soft surface for comfort. And then, in a moment of clarity, he had his first good idea all day.

Eliza tried not to moan piteously as she felt him move away. She knew she must be torturing her poor Alex, wanting him close and then pushing him back without warning, snapping and sobbing for him, moving between the two as errantly as butterfly wings. She knew every sound she made, every time he caught her face tightening and twisting, he felt a pain as deep and sharp as her own, that this had put him in one of his least favourite states- helplessness.

But the truth was that Eliza needed him desperately, no matter what came out of her mouth or what her hands did. If he hadn’t been here, she’d have crumbled a long time ago.

But Alex returned quickly, skittering around in the corner with something she didn’t have the strength to turn her head to see. And then the room was filled with sound, a hesitant scratching and a staticky crunch and then music. Fleetwood Mac. Her favourite.

Alex’s smile was tentative and a little coy when he moved back into her field of vision and offered her his hand, the palm cracked and calloused as it had been the day she first met him. Now Eliza could map the valley of it with her eyes closed.

“May I have this dance?” Alex looked disarmed, his face open and sweet in a way that made Eliza want to cry.

She really, really loved this guy.

“Sure,” she managed a rough smile, taking his hand and resting her head on his chest, letting his wiry frame hold her up too.

He guided her carefully to the middle of the room. There was a steady beat of rain on the window pane, one of the almost playful summer showers that had been bursting in and out of existence over the past few days like they were tied to some switch that kept getting leaned on accidentally. It seemed like the only change the weather ever experienced here was what kind of rain came down.

Not that Eliza was complaining, in the last few weeks she’d grown bigger than she’d thought it possible for a human to get and any kind of warmth had become instantly unbearable. The rain and shade was such a relief, a reminder that the world didn’t actually hate her and want her to suffer. Alex had actually found himself relegated to the couch some nights when Eliza just couldn’t stand to have the heat of another against her own, the baby inside her feeling like a little sun burning away underneath the film of her skin. He’d sworn blind he didn’t mind, he only wanted to help, she’d apologised with guilty tears in her eyes that he’d kissed away with his pillow tucked under his arm. But still, he’d discovered that every night he didn’t have her in his arms was full of nothing but nightmares.

That handful of restless, haunted hours was far behind them now. Alex had her in his arms and now, as he let her rock back and forth on the balls of her feet in vague time with the music, he felt like they were finally doing something. It felt purposeful, like action. And in any case, having her impatient heartbeat pressed against his own counted for a lot right now; it was hard to stay scared and anxious and helpless when he had that constant, steady reminder that she was here and she was real and she was his, every bit as much as he was hers. Far more than he would ever belong to himself. Despite that slight irregularity, the offbeat between the supernaturally faster pace of his heart and the slower, surer beat of Eliza’s, there would come a moment in amongst it all when the motion in and out would come exactly in time with one another. Alex’s mother had told him once, in a common Selkie way of trying to explain to a child how they straddled two very different worlds and truly belonged to neither, that Selkie heartbeats moved in time with the pull between the moon and the sea. But human hearts were attuned to the flickering of the sun, the steady pulse of heat energy through space. That gap could never be breached, it was sewn into the fabric of the universe, scribbled in bold on the chalkboard of patterns and equations that ruled a whole civilisation’s understanding.

But as Alex held his wife and swayed carefully with her to their favourite song, as her body fought its silent battle to bring their child into the world, he swore he felt that passing moment where they’d slip into harmonisation. Wavelengths would align and their hearts would beat in perfect synchrony maybe one time in every thirty. But it was enough.

“It was raining on the day I was born, too,” he murmured softly, caught up in the song of the raindrops and his own thoughts.

“Was it?” Eliza was surprised. Alex had yet to offer anything more than abstract scraps about his life before her and even those she’d had to tease out of his poetry, like pulling mismatched threads out of an old jumper. But this was solid fact, given to her to errantly and her curiosity made her lean in for more.

“Yeah,” Alex had a faraway smile on his face, his hands pressed to the small of her back to try and support her aching spine, “It wasn’t a storm exactly but it was raining pretty hard, enough to make the sea swell. Mama said it came up the walls of the cave, this little cavern tucked away along the shoreline of Puerto Rico. And there was birdsong.”

Eliza’s grip on his arm tightened, not with a contraction this time, but with fondness.

“No birdsong here,” she commented weakly, smiling wanly, her sentences coming in snatches in amongst heavy, laboured breaths, “All the birds are hiding away. If they have any sense.”

“We’ve got the next best thing,” Alex chuckled, bobbing his head in the direction of the record player.

Eliza nodded, “Song is song.”

“Song is song,” he echoed back to her, liking that little phrase.

Certainly, not for the first time in his life, Alex wished his mother was with him again. She’d have known exactly what to do right now, with the worrying fact that the pains were building and strengthening, crowding on top of each other and making Eliza buckle, but nothing was happening. Things just seemed to have stalled.

As much as she wanted to avoid it, Eliza was thrown onto his train of thought as Stevie Nicks’ voice was replaced by an almost acidic, awful scratch and hiss, the record’s end.

In the silence that followed, she whispered, “Something’s not right, isn’t it?”

Knowing what she meant and also knowing that lying to her would be wrong and useless, Alex nodded, “We’re just…missing something.”

It did feel like that, like things couldn’t progress until some last puzzle piece fell into place, some disconnected wires were brought close enough together for there to finally be a spark. As he thought, Eliza groaned and sank lower in his arms yet again, shaking and panting and adding a sting of urgency. Alex bit so hard on his lower lip he could taste blood, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her, straining his ears for the sound of the waves outside, that had always helped to calm him when he was anxious and needed to think…

Ah.

“You trust me, right, baby?” he murmured, cupping Eliza’s pale, sweat worn face in his shaking hands.

Too tired, too exhausted to speak, she just nodded.

“Then let’s get you a blanket…”

-

Eliza did have to remind herself forcefully that yes, she did trust him, when she saw what he was planning.

But as soon as he wrapped her most favourite blanket around her shoulders to help her thin cotton nightdress keep the chill off, the blissfully cooling rain misted on her burning skin and she knelt close enough to the shoreline that there was an oddly soothing, grounding spray of salt against her back, she realised Alex knew exactly what he was doing. Everything clicked into place and deep buried instincts took hold of her, strong enough that she could almost believe she could do this.

There was still pain, of course, an amount so dangerously close to more than Eliza could bear. Her screams and growls must have echoed down the whole beach, permeating the mist like some kind of banshee or twisted version of a siren was haunting the coast. But she was somewhere too far away to notice that she was even screaming, that hours were slipping past like the shifting sand under her hands and knees. All she was aware of was her nerves on fire and Alex’s endless encouragement and the rumbling, regular voice of the sea joining with her husband’s as they both told her that she could do this, she was doing so well, just a little more. At some point Alex started to sing, a song very similar and yet somehow leagues away from the one he sang before. The cadence, the tone, the painfully raw vulnerability of this one told Eliza that this wasn’t a lullaby. It was a love song, one that twisted and roiled and wept and it was all for her. With it, with Alex’s hands and his salt tinged kisses, Eliza managed to stay anchored and focused enough until there was a final rush, a white-hot sunburst behind her eyes and a new voice joined the rest.

Well, not exactly a voice, more of a sound that was on its way to becoming a voice, something stumbling and hesitant and finding its feet. A little snuffling and squeaking that Eliza reached towards with an ache more powerful than anything she’d ever felt before. Alex was sobbing somewhere in the distance, some part of her brain vaguely wondered why, but she was dragged towards this new, warm weight in her arms like her vision, her whole focus in life, was swimming and shifting and resetting to revolve around this new treasure.

“Hello there,” she murmured softly, her voice cracking and snapping with overuse, bringing her baby closer to her face so she could drink in every single detail, “Hey there, little one.”

Warm, amber skin. A damp tangle of dark and full curls, soft and slick like a seal pup’s fur. A gentle heart shaped face, a rosy birthmark on the bridge of a sloping, prominent nose. Full lips upturned in the sweetest smile Eliza had ever seen, no tears or fussing or wailing, just a beautiful, curious smile.

“Oh god, Alex, he’s perfect ,” she broke into sobs, clinging to her newborn son and covering his face with kisses before pulling Alex in towards her and kissing him as hard and as fiercely as her body could manage, hoping that all of the things she felt for him in that moment could come across in their touch because she knew there would never ever be words, on land or sea, for something like this.

From the way Alex wept with raw, almost-too-much-to-carry joy and rested his forehead against her own as his hand joined hers on the top of their son’s head, holding him together, Eliza felt he got the message.

-

One of the things that surprised and scared Alex most about his new life on land was his deepened capacity for emotion.

Wearing his sealskin, living a life governed by tides and moons and seasons, everything had felt dulled. It was as if the leagues of water dampened more than just sound and light; problems were limited to finding enough food, having a place to hide from the rain and the sharp teeth of whatever was bigger than him. The consequences were dire but the emotions attached were simple and raw, basic desires and ingenuous drives that never broke the colour scheme of the world he lived in. Grey, blue, green, fear, need, pain. It had always been so easy to follow.

But here things were so bright, feelings were so deep and sharp to touch, hard to hold and heavy to carry around all the time. He learned so many new words in such a short space of time by feeling them tear through his heart, making him burst out laughing or cry suddenly with no explanation, double over in shock when he was doing nothing more than standing at the kitchen sink, shudder with almost sickening fear whenever he was bolted out of sleep. How humans had walked around feeling this much, this intensely, since the day they were born, it was beyond him.

And love was the fiercest and most staggering burn he’d felt of any of them. So much that he’d felt afraid over these last months, so many times as he’d lain awake caressing Eliza’s swollen stomach in an effort to calm their baby. He worried that with everything he felt for her, his mate, that there just wouldn’t be enough room in his heart to love this little baby too. That when he finally had them in his arms, he’d just…melt. Break. Shatter from the pressure of trying to hold too much heat, like glass under the heel of just the right note or sandstone crumbling to dust. Surely in Alex, who’d been alone and closed off and cold for so long, just so he could survive, it would be too much. Surely there was a limit to how much one heart could hold?

But from the very first second that Alex felt his hands dip under the weight of his son, an unfamiliar sensation and yet his arms moved to support and cradle and hold like they were made for this alone and nothing else, he discovered what it meant to love someone. What he felt for Eliza was more…preordained. Written into his very DNA, she was his mate, he was hers and loving her came as naturally to him as breathing, the paths of their lives were joined and couldn’t be separated. But with his son, he made a choice. In the first second he held him and watched his dark eyes, ringed with light like there was a spark trapped in their deep blue irises, open and fix on the faces of his parents, Alex made a choice. He loved this little baby, he’d do anything and everything under the sun for him, he’d spend the rest of his life making sure he was safe and happy and protected. It was a long time before he could even breathe, the wonder of it was so great.

He’d laugh about it in the following hours as he helped Eliza to her feet, half carried her back to the house and into the shower and then into bed, their son never leaving the safe nest of her arms, steady and sure no matter how much the rest of her trembled with exhaustion. When his wife, his gorgeous, beautiful, powerful, incredible wife- there would never, ever be enough words in either of their languages to describe what he felt for her after watching her deliver their baby but damn it, he was going to try- had finally had to fall asleep, and he’d been left alone with his son, he laughed. He sat in the chair by the window, watching the raindrops run and join and swell and part across the glass, his son gently cheeping and snuffling and gnawing toothlessly on his shoulder in a whole chorus of questioning and gentle noises that made Alex’s heart swell. It was strange, when their little one had been growing inside Eliza he’d seemed like an enormity, she’d seemed to grow bigger than life itself, a vast island. But now he was here, his own entity, he was just so small. Alex could hold him in one palm, if the compulsion hadn’t been to clasp him as tightly as he dared, so light and delicate and precious, making his father think of pieces of sea glass and grass stems and eggshells and bird skulls.

But it wasn’t this odd juxtaposition that made Alex laugh, gently as he could so he didn’t disturb his baby son. Not that he’d cried once since he was born, he seemed just a little too curious about everything around him to cry just yet. No, Alex laughed at the sheer absurdity, how naïve he’d been just a few days ago, to think that he couldn’t love his little son, that there wasn’t room in him to feel it. Alex had learned very quickly, down on the beach in that one second he shifted from just a worried, anxious semi-adult into a father, that humans bodies came equipped with hearts as vast as the ocean he’d spent most of his life in. That the capacity for love held within such unassuming ribs was limitless, a number up there with the amount of stars in the sky, blades of grass on the earth, all the words ever spoken and all that would be spoken across years. A number so big it wasn’t even really a number, it was a concept.

Plenty of room for such a little thing, Alex snorted and chuckled to himself, hitching his son further up his shoulder to a more secure perch. More than enough. They’d discussed names, he and Eliza, who he kept stealing glances over to and being floored every single time by her mere existence, they had a boy’s name chosen and picked out and playfully argued over. Alex had been hesitant to attach it to their little one just yet, to pin it to him while Eliza slept. But it was becoming more and more clear as the moments went by and he avidly drank in every single little movement and snuffle from his son, that no other name was going to fit him quite as well. It was like he’d come out of Eliza wearing it like a badge.

Alex held him gently but securely, as he moved him from his shoulder to his arms so he could see his son’s face, look into his eyes as he murmured,

“I love you, Philip. Your Pops loves you.”