#Red Oak Manor Collection

[redappleswoman]

RECENSIONE: Jaded ( Red Oak Manor Collection #9 ) di Robin C.

Axel Porter segue due semplici regole: nessun legame al di fuori della famiglia che lo ha adottato e nessuna distrazione dalla gestione del proprio impero finanziario.Del ragazzino che si è lasciato alle spalle Red Oak Town conserva la forza con cui ha cancellato i ricordi d’infanzia e l’affetto che ancora lo lega ad Amos e Noah – gli unici amici che abbia mai avuto.Dietro ai suoi costosi abiti…

[anachrosims]

[TS4 CC] COUNTRY MANOR COLLECTION: PART 2

Hello there!!

Here’s part 2 of the Country Manor Collection. ^^ 

This series was inspired by a build I’m currently working on that’s centered around my sims and the potential royal family story I’d like to write..... eventually...

WHAT YOU GET:

Round Portraits: My first from-scratch mesh! Yay! A whopping 68 swatches, all in gold frame, featuring new portraits & old favorites. Spec map, shadow, all that good stuff. 676 Polys. Not all swatches shown, that gif would be massive. Includes portraits spanning the last 500 years.

Royal Carpeting: 22 swatches total, all shown; pulled from real luxury and royal carpet patterns! Perfect for your palaces and country home getaways, or if you just want to feel fancy.

Grand Hall Portraits: 50 swatches total; 25 portraits in gold and brown frames. Not all swatches are shown--the gif is showing off the new portraits. Vampires frame but it IS basegame compatible! Includes portraits spanning the last 500 years.

Heraldic Wallpaper: 9 swatches total, all shown; heraldic goldleaf on red, green, and blue fields with white, brown, and dark brown wainscot options.

Grand Hall Panels: 32 swatches total, all shown; carved oak panels inspired by Tudor British oak palace and castle walls.

LODs, shadows, spec/normal maps on all.

Color and style tags as well!

TOU:

Keep these textures and meshes FREE! NO paywalls, NO ads, NO link shorteners. Feel free to include in build Mod files that are NOT behind paywalls! Feel free to convert to other games! 

As always, let me know if there’s anything janky, and have fun!!

-

-->GET IT HERE @ PATREON, FREE, NO ADS!!<--

-

@mmccfinds / @maxismatchccworld / @allhistoricalcc / @sssvitlanz / @rococo4thesims / @sims4historicalccfinds / @emilyccfinds / @southernsccfinds

[liminalpebble]

🎄🕯An Unhinged Yuletide Gathering🕯🎄

My darlings! 💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️

It's time for a festive unhinged gathering! Arrive in your loveliest ball gowns and with your thottiest thots and feel free to share away! The more, the merrier! I'm thrilled to have every single one of you here. This time, I invite you all to a lavish Scandinavian manor house.

We can watch the snow and the northern lights from the lovely art nouveau observatory of the highest tower. Throughout the evening, the roaring hearths, lush decorations, and golden glow of luxurious interiors will keep us very content. There will be decedant warm beverages aplenty, a scrumptious dinner, and spread after spread of desserts.

The company is, of course, also a mouthwatering collection of our exquisite fictional men.

Jonathan Pine is in a brand new and very smart three piece suit, welcoming you with an incandescent smile as he guides you in. He smells deliciously of expensive cologne and the single festive red rose pinned to his lapel. Before he takes his leave, he holds your hand in both of his and makes some very intense eye contact, saying, "and Miss, if there's anything at all I can do for you, please don't hesitate to find me."

You barely catch your breath as you move further past polished oak doors into the large glimmering ballroom where Loki is lounging on a velvet couch, some elaborate mixed drink balanced in his lovely ivory hand. He charms us all with tale after tale as our cheeks get warm and we take turns feeding him teasing little bites of cake.

Thomas Sharpe stands brooding in his finest tuxedo, desperately waiting for his chance at a waltz with you as you look so lovely this evening.

Eddie...delicous, sweet, snarky Eddie Munson snuck in with the caterers. His big chocolate button eyes scan the crowd of lovely ladies, and he gives a big dimpled grin. With no regard at all for the job he signed up for, he shrugs off the uniform top, smooths out the Iron Maiden shirt beneath it, and swaggers over.

"Welllllll, hello lovely ladies!", he declares as he plops on the couch next to Loki, even daring to cross his legs over the god's lap and steal a sip of his drink. Loki stares at this bushy-haired miscreant with a leathal glare that cracks delightfully into a big euphoric grin. One trickster obviously appreciates the charisma of another.

Adam keeps to himself, playing the most beautiful piece of music on an antique lute. He feels a rare flicker of joy as he anticipates candlelit ghost stories on Christmas night (a sweet revival of a Victorian tradition). The faintest twitch of a smile moves his lips as he thinks of all this...delcious...company he'll have the pleasure of experiencing it with.

Hux sits alone, reading in a quiet parlor. The general's lovely hands stroke his beloved ginger cat, Millicent, as he plays out chess games within his powerful mind. His lovely green eyes flick towards you as he hears your footsteps, and he smiles wickedly. You're the only distraction he allows here, afterall...and what an enjoyable one you are.

Thank you for joining the party, my loves. Who else do you see? What does the evening have in store for us? Have you brought something interesting? Oh, do tell. *wink*

Welcome and happy holidays! 💃 🎄

Peb 💜

@acidcasualties @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @holdmytesseract @infinitystoner @smolvenger @tripleyeeet @take-everything-you-can @leelei1980 @unlucky-number-13 @unfocused81 @sweetsigyn @veemoon @loz-3 @little-wormwood @littlespaceyelf @glitchquake @viv-annelore @peachyjinx @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @marcotheflychair @mochie85 @muddyorbs @sailorholly @holymultiplefandomsbatman @thedistractedagglomeration @hellfirenacht @thenerdyoldersister @alexakeyloveloki @lemongingerart @eddiethehunted @fanfic-collection @girl-next-door-writes @fictive-sl0th @mischiefmaker615 @icytrickster17 @ladyofthestayingpower @goblingirlsarah @chokeanddagger @loopsisloops @slutty-thevampireslayer @coldnique @eddies-house @fairyysoup @jennyggggrrr @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @elegantkoalapaper

[iwannabecalledawriter]

N°8

Two people are having a picnic somewhere. They spot something approaching in the distance.

The grass was surprisingly green for the time of year. The leaves were just turning red, like a faint blush along the hillside. A clearing stretched down to the south, bordering a small town called Woodedge. The sun was high, it was just passed noon.

On the other side of the hill there lay a humble estate. A crumbling barn, the proud stables, and a manor, now long out of style, formed a triangle around which crowded a dense forest. A patch of land had been divided into sections for a vegetable patch, an orchard and a botanical garden. A splendid one at that, full of blossoms no matter the time of year.

But this is not where our story begins, for Victor and Anastasia were just cresting the hill, the first swinging a large basket and the latter with a blanket under her arm. They had left early this morning, wanting to make the most of this last clear, sunbathed day in October.

They settled themselves below an oak tree with enough leaves left to provide shade and emptied the basket’s contents onto the red and white checkered blanket. It was a small feast. Mother had insisted Cook make them each three sandwiches and some warm soup to fight the brisk air. She’d also given them some cheese and apples from the garden, and Victor had snuck in some of last night’s sponge cake.

They sat, eating, talking, sleeping. Taking in the year’s last sunrays. They hadn’t had much time alone since Victor arrived two weeks ago, the furthest they’d been was to the stables when Anastasia’s younger sister Theadora dragged them out to show Victor her favourite mare.

Mostly, the rain had kept them trapped in the manor. Though perhaps trapped wasn’t the right word. Dozens of rooms were left unused, an ideal playground for two seventeen year olds looking for entertainment. Some were completely empty, some simply had sheets covering the ancient furniture, some were locked. Others wore the remnants of a more opulent time: gilded wallpaper, cushioned chairs and lace tablecloth, crystal chandeliers, italian vases, ancestral portraits. Victor and Anastasia played at being royalty, the duke and duchess of the estate, burying and uncovering the secrets of the manor.

But Mother kept Anastasia busy with her chores and studies, leaving Victor in his rooms with his tutor. Father was absent as ever but had made his thoughts on the impropriety on the situation known. It was likely the reason Mother hadn’t left them much time alone. No amount of pleading, explaining or complaining was enough to make her understand their friendship. In fact, she’d threatened to let Theodora accompany them on their picnic but Anastasia had played deaf and dragged Victor to the kitchen to collect their lunch.

Victor was teaching her how to make flower chains when a figure cast a shadow on their blanket nest. Anastasia looked up first, squinting. A girl was walking in their direction. The wind lifted the ribbon of her large hat, gently pulling at loose curls. The light created a silhouette around her, as if she was stepping right out of the sun.

“Lizzie!” called Victor. Anastasia didn’t miss the way his eyes tracked her approach.

[robertnelson2-blog]

Southwind Retirement Residence Sudbury Ontario

The Retirement Manor home offers you premium retirement living options in a quiet, residential community in beautiful Greater Sudbury. Local shops and trails, as well as fitness centre and other amenities are right at your doorstep. Southwind Retirement Residence Sudbury Ontario

Thrive in a flexible, stimulating retirement home where there’s always lots to do independently or in groups, and even more to discover about yourself.  Red oaks retirement home Sudbury

At The Retirement Manor, you’ll enjoy all the bonuses of retirement living without ever giving up your independence. This is the place to savour life and all it has to offer with a curated collection of things to do. Every day is about choice. Every day is entirely up to you.

[noctua-lux]

Synopsis: Displaced foreigners from a distant land make their way to Mondstadt under the eye of its defender. What troubles are on the horizon?

Tags: multi-part, slow burn, dilcu x oc, diluc pov, diluc gives workaholic vibes, slow update

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Mostly using this for writing practice. The entire story progression is sketched out from start to finish, but writing takes time. Please forgive slow pace of updates.

~♡♡♡~

Chapter One: A Timely Warning

The Pillar of Wine Society. The Gem of the Wind Lands. The Pride and Joy of Mondstadt… These are all titles that Diluc has heard used for the Dawn Winery before. The land of his forebearers has long been touted as the most lucrative in all Mondstadt. Though becoming its guardian was always a position he’d known he'd take, no one could have foreseen just how soon. Likely too soon for a young man just navigating his twenties, yet the drunks and common folk of Mondstadt had still never seen the youthful wine baron as anything but a dutiful artisan. A reputation that he wasn’t going to sully, not for himself nor for his late father's good name.

Bust days that the Dawn Winery were hardly rare. At pretty much any time, any visitors could see sunbaked gardeners dotting the rows of pruned vines or crewmen carrying sealed oak barrels to ferment in the cellars. For his part, Diluc was busy in his study, a stately room of rich cedar walls encased with shelf upon shelf of files and books. Hunched over his desk with papers in hand, the sunlight cast from his windows ignited his hair like fine strands of a roaring fire. Wherever else it traveled, it made shadows across the velvet of his chairs or illuminated the brushstrokes on his father’s paintings. A refined atmosphere fit for commerce and dealings, even if it were only the consideration of badly needed corks for the next harvest like that day.

Though every area of the manor could be considered extravagant, Diluc had always found himself most partial to this room above all. It was within these wooden walls, sat atop his father’s lap, that he got his first look into what being a businessman looked like. What diligence looked like. Even now, many of the movements he would make at the old oak desk mirrored those from his memories. Every dip of his quill or letter torn open, right down to the red wax he’d drip onto envelopes to press in the winery’s seal. Just an echo of who had sat in his chair before him… Though the mundane drag of signing papers and reading reports could weigh on him over time, the familiarity of the past always brought him a little peace.

The silence of the lavish room was broken by Diluc’s own groan when he forced his back to straighten after what felt like ages. His spine protested immediately, popping and cracking at frankly concerning volume for his young age… He had been considering different supply proposals for hours, weighing their offers against the winery’s stores and squinting against the fine print until his sight had become blurry... But just as he thought about taking a break, a tentative knock on the hardwood door snapped him to attention.

A familiar wave of tension swept down Diluc’s weary body, ‘Great… has something else gone wrong?’ he thought as he set a neatly stacked collection of parchment to the side. His other one massaged the bridge of his nose without thinking, offering just a moment's relief from the throbbing growing behind his eyes… Thoughtful minds would tell him that he should close them for now before going out on his nightly patrols, but ever the workhorse, Diluc didn't dwell on his fatigue for long before forcing his body into cooperation. He steadily fixed his posture, even if it were only one joint at a time, and waved to the door.

“Come in…” he said with his usual tenor, despite wishing the mystery visitor would take their presence elsewhere. A soft but shrill squeak punctuated his request as the door protested against its hinges, a consequence of living in a home as old as his manor... Adelinde’s heels clicked against the hardwood when she strode towards his desk, her hands folded in front of her.

The head maid's affable presence was at least more welcome to him now than Elzer's. As much as he owed the old man, his whole demeanor had slowly begun to shift as the Winery’s workload continued to grow as of late… The relief was fleeting, though, as Diluc saw in her eyes that her purpose here wasn't merely to chat… There was a firmness in them, the same look he'd seen her give when she’d lecture him and Kaeya as teens to get up and start their morning routines.

“A letter has come in for you, sir,” she said in her ever-respectful tone used mostly when she interrupts him, “I believe that you may want to see it.”

Diluc exhaled sharply from his chest, his worst fears seemingly confirmed in an instant.

“Can't it wait…?” he replied, fighting back the strain in his voice. He really wasn’t in the mood for another chore to oversee... Though whether or not Adelinde found his acting convincing, her back straightened up as she looked down at him with fixed resolve. When she opened her folded hands for him to see what she was holding…

No. No, this could not wait.

In Adelinde's palms, standing out against the white fabric of her gloves was a weathered blue canister that he both loathed and welcomed to see. A promise of future boons or incoming disasters…

“Ah, I see now.” Diluc outstretched one of his hands towards hers, where she deposited the hollow casing to its rightful owner. The canister felt light in his grasp, light enough to be carried by an avian messenger to the Winery's backyard. “I trust this is all?”

“Yes, for now, sir. How are the preparations coming along?” A sympathetic smile graced Adelinde's lips as she surely caught the way his shoulders slouched for just a split second…

“I think I'll bring you some tea, then.” she said placidly, seemingly attempting to excuse herself, but Diluc knew she only wished to give him space. Whether to rest at his desk or read his note, however, he couldn’t say…

“I wouldn't mind that. Thank you…” the response left his mouth more like an idle thought than an actual reply. His mind was already elsewhere the moment he saw the cylinder now at his disposal.

It had been nearly a year since he joined the network that saved his life, though if he were being honest, there was still an awful lot about it that he still didn't know. From what he could tell, it spanned across almost every hub of civilization with informants from all walks of life and industry... Yet, to him, that also seemed to barely scratch the surface. What he did know, however, was that though he had claimed to have lofty connections before joining, being in their ranks now had given him contacts he could've never dreamed to have roped together before. Some were well-known, others mysterious, but everyone looked out for each other in their own ways…

Diluc worked to unscrew the canister’s lid which gave him little resistance. A tiny strip of paper, not much wider than a finger, slid out of it and onto his desk. The parchment was heavily textured, he’d guess made in Liyue, with a thin red cord knotted to keep it closed. Diluc’s gloved hands fidgeted with the small knot briefly before freeing the paper and the message inside. However, he didn't bother to try and read the writing. Not yet. He had been with the organization long enough to know that their intel drops were always coded, but the key to the cipher could always be found in an innocuous book drop. This month’s choice was apparently the third edition of the Drunkard’s Tale collection… an irony that was not lost on him.

Having the book close to his desk meant he could pull it out quickly, flipping to every page indicated by the sequence of numbers within the paper. It took him only a half-hour to decode, unscramble, and rearrange what had become a familiar pattern, finally leaving him with the information he sought:

‘Foreigners seen at Liyue border. Thirty traveling by caravan. Mondstadt bound. Masked individuals spotted. Stay vigilant.’

The message turned Diluc’s blood cold, only to then reignite it again like the heat from his ruby Vision. Thirty travelers? People in masks? Was it a Fatui plot? An invasion?? His pulse was already quickened when he rose to his feet from his chair, lips pursed. ‘No, no… The Fatui still have diplomatic relations with Mondstadt so such a large-scale infiltration would be seen as an aggression,’ he thought.

Diluc tore the message apart between his fingers and then set it alight in the palm of his hand. Flecks of white paper scattered in the air then crumbled away into blackened soot… Whatever the case, it was fortunate that this intel got to him as soon as it had. A group that large traveling from Liyue could still reach Mondstadt in only two, maybe three days. It gave him time to prepare…

His wine-hued eyes drifted off towards the study’s window, casting over the rows of lush green vines stretched for miles beyond the manor’s vantage point... A part of him knew Elzer would be cross if he chose to step away from his duties now, what with the winery’s coming anniversary to consider, but it couldn’t wait. If Fatui were truly marching on their borders, they would choose a time like this to catch him off guard, wouldn’t they? Elzer could understand… Surely…

Diluc closed his eyes, swallowing down a small, uncomfortable lump in his throat for stepping away from his staff yet again… But it was always better to be safe than sorry.

‘Always…’

[sunxdusk]

( caress ): for the sender (Haleir) to caress the receiver’s (Briengr) cheek. It could be nothing...the enchanter is blind, after all...

A mile downstream, where the two maple oaks grew together into one, Briengr sat beneath the branches, slowly sharpening his blade. The air that played with his long blonde hair was crisp and carried the smell of fallen leaves, and the trickling of the brook was ever-changing like the notes of a subtle birdsong that heralded the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. And yet, the Rift was trapped in a perpetual state of autumn, a fact that delighted the golden-skinned elf as he enjoyed his long walks beneath the colorful trees and the smell of hardy earth stuck solid beneath his feet.

Briengr sharpened his blade and waited with an anticipation that filled his empty belly with discomfort and a longing like simmering embers in his chest as his pointed ears twitched, straining to listen for the sound of Haleir’s approach.

Briengr came here often just to be alone, spending endless hours wading in the cold clear waters where the brook became deeper, darker, and stiller. He would search for rare rocks that hid their patterns when dry but were brilliantly ornate and gleaming when wet, keeping the choice ones for his collection to brighten Lakeview Manor. And as the sun peeked at them through the leaves, he would lay alone, half-naked on the soft beds of green moss, finding that they were strangely warm despite the climate.

He was not supposed to wander so far from Riften… No one was. There were dangers. Bandits who sometimes raided villages, taking what they pleased. Vampires in search of fresh blood. Or soldiers who abandoned the posts to lead a life of dishonor. But the victims of such attacks were just sacks of meat, and he was a wolf. There was no real danger in the southeastern valleys, and those of the Old Holds from Ivarstead to Shor’s Stone were a frightened flock of hens too scared to leave their farms and wooden houses. But he was of Hircine’s brood and was not afraid of the land he’d been raised in.

So, when he heard the crackling of dry leaves underfoot and smelled a familiar, cool scent, Briengr’s grim expression brightened, and he sheathed his blade with a delicate quickness. His heartbeat quickened, and he held his breath to better hear, smiling softly when a familiar, pale figure appeared and made his way towards him, his cheeks a ruddy red from exposure to the Rift’s bright sun. And yet, the extra color only made him look all the more beautiful, his snow-white hair swishing due to his swaying gait.

By the Nine, what other talents aside from looking like a dream of winter did Haleir have? The Enchanter looked lean, beautiful, and dangerous, his pale face carved from ice, his pale blue eyes solemn and gleaming; Haleir was probably capable of things that would give his Beast pause, but Briengr did not fear him.

And yet, Briengr’s nerves jangled as Haleir took the few steps he needed to reach him. Haleir was so close now that Briengr had to take a subtle step back; he could feel the heat emanating from Haleir’s body and smell the cool, frigid scent of his snowy skin. Haleir cupped his cheek in his palm, thumb rubbing lightly over the shadows fatigue had smudged under Briengr’s eyes, making their greenness seem even more profound.

Haleir was so close that Briengr could trace the shape of his delicate nose, his curling lashes that he’d never noticed.

“Can you feel me?” Briengr asked shakily, slowly raising a calloused hand to enclose the delicate, pale wrist.

@winterfollows

[normal-horoscopes]

The Abandoned Signs III:

Aries: A cruise liner, half-capsized in a bay of mangroves.

Taurus: A theater with a broken roof. Sunlight shines on rows of empty seats.

Gemini: An empty paper mill. Collapsed floor collecting dust and lichens.

Cancer: A housing block. Creepers, blooming early autumn red, reach slow fingers into empty rooms.

Leo: A greenhouse, ceiling open. Curtains of plant life hang to overgrown seedbeds.

Virgo: A manor in birch wood. Pale walls and cracked frescoes. Dry leaves cover the floor.

Libra: A steam locomotive, rust-red and motionless on a mountain ridge. Brush presses flush against ancient wheels.

Scorpio: A white sedan parked on a brick sidewalk. A collapsed arch resting upon the hood. Kudzu covers the windshield.

Ophiuchus: A small and empty church, grey as the fog. Stone facade heavy with standing water.

Sagittarius: An empty factory floor. Snow covers rusting metal scrap, heavy and soft.

Capricorn: A blue car, parked hubcap-deep in a still lake. The sky reflected like a mirror in the surface.

Aquarius: A steel mill. Smokestack towers above mingled brick and wild oak. A clear blue sky.

Pisces: A power plant. Empty concrete shapes, little amphitheaters, where the dynamo’s used to be. An audience of honeysuckle and broken glass.

[revenge-is-dead]

The Morbid Things About Time- a Vexleth fic

Time was a difficult topic within the De Rolo household. All of the children are quarter elves and Gwendolyn a beautiful ruby Tiefling. The life expectancy being, quite long. Something that had been plaguing Vex'ahlia’s mind more with each passing day. Seeing her beautiful husband grow older and having a more difficult time getting around. Years of tinkering and explosions caused his ears to become less keen. Pain striking his body as he moved due to the many chemicals that he has inhaled and the ones that have come into contact with his skin. Walking with a cane, taking potions and medicine to lessen the stabbing pain. To be there for his children, friends, wife and Whitestone. First it was the lights, the streets of Whitestone once it hits a certain time of day they flick on, a unique and pleasant green light illuminating the streets making sure no one was ever scared again walking alone.

He then proceeded to build the clocktower, a single but beautiful chime one half of the hour has passed, and at each other the stain glass opens to show a spinning metallic diorama, a dark figure holding a candle with a bear next to its side, as it moves, the figure shifting to a Raven and flying off. A song that captures the town as the hour hits every day. The song is programmed to change with each season, a lovely little touch requested from Keyleth. 

As his body proceeded to be less spry and creakier. She loved her Husband to the vast planes and back. But yet the isolating thought that once he passes, she will still live on for many, many years. Along with their children, most of them having a life expectancy of 150, Vex herself most likely living past 180 unless she does something foolish. But the thing is. Percy is a human, a regular old human, the life expectancy being a 100 at best but due to all that his body has suffered along with his mind. It’s sensible and realistic that it could be less. A frightening, and cold surrounding that kept her awake.

Now here she was, within the vast and brightly lit Whitestone Manor Library. Signing away mindlessly at documents that were way too formal for her sinking mind. On the Chaise longue she laid. Though the cushions did nothing for her, resting in this position for too long. Her back and neck were protesting from the lack of movement. She couldn’t really continue working even though she technically should really be getting this done. But yet she couldn’t, the poking and prodding of her worrying mind kept her from working properly. 

Getting up slowly from where she lay on the couch, stretching before walking quietly over the desk that was within the library. A beautiful, polished oak that had many drawers, a few hidden ones that Percy insisted on having in it. Pulling at one of the iron handles, grabbing out the enchanted scroll, along with a stunning raven's feather quill and some shimmer magenta ink. A deep breath, a closing of eyes before opening them and scribbling the note. Holding it in her hand is a quick spoken word of elvish before it burns up and disappears. 

“My beloved Kiki, I have been having some troubling feelings that I wish to discuss with you. I know you are very busy with being the voice of your people, but I believe you can help me during this time. Come at your soonest convenience, my love. - Vex, of Whitestone Manor”

Moving back to where she had left her papers, ink and quill and now cold tea. Collecting her papers, putting the ink and quill back at the desk, she grabs her cup of cold tea. Walking through the halls, dropping off her papers in her study before heading to the kitchen and dropping her cup off in the sink.

—

Only twenty minutes later, when Vex is back in the library. Waiting anxiously for the red headed half elf to make her way into the castle. The book was along the lines of the different flora, fauna, monsters and biomes within the area under the Whitestone rule. Most of the things talked about in the book she already knew from her time living here and going out into the woods with Trinket.

“Vexy? Where are you?” The familiar warm high voice of Keyleth rang out through the halls, her soft airy foot falls also being heard.

“In the library Darling!” She yelled to the younger female. Her face flushed with the talk that was soon to come, the embarrassment of all of her feelings bubbling up. Looking up briefly she sees her good friend before once again she takes a deep breath. Closing her book and setting it down. 

“I-I, saw your message. Are you okay? Did something happen? Are the kids okay?” Keyleth ran her hands through her fizzled hair. Surprisingly, her antler circlet was not on her head.

“Yes yes, the children are completely okay. Being lovingly little shits, probably chasing Trinket and Charlie around.” Key smiled at her, walking towards her, her eyes warm and looking over her form. “I am, okay. My thoughts are simply just all over the place and I cannot work.” She messed with the cover of the book. Looking down at her slim yet calloused hands. Scars all over her fingers from cuts, messing up with arrows and all the variety of battles they had faced. “Sit down darling” Keyleth sat down in front of her on the floor. Looking at Vex with her full attention, endearing really.

“We are both half elves” She started off slowly, picking at the worn cover’s edges trying to gather the words to speak. “We are granted a long-life span of one hundred and fifty, maybe even more if we take care of ourselves quite well. And with your powers you have even longer.” A pause, a look from Keyleth trying to piece together what Vex was trying to say. “The thing is. Percy is simply a human and from the abuse that his body has suffered. It's been on my mind of how little time I have with him left. I love him so dearly and he has been by my side for so long. I simply cannot go back to the days where it was just. Me.” Tears had welled up in her eyes while she had been speaking.

“Vex, oh my god.” The red-haired girl looked like she wanted to say more but she simply grabbed Vex’s hand and rubbed her thumb over the soft but scarred skin on the top of her hand. “Time is an uncomfortable uncontrollable thing. It moves so quickly and takes away. I do not want to diminish your feelings on this at all, I understand completely. Having our friends and companions who are humans, seeing them grow older is a hard thing to see. I wish in many ways with my powers to make it stop and breathe them more life.”

A bitter wet laugh comes from her mouth before she could even stop it. “But that's a whole new hell that no one should go through darling”

Keyleth simply nodded. “It's a selfish want and the idea of putting that magic onto someone without properly knowing the effects would be incredibly dangerous. It's unfortunately accepting the reality and trying to enjoy the time you have with the person you love while they are still here instead of looking at the morbid future.” The freckled girl had gotten up in the moment of silence between them. Sitting next to Vex never once letting go of her hand. “I am here for you; I share the feeling of completely love. You are not alone at all.”

Vex, crying softly now leaned into Keyleth. Enjoying the warmth as the other's arms wrapped around her comfortingly, grounding her to the moment. A kiss to her hair.

“Kiki, thank you. I appreciate you coming all of the way here to listen to me ramble”

“It's no problem at all. You know it will always be here for you. I will always drop everything to be by your side.” Looking up towards her friend, a sweet smile looks down on her. Leaning up her hand going to Keyleth’s cheek she kisses her. A soft chaste kiss of a ‘thank you’ and a responding ‘always’.

[justcourttee]

Can you do one where all the Wayne’s meet marinette before knowing she’s dating Damian and something happened to her parents and Bruce already has the adoption papers and damiens like no father u can’t adopt my gf

This is so cute and was so much fun to write. Hope this is something like what you had in mind :) @leagrey

Family Dinner

“I would like to apologize in advance. Father and his feral mistakes are very lively people and I fear they will take too much of a liking to you. If it is at all uncomforting, just squeeze my hand and we will leave.”

Marinette glanced over as Damian stared menacingly at the oak doors in front of them. It had only been a year since she had met him, but he had never once mentioned the idea of her meeting his family. Maybe it was because he knew today was special and he knew that meeting them was her only request of him for the longest time.

“Do you feel uncomfortable Damian? If so, please don’t put yourself in this position because of me.”

“Tt, utter nonsense. Me? Uneasy? Now you are just babbling.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the sight of the red threatening to overtake his cheeks.

“Well then, I guess there is no point in standing outside all day huh?”

Before her fist even made contact with the door, it flung open. Several curious faces piled in the doorframe, all trying to get a good look at her in case Damian changed his mind in an instant.

“You idiots, back up now or I’m leaving with her.”

A mutter of apologies echoed through the door as Marinette bit back the chuckle. With a great sigh, Damian motioned for her to step through the entrance, his tense body signaling that he was already ready to throw in the towel.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you all, my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Her half-wave seemed to send a shock wave through the room as all eyes narrowed in on her, watching her every movement. Cautiously, she lowered her hand. A moment of silence passed and then two. Everyone seemed locked onto her, unsure of what to say and if she was being honest, she had the slightest idea as well.

“Are you all crowding her? Shameful. I thought I told you to wait in the dining room.”

It was as if the heavens had parted and uttered a command. Several bodies darted in different directions and in seconds, the hallway had been cleared save for Marinette, Damian, and an older man with graying hair and a killer smile on his face.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, we are truly honored that Master Damian has allowed you to grace us with your presence for dinner this evening. I apologize for Master Bruce’s charges. They really are all excellent kids, but rare elements such as yourself tend to erase their minds of any manners I worked so hard to instill in them.”

He shook his head in mock disappointment as he offered her his hand.

“Oh please, don’t worry about it, Mr. Alfred. I’m sure they were just as excited as I was.”

Taking his hand, she did her best to give a strong shake. His warm smile seemed so inviting, but the thought that he could clear a room with just a sentence shook her to her core.

“Please, just Alfred is fine. May I escort you to the dining room?”

Marinette nodded as she blindly reached backward for Damian’s hand to drag him along. If the butler had noticed, he made no comment as he led them.

“And here we are, I will return shortly with the first course for tonight. I do hope you enjoy the meal. I have prepared special platers for you and Master Damian to commandeer for your dietary restrictions.”

Before she even had the chance to thank him, he whisked away, leaving her to stand by Damian’s side in front of the largest dining room table she had ever seen.

“Welcome.”

Her eyes darted to the head of the table where a dashing man stood, his eyes kind and welcoming as he motioned to the two empty seats beside him. It all felt so overwhelming, too many sets of eyes for her to count were plastered on her alone. Shuffling along, she managed a small curtsey to the man before allowing Damian to help her into her seat.

A small murmur erupted from the dining room table. Had she done something wrong? Perhaps she had set herself up at the table, but Damian just got so flustered about those sorts of things, insisting he wanted to be a proper gentleman.

“I’ve heard very little about you Ms. Dupain-Cheng, but the little I have been able to wrestle out of my son has been nothing short of blessings.”

Marinette was sure her face was burning as she muttered a small thanks.

“I apologize for the huge turnout. When I mentioned to my oldest that Damian was bringing a friend home for dinner, it seems word spread fast. They all wanted to meet the person who managed to break through to him that wasn’t Jon.”

His smile appeared jokingly as he glanced over the near full table.

“But please, where are my manners? My name is Bruce and please feel comfortable to refer to me like that. The three boys across from you are my oldest Dick, Jason, Tim, and Duke.”

Dick's smile was blinding as he reached over the table to shake her hand vigorously.

“I’m so glad my little boy has made a friend and such a beautiful and well-mannered one as well!”

“Yeah, I wonder how he did that?” Jason, at least that’s what she believed his name was, stroked his chin thoughtfully as he stared down the two. Duke began to stroke his chin as well before he leaned across the table, shielding his mouth from where Damian sat.

“Hey, Marinette, blink twice if he’s threatening you or your family’s lives in any way.”

There was a small thud from under the table as Duke flinched slightly in his seat.

Bruce shook his head as he motioned past the boys and to the girls that sat on the other side of Damian.

“On this side of the table are my daughters in all but paperwork. Barbara, Cassandra, and Stephanie.”

“Uhm, you forgot one pop.”

The girl at the end of the table kicked her feet up onto the table, her mischievous smile poking at Bruce’s patience.

“How could I ever forget you, Harper? I was just saving you for last.”

Harper sent a wink in Marinette’s direction earning a giggle from the girl.

“Miss Harper, I must ask you to refrain from placing your feet on the table as I serve out the first course.”

Instantly she straightened in her seat as Alfred seemingly materialized from behind. The smile on his face as dangerous as ever. Marinette could finally see what Damian was worried about, his family was absolutely wild. Her eyes drifted from each person as they absentmindedly chatted in small groups.

Damian’s hand found hers under the table, giving her a slight reassuring squeeze.

“Marinette, I must apologize for dinner being so late. I had to work over today and even if I got out earlier than usual, I must admit it is not early enough. Please apologize to your parents for my inconsiderate job.”

Marinette swallowed hard as she sat down her fork.

“Oh, uhm, I suppose Damian didn’t tell you. I-uh-live on my own in the city.”

All of the chatter in the room fell silent and once more, she could feel the heat of every stare in the room on her.

“Oh? Are they okay with that? Gotham isn’t exactly known to be the safest at night.” His chuckle was humorless as he watched her bright eyes dull.

“I actually came to Gotham on my own merits, a fresh start if you will. My parents died last year in a bakery fire. Papa tried to find me, thinking I was home, but even as Maman begged him to leave the building, he couldn’t leave believing I was still in there.”

She felt a single hot tear trail down her cheek, but she was quick to wipe it away before any more could follow.

“I apologize, I had no idea.”

Marinette shook her head vigorously as the apologies spewed out of her mouth.

“Please, forget I said anything at all. I one hundred percent overshared. Now dinner will be so awkwardly, please, it’s been a year, I’m okay.”

The conversation started back slowly, but once it did, Marinette couldn’t stop laughing. She shared with them her business and talked about how she and Damian first met. Tim couldn’t wrap his head around the thought that Damian would have actually stopped on the street to comfort her.

“I mean, what are you? A demon tamer? Teach me your ways sensei.”

As Alfred collected the final plates for the evening, Marinette felt better than she had in a long time. When it came time to leave, Bruce offered to escort them back to the front.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, may I ask how old you are?”

“16.”

Bruce’s stare was concerning as he reached out to pick up her hand.

“How do you live in an apartment then?”

“Oh, My grandmother signed the lease. She technically lives with me, but she’s such a free spirit, I couldn’t possibly expect her to stay in one spot. I mostly live there on my own. Honestly, I’m quite jealous of the large family Damian has, he is very lucky.”

Marinette thought she had to be hallucinating. Bruce Wayne almost seemed to be vibrating the more she talked.

“You know Marinette, this manor is quite spacious. If you ever need-”

“Absolutely not.”

In one quick movement, Damian was between them, his glare ready to cut through his own father.

“But Damian-”

“Father I cannot allow you to adopt my girlfriend!”

Bruce’s jaw dropped as he finally noticed the constant contact that the two had initiated all night. At first, he thought it could be just her way of keeping herself grounded, but the more he thought back on it, it did seem quite like how a couple would act.

“Dammit, now I owe Steph $20.”

Marinette peeked behind Bruce where all of Damian’s siblings stood exchanging money, Tim looking especially upset as he handed the blonde a crisp bill. For what felt like the billionth time tonight, Marinette felt her face flush.

“You are all utter buffoons. Father, we will complete this conversation later. As for now, I will escort Marinette back to her apartment and I will be taking the car.”

Damian’s hand intertwined with hers as she allowed herself to be dragged from the manor. A chorus of goodbyes echoed after her, even Alfred waved her goodbye as he graciously shut Bruce’s mouth for him. As she climbed into the car, Marinette leaned over to place a small kiss on Damian’s cheek.

“What was that for?” The stutter in his voice was something she adored, something that only ever appeared when she caught him off guard.

“Thank you for letting me meet your family today. It turned a bad day into a good one.”

“Yeah, whatever,” the red of his cheeks betrayed his indifferent attitude as he shifted the car into drive.

As the manor disappeared in the rearview mirror, only one thought remained on her mind. Just how would the conversation go with Bruce when Damian returned?

The thought alone made her smile.

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[redappleswoman]

RECENSIONE: Caged ( Red Oak Manor Collection #8 ) di Naike Ror

RECENSIONE: Caged ( Red Oak Manor Collection #8 ) di Naike Ror

Sofia Adelaide Mercalli vive a New York, ha quasi trent’anni, una posizione lavorativa che la soddisfa, il guardaroba dei suoi sogni e una passione spropositata per Otis Redding.La sua vita potrebbe essere perfetta se accanto a lei ci fosse anche un uomo.Per questa ragione si rivolge alla Never Alone, l’agenzia di incontri più selettiva della città.C’è però un ostacolo da superare prima di…

[bluebellefox]

It is a Far, Far Better Thing

When he first begins to regain consciousness, he is aware only of the sense of darkness blanketing around him, allowing his body to float along the gentle waves of a softly rolling black sea. It is not oppressive darkness that surrounds him, but rather a soothing one, one that brings none of the weight that being alone in the dark has brought him these past few years. One that reminds him of summer nights under a tree shared by unassuming children ready to take on the world or rainy mornings spent with tea cooling in its chipped mug and dog-eared and creased worn pages. Or the gentle pressure of a wizened hand laying on his shoulder and the echo of a lilting laugh that shone brightly in emerald eyes and always seemed to staunch the deep ache in his very soul that has haunted him since he could remember. It is peaceful and for the first time in a long time, Severus feels calm.

He wakes slowly, for the first time in months, years, decades… There is no rushed sense of duty that usually accompanies him and spurs him to action the second he is aware of the waking world. There is only the feeling of a warm spring breeze lofting over his face, pulling playfully at his hair as it dances across, well wherever he is. Normally finding himself in an unknown place after being so deeply wrapped in the arms of Morpheus would alarm him, even send him into a whirlwind of abject panic but strangely enough, the familiar anxiety isn’t present. Instead, he allows himself to relish the sounds of leaves rhythmically swaying in the wind, the prickles of untrimmed ryegrass through the fabric of his robes, the pleasant warmth radiating from the traditionally more traitorous English sun. He hasn’t been allowed to just exist in this simple capacity since he was a small child before his life was so convoluted and controlled by the decisions of more powerful men before the weight of the fate of all wizard-kind across Britain fell upon his shoulders, bowing his back and making him more Atlas than man.

There was something pulling at the back of his conscience, he can feel it pulsing through the severe fog that's invaded his senses. Not unlike when he uses his occlumency to bury his emotions when they overwhelmed him, or when it was imperative the Dark Lord not see the thoughts that ravaged his mind during Death Eater meetings. However, unlike those occasions where occlumency was the only option to halt an oncoming nervous breakdown, he couldn't wave away the haze. The longer he laid there, poking around at this inexplicable barrier around the parts of his mind that had ruled supreme these past few years, the spymaster, the renegade, the ruthless Death Eater, the protector, they all fell away. Hidden behind walls, not of his own construction and remained unreachable through the thick shroud of hazy quiet. Until suddenly even that muted feeling of alarm was swept away in the breeze and floated gently in the wind along with the dandelion seeds. Far, far away from him, and he finds he doesn’t bemoan the loss.

Severus supposes he should care, waking up in a strange place and so far removed from his own mind and thoughts. He should care, but he doesn’t remember ever being this tired. His eyelids feel so heavy that even thinking about prying them open takes an insurmountable amount of energy that he does not possess. The grass and weeds feel good against his back, far more comforting and soft than even his bed at Hogwarts and certainly his moth-eaten and unbalanced one at Spinner’s End, somehow feeling like the glimmers of contentment and peace of his childhood. The breeze a nice change from the howling winds of the Scottish Highlands, he thinks as it settles across him like a warm blanket. He supposes it’s not a bad spot for a bit of a nap, and he is so very tired. There are much worse places to drift away in.

That thought breaks through the veil in his head, just for one moment but it’s enough to bring the muted pressure of rotting wood up against his spine, a sharp, coppery scent replacing the smell of wildflowers in his nose, a cold voice breaking the peace he’s found. Severus tenses, his fight against the haze in his mind redoubles and twice as savage as before, panic and desperation by his side once more. Until he catches sight of green eyes in the unpleasant memories flowing by him, solemn but bright enough to burn away the flashes of images of a familiar-seeming, dilapidated house. That green fills his mind, gently carrying him away from whatever horrors trying to claw and scratch their way back into his awareness, pulling him gently away from an office with numerous paintings lining the walls and a high-backed chair, from the darkness clinging to a sprawling manor even it’s elegance could not override, from a smoky and underground lecture room, from a cramped, angry house by a polluted river.

Severus is distantly aware that these places hold some great significance to him, he feels the subdued emotional ties to them but is unable to articulate what they are or explain where they came from. He can’t bring himself to care and gladly follows that green back to the peaceful weightlessness of before, because somewhere he knows with a bone-deep surety that those eyes are home.

“Hey, Sev.”

Despite his previous weariness and weight of his eyelids, Severus finds it extremely easy to open his eyes. He is greeted by the pale blue sky of a warm spring evening, streaks of white clouds held in place above him, and the swaying branches of an old oak tree. It feels familiar, like greeting an old friend after a time apart. He slowly pulls his arms from his stomach, and props himself up on his elbows, and looks in the direction of the voice. And sitting amidst the knots and gnarled roots of the oak, chin casually resting in the cradle of her hand, sits Lily.

Red hair floats down around her shoulders, a few strands following the breeze as it makes its way through the field again. Her freckles scattered along the bridge of her nose, curling around her cheekbones just as he remembers. An easy smile splits her lips, one that speaks of fond and long-held affection, the very same as the one that haunts him in his dreams. But here she sits before him, solid and real in a way her presence hasn't been to him in many years. And those green eyes that he sees every time he closes his eyes, are looking at him with a gentle sort of mirth and a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time.

There are a thousand words he wants to say, hundreds of apologies laying at the tip of his tongue, but they stick in the back of his throat. There is something in the way she reaches her hand out to him and sweeps the hair out of his face that makes them unnecessary, a sense of causal affection that tells him that she requires no explanations. They would break this wonderful moment of reprieve, so he’s content to spend the remainder of forever in this comfortable silence.

A million memories spill forth from the dam in his mind, some fuzzy with a deep fondness and peace, others sharp with a deep-set pain and desperate loneliness. They swirl around him in branching streams and he runs his fingers through them. The sudden sound of a cracking branch, biting retorts flown in reckless abandon, a betrayal by a glass-green lake. They flit about the edges of his mind, too quick to hold fast to and they slip from his grasp and dissipate into the lovely spring air. A small hand clasped in his, a peal of musical laughter, and those green, green eyes are the only things left. Home, Severus thinks, this is home.

“Hey, Lily.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, and Severus thinks she is every bit as bright and lovely and magical as she has ever been. She cups her hand around his cheek, and he can’t help but lean into her touch, feeling every bit like the grumpy cat she always compared him to. She gives him an affectionate glance and turns her eyes back to the field in front of them. The sloping hill, the grasses and the weeds, the wildflowers, all much more numerous and beautiful than their spot in Cokeworth but it feels right, familiar all the same.

Lily slowly rises to her feet and takes a moment to brush off the dirt collected on her trousers. She holds her hand out to him with a look of patient expectancy. He looked at her hand and then back up at her face.

“You ready to go?”

Severus closes his eyes for a moment, taking in the quiet and the lovely weather a final time, and stands. When he reaches for her hand, she opens it readily and grips him with a comfortable tightness. Here they stand again, hand in hand, after everything that's happened and against all odds. Joy fills him in a way that he hasn’t felt since he was that nine-year-old boy, bathing in her warmth and secreting away what happiness he could afford.

“I think I am.”

When they take their first steps together, he can feel Lily swinging their joined hands between them. And for the first time in a long time, Severus smiles.

[scooby-nubie]

𝒮𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓇 ℐ𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈

Part 2/2

Interview with The Vampire

Submission: Submitted by sarcastic-sourwolf. Could you do a imagine where Lestat de Lioncourt falls in love with a y/n and they happen to be a spirit, they tell Lestat what they are and this ends up being a double love confession!♥️♥️♥️♥️thank you

Y/n L/n (Your name and last name), E/c (Eye color), H/c (Hair color), S/c (skin color)

Gaining a title by some victim lucky enough to survive the encounter. Y/n the Night Imminent. Taking a long walk through the quiet streets of the new world. Their e/c eyes scan every face searching for Lestat the Maker. Little luck in finding him…

Perhaps he had moved on from this place. Not finding whoever he sought. Maybe he did and planned on never seeing Y/n again. Yet in the many years spent together, The Lion never gave off that intent. It was sudden when they had the parting discussion.

Stopping a nearby carriage, hopping inside and just telling the driver to go whenever he wants. Y/n stares out the window. Recalling the last conversation the pair had, in that wonderful town house. The dusty red bricks, the worn oak roof… Fire crackling in the oven.

Lifting a smooth hand to their cheek, “I fear I must leave you now my Sweet.” tilting Y/n’s face to look into his icy eyes. Dread fills Lestat’s heart, leaving them seeming like an insane idea.

Blinking frankly to hide the salty tears, “Why? Was it something I did? L/n swallows. Nothing recently had occurred to spark such a reaction. Or so they thought.

“No.. You didn’t do anything wrong… You could never.” Lestat coos calmly, trying to comfort them in the fact it was his decision to go searching. See they were not gifted in reading minds like him… Perhaps it would make it easier to understand then. 

Trying not to raise their voice, “Then why must you leave me now…” Y/n tries to get an explanation. The Lion is a very secretive person. It would be a miracle if he would explain now.

Shifting through the book of words collected in his mind, The Vampire finds something to say. “Because… I feel like there is another soul that needs my help. I can’t explain any more than that,” a short pause and licking of lips.

Their faces barely inches apart, “Please trust I will return and see you again.” the normal Aristocratic tone gone. Just a soft plea remains.

Y/n wraps a hand around their Maker’s wrist, “Lestat-. Please.” squeezing both eyes closed. They nevermore believed in crying over a man leaving them. But The Lion isn’t just a man, he is their Maker… 

Two warm drops hit his cold flesh, “My Li-…” a Vampire can cry… But only once, maybe twice in all of eternity… 

Taking a free digit to wipe away the tears, “Y/n… Have no fear. I bear you no ill will. I just have to see if I’m being paranoid.” Lestat takes the other hand to engulf theirs.

“Please don’t weep for me, my Sweet.” The blond vampire beseeches his creation, “It will only be a year or two. No more.” he swears on the heavens. The world would be burned if anything should happen to them. 

Bringing his soft lips to Y/n’s  forehead, “If you dare to travel, leave a trail to follow.” leaving a frail kiss on the cold skin. Clenching his eyes closed as well.

The steed snorts as the driver pulls up on the reigns. Coming to a stop. Wet mud slops beneath the wooden wheels and the animal’s hooves. Fertilizer wasps into their nostrils. It must be a plantation. 

“We have arrived.” The driver speaks, jumping down to open the carriage door. Clicking the knob and pulling it outward. Lifting his free hand out to grasp.

“Thank you kind sir.” They grip the offered help down the two steps, before flipping a coin for the driver to catch. A whole gold coin. More than one would pay for a simple ride. The handler bows humbly, taking his cap off to show his messy black hair.

Glancing away from the forest to the large manor before them. A great white mansion stretches out in front of the many tall oak trees. The contrast is impressive to see with vampire eyes. Voices can be heard from inside. Almost an arguing tone.

“Why should I know these things! Do you know them?!” A strong booming voice yells toward another much quieter voice. 

That voice. Lestat! Running toward the door within a second. A hand comes up to knock, hard enough to be heard throughout the home. A young chocolate skinned lady answers. 

The girl’s sweet tone greets, “Are you here to see my Master Louis de Pointe du Lac?” smelling jasmine and some form of soap on her. 

“If he isn’t busy.” Y/n bows.

“He is with one of his friends. I will tell them of your arrival-” She turns to retreat indoors, “What’s your name?” coming to a quick halt.

Y/n’s e/c orbs catch her hazelnut ones, “Thank you. Y/n L/n.” the maid shuffles farther inside only to stop once more.

“Oh please come in. Louis’ friend has mentioned you.” A light going off in both irises, the reaction as if she knew her through him. She carefully steps in, as the young lass closes the heavy door behind them.

Stepping a boot inside creates an echo on the marble flooring. Such a fine home. This… Louis de Pointe du Lac-. Must own this land. 

Sliding off the fur lined coat. The young maid takes it over to hang with the other coats. One sticks out, Lestat’s blue velvet cloak. Leading the fellow Vampire up the magnificent stairwell. Gently tapping on the dining room door.

“Come.” The familiar Aristocratic voice answers with a sort of annoyance. 

The maid chirps warily, “Another friend of yours is here.” her eyes flutter downward even with the wooden plank between them.

A different, much softer man speaks this time. “Who?”

Entering the next room, Lestat’s eyes beam upon seeing Y/n so blessed face. The young human next to them gestures to enter. Two men stand before L/n. One their Maker; Lestat de Lioncourt. The other a young man, tall, dark, handsome. Stunning green eyes. 

Seems older than Lestat in the sense of his human form being more mature.

Arms wide open offering a hug, “My precious Y/n L/n. You may leave us now.” he dismisses the maid as she quietly closes the door once more.

Speeding over and picking them up in arm to a tight hug. Spinning for a moment till the young man clears his throat. Freezing and placing Y/n back on their two feet. He places a palm on their back to herd them over.

“Louis. This is my first creation. Y/n L/n de Paris." Lestat bows his head as Y/n does the same. In unison. 

“Pleasure.” Y/n smiles brightly.

“No, pleasure is all mine. He never stops mentioning how much better of a student you are than me.” Louis explains as his voice lowers in shame, for being a failure in his eyes.

“Oh really, he hasn't told me so.” Their e/c eyes glare at Lestat surprised, whose face is one of someone caught. 

“That's enough Louis. I never say such things.” His hand waves to go, “Do be so kind as to give us a moment.” the Elder finishes.

“Y/n… Why have you come. I’ve barely been gone.” “You have been gone long enough to warrant my appearance.”

“I tried to be patient but I felt as if you weren’t going to return.” “Don’t be foolish my dear, Why wouldn’t I?”

“You found someone worthy of your time and attention.” “It’s pretty easy for me to see why now-, that I have seen the lucky gentleman.”

“It isn’t what it looks like I promise, you should know the bond we share together.” “What if I don’t. You have never once said ‘I would do no such thing as to abandon you Y/n.’ Lestat.” 

“How dare you speak as though I have no regard for you! Or your well being!”

“Consider me daring, oh great Lestat!” ”The nerve you have to speak to me this way!”

“What could you do to me, kill me?! If I cause the discomfort of my creator,- perhaps he should dispose of me like a piece of clothing.” Blood rages through the Maker’s viens like no anger before, nothing could stop him if he did in fact want Y/n to be gone from his life.

Yet a calm washes over this elder vampire, if any harm would come to them… He fears that the one involved would be plucked out of the world just as swiftly but not before taking time to make the killer repent. Without another pause to finish their rant, Lestat takes both hands to cup Y/n’s face. Kissing them with all the centuries pent up emotion. They tense at first, pushing both hands to his chest only to slowly drag their nails into the velvet fabric.

The Lion’s hands brush through the messy h/c locks… Deeping their moment. Y/n snakes an arm around his neck pulling him tighter yet. Sliding both palms down their sides and under L/n’s ass. He lifts them on top of the dining table and takes his rightful place between their knees. 

The Creator breaks their kiss finally, pressing his forehead on theirs. Opening both icy irises to greet Y/n’s stunning e/c ones. Slow breathing fills the space between them. Enjoying the solace for the first time in ages, Lestat traces their jawline sweetly. Y/n wiggles their nose just as a rabbit would. 

“Forgive me.” His soft and polished voice cuts through the silence, “Under one condition.” a smile breaks Y/n’s lips. Leaning back slightly to face him full. A playful mask slips away and is replaced seriously. 

The Maker doesn’t pause, “Name it.” no question or hesitation. 

The Vampire scoops both his hands into their own, “Don’t ever leave again. We are bound to each other's fates now.” lining up both palms. Locking eyes to create a form of vow. Unbreakable by either.

“Done.” The Blond responds, they embrace once more. Parting and straightening up each article of fabric on skin. Y/n helps redo his ponytail to smooth and tame the locks. The crazy curls are left alone only to be brushed behind both ears. He places a kiss on their forehead.

“You both make me proud to be your maker.” The Lion calls for his new pet to return, entering and closing the gate once again.

“It’s like with children Louis. The first born is always favored. Yet still I am gratified to be the creator for the both of you.” Taking one hand from each lover, the Maker gestures for them to sit. 

“Only because they were first.” Y/n winks, being part of a bigger family made it easy to understand an unspoken rule of the oldest. Be the favorite. 

Leaning over the table as if Lestat wasn't there, “Fear not Louis, don’t let his words bother you. We all have our own way of being night predators.” they laugh cheekily. 

“No two are the same, I'm sure of it.” Louis agrees only to get an eye roll from the Blond.  The pair giggle at the expression by their “parent”. 

Pacing around the table majestically, “Both my children are teaming up against me. Whatever will I do.” The Elder huffs. Folding his arms behind his back. 

“Louis de Pointe du Lac.” The Brown haired beauty states, giving a small bow. The h/c bows back, giving a hand to him.

“Y/n L/n. You can call me whatever you prefer.” A kiss is placed on their knuckles, “Pleasure is all mine.” an apple red would flush their cheeks if only they were alive.

“The French circus is in town and we could have some French cuisine?” Lestat’s voice shifts full of hunger and mischief. Changing glances to one then the other.

“I am starving.” Y/n chirps happily, standing up to stand beside him. 

“You Louis?” Y/n holds out a hand to take, confused at the lack of enthusiasm. 

A heavy sigh exhales, “He holds respect for life. He has been eating rats and chickens.” Lestat just looks down at him.

“You know that is futile. There aren’t enough animals with enough blood to satisfy us. Trust that I too held them in higher regard till the animals ran low.” An understanding glance is given as the explanation hits him. All that effort only to give him after a curtain point… Adds to his hate for choosing it.

Louis is defeated and joins them.

[acrossthewavesoftime]

The Life of Admiral Samuel Graves, 1713–1787 (II)

Samuel Graves by James Northcote, probably 1770s/1780s. 

We left Samuel as a young lieutenant in 1741; let’s dive into the years 1741 to around 1770 from Samuel’s days of winning prizes in the Caribbean as a young captain to becoming the aged family man without a command soon to be called upon to sort matters out in the Thirteen Colonies.

Picking up where we left off, he served another couple of years as lieutenant and was given his first command, the sloop HMS Bonetta (8) in 1743, before being promoted to captain the following year. During this time, he was able to win a number of prizes, mostly in the Caribbean, which would naturally have increased his personal fortune.

Official notice to the crew of HMS Rippon’s Prize, commanded by Samuel Graves, to collect their share of the prize money from the capture of the French schooner “Le Manure De Lesgan” [Menhir de Léhan]. Published in the London Gazette, 14 July 1752.

1750–1760: The Heart of Oak of Hembury Fort House

At the very beginning of the new decade, Samuel purchased an old manor house in the Devon countryside (named Cockenhayes, which he changed to “Hembury Fort House” often abbreviated to “the Fort” after a local landmark for obvious reasons) and got married on 19 June 1750 to one Elizabeth Sedgwick (1729–1767) from Durham.

The latter information is quite interesting, seeing as one of Samuel’s closest friends hailed from the same town; it is possible, even probable they were set up on what one might somewhat anachronistically call a blind date. At the time, Samuel appears to have resided at his London address while Hembury Fort House, in dire need of extension and renovations, was being made ship-shape for Captain Graves and his new bride.

Hembury Fort House from a drawing in the collection of John Ross Robertson, published in: Robertson, John Ross, The Diary of Mrs. Simcoe, Toronto 1912.

A more recent picture of Hembury Fort House (which I can’t seem to figure out how to embed properly).

Two years later, the friend who may have played cupid on his behalf, fellow naval captain John Simcoe, asked him if he would be the godfather of his baby son, much to Samuel’s delight. The little one received the middle name “Graves” in addition to his father’s Christian name— those of you who have watched a certain TV-series called TURN: Washington’s Spies might be able to guess where this is going. The proud godfather referred to the new baby as “Infant Graves”, basically claiming the new-born as his own— originally perhaps done in a joking fashion, it proved to be a premonition.

In 1758, his brother John made him a second-time godfather for his youngest son Richard, whom the family referred to as “Dick”, a name inviting the reference to that famous Jane Austen-quote and by all accounts a man with an unpleasant personality absolutely meriting the comparison.

Still childless after eight years of marriage, it appears Samuel showered his godsons with attention, affection, and later money, too, which started to show, particularly in “Dick”. I think I’ll make a separate post about “Dick” and “Infant Graves” at one point.

John Graves Simcoe by William Pars, c. 1770. Not quite “Infant Graves” anymore at 18. Very not red-haired and not interested in casual homicide by serrated bayonet (for those of you who know what I mean).

However happy in his private life, professionally, clouds were looming on the horizon: Samuel was brought to court over an incident in Bristol in 1756 where a press gang sent out by him stood accused of behaving with excessive brutality. In addition to this, rumour had it Samuel had actually tried to rig a local by-election by pressing Tory voters, thus influencing the election in favour of the Whigs, though this accusation is likely made up. The Admiralty swiftly removed him from Bristol by issuing orders for him to command a much smaller ship conveniently waiting for a new commander in another port.

The year 1759 saw the most memorable battle (besides Bunker Hill) he was involved in when he commanded HMS Duke (90) at the Battle of Quiberon Bay, a decisive British victory over the French fleet. The year 1759 was regarded as an annus mirabilis on account of several British military and naval victories, its memory living on in Heart of Oak, now the Royal Navy’s official march, and a ship named in commemoration of the (naval) victories of that year: chances are you have heard of HMS Victory (104) before.

1760–1770: Loss, Love and... Blackmail

Quiberon Bay was the last Battle he would see for more than a decade; included in routine promotions, Samuel principally lived the life of a landed gentleman throughout the 1760s, managing his Irish and Devon estates and becoming increasingly involved as the main paternal figure in the life of his older godson, whose father had died at sea of pneumonia in 1759.

In 1764, he was the target of a blackmail campaign demanding the oddly specific sum of 52l. 10s. The letters were deposited by a gatepost marking the boundary between the main road and his estate and addressed to “Adrelmel Graues” and “Admardel Graues” respectively. Apparently, he didn’t take the threat to “not mak aney words about it nor nouises concerning of it for if you do it will be the wers for it I ashour you” too seriously, because he had them published in the London Gazette, offering 20 guineas to any person willing to step forward with pertinent information leading to the capture of the miscreant(s). Sadly, there is no update to this incident in the Gazette; it appears very likely to me that the perpetrator(s) was/were local and either backed off upon realising they didn’t stand a chance intimidating their chosen victim or were ‘dealt with’ privately. Those master criminals threatening to blow up his house if he wouldn’t pay up demanded the money to be deposited at the aforementioned gatepost; it wouldn’t have been too hard then for Samuel Graves and/or some men recruited by him to wait for the person to come pick the money up and teach them a lesson. By all accounts from later in his life, Samuel didn’t shy away from a fracas.

One of the blackmail letters as printed in the London Gazette, 7 February 1764.

Three years later, he was hit with two tragedies in short succession; his mother Jane died (at the ripe old age of 100 or 101; her year of birth is believed to be 1666) and in July 1767, his wife Elizabeth succumbed to an illness at just 37.

Decidedly middle-aged and on shore for almost a decade, Samuel went to the fashionable spa town of Bath during the winter season of 1768/69, where he very likely met his second wife, Margaret Spinckes (1728–1808). Given that she was a distant relative of John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich, the former (and future) First Lord of the Admiralty Samuel was quite friendly with, they may have met through the Montagu-family. Having fallen in love with another right away, they were married a mere six months later on 14 June 1769.

Their marriage was defined by mutual love and respect. Luckily, some of Margaret’s letters survive, painting the picture of a very interesting woman. Originally, Margaret had never planned on marrying at all; independently wealthy with an estimated fortune of £30,000 (according to the National Archives’ Currency Converter approximately £2.6million in 2017), she was aware of having the privilege of choosing to remain unmarried, an option open to few women at the time who were limited in their choices due to social and economic factors. She opposed the laws surrounding marriage for oppressing women, as a married women was basically treated like her husband’s property, just like anything she had previously owned. The forward-thinking Margaret envisioned a world were women could have careers in their own right, (married) women would have a legal status equal to men and marriage would only exist between lovers.

Margaret’s letters from later in life and some information on her dating to around the time of their marriage paint a rather touching picture of their relationship; in letters to her grandnieces in the 1790s and 1800s, Margaret would recall the days she had with Samuel as some of the happiest of her life; there are also subtle implications making it clear she found him physically attractive.

That said, she never gave up her ideals, making it clear that while she had been incredibly happy in her marriage, she had disliked having to sign over her property and at least on paper, control over her own person, to Samuel.

The latter seems to have been aware of her beliefs and supportive of her: in his will, Margaret inherited what could be described as their joined funds (angering “Dick” in the process who had hoped to be made his uncle’s sole heir) and it appears she also received properties back she had brought into the marriage.

Ever the naval man, a cutely-amusing detail regarding their relationship is that Samuel named a transport ship after his wife in 1775. Sadly, no accounts of Margaret’s reaction survive.

Notice in the Gentleman’s Magazine’s list of marriages for the year 1769.

I will do a separate post on Margaret because she’s such an interesting woman in her own right, but there is one other thing that’s important to know about her: when she moved into the Fort, she did not come alone. Her six-year-old orphaned niece Elizabeth who was raised between the households of several relatives soon became an increasingly more permanent fixture in the household and heart of Admiral Graves.

We leave Samuel and his little patchwork family consisting of his wife, niece and godsons here in about 1770, and will turn to his service in the Revolutionary War in the next instalment. There shall be battles, accusations of being a rebel, disputes over the propriety of dancing at card-parties and fist-fighting in the streets of Boston…

References:

Arnold, Hilary: Genteel Widows of Bath I– Mrs. Margaret Graves and Her Letters from Bath, 1793–1807, in: Bath History vol. 7 (1998), p. 78–91 [accessed 19 June 2021].

Beacock Fryer, Mary: Elizabeth Posthuma Simcoe 1762-1850. A Biography. Dundurn Press, Toronto, Oxford 1989.

Mary Beacock Fryer, Chrisdopher Dracott: John Graves Simcoe, 1752-1806 A Biography. 1st edition. Dundurn Press, Toronto, Oxford 1998.

Chapman, John H. (Ed.): The Register Book of Marriages Belonging to the Parish of St. George, Hanover Square, in the County of Middlesex. London: Mitchell & Hughes, London 1886, p. 43 [accessed 19 June 2021].

Rogers, Nicholas: The Press Gang: Naval Impressment and its opponents in Georgian Britain. Bloomsbury, London 2007, p. 61.

Transcription of the entry of the marriage between Margaret Spinckes and Samuel Graves, 14 June 1769 in the Aldwincle parish records [accessed 19 June 2021].

Image credits:

Samuel Graves by James Northcote, Wikimedia Commons, photograph by Christie’s [accessed 19 June 2021].

Prize money regarding the capture of the “Manure De Lesgan”, recorded in The Gazette (London Gazette), issue 9184, 14 July 1752 [accessed 19 June 2021].

Hembury Fort House from a drawing in the collection of John Ross Robertson, published in: Robertson, John Ross, The Diary of Mrs. Simcoe, Toronto 1912 [accessed 19 June 2021].

John Graves Simcoe by William Pars, c. 1770, in the collection of Riverbrink Art Museum. Retrieved here [accessed 19 June 2021].

Blackmail letter addressed to Admiral Samuel Graves, recorded in The Gazette (London Gazette), issue 10390, 7 February 1764 [accessed 19 June 2021].

Notice in the Gentleman’s Magazine’s (vol. 39, p. 318) list of marriages for the year 1769 [accessed 19 June 2021].

[highonchocolate]

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 3

First   Previous   Next   Ao3

Bruce sat at the head of the long oak dining table and waited for his children to make their way into the room for dinner. They came in as a staggered group; Jason arguing about some novel with Dick while Tim and Damian brought up the back as they discussed their patrol routes for the night. After Alfred and Damian helped serve the food, Bruce cleared his throat pointedly and waited for everyone to pay attention. 

Once everyone had looked up from their discussions he spoke. “Alfred has a friend named Gina; and she had called this evening to see if her granddaughter could stay with us. She lives in Paris; but her classmates were bullying her and her parents thought a change of scenery would do her some good. I have agreed to let her stay with us in the Manor.” Even before he had finished speaking the table erupted with different questions from his children.

“Bruce are you sure this is wise?” Tim questioned over Dick’s ecstatic squealing (“I’ve always wanted a little sister!!!”), and Jason’s grumbling (“Shut the fuck up Dickhead. I don’t know why the fuck B is bringing someone into this house to live with this dysfunctional family.”). Ignoring his siblings; he pressed on “I mean, how are we going to hide Batman and the vigilante stuff from her?” As Bruce paused to answer Damian stood up and scowled. “Tt. This is a moronic decision. Inform me of when this girl is to arrive and inform  her to stay out of my way.” He lifted his chin and crossed his arms before marching out of the room.

After Damian’s outburst, Jason looked over from where he was arguing with Dick and added his input “Timbo’s right, B. How are we going to hide that from her?” 

“We’ll have to make sure at least two of you remain in the manor each night so that she doesn’t get too suspicious.” He answered. “Now, the only reason I agreed to letting her stay here was namely for Alfred, and also because of what her classmates did to her” 

“What do you mean, Bruce?” Dick questioned. “Did they like assault her or something?”

“Or something” He responded grimly before sending the photo to all three of them. 

As they looked at the photo, he observed their reactions to the image. Dick was not smiling for once, and his sunny blue eyes had darkened to an icy frost. His whole body was tense; and his jaw was so clenched his teeth were grinding together. Jason was standing up with two guns locked and loaded in his hands. He had also managed to procure a knife from somewhere, which appeared as he leant forward and asked “What were the names of the people who did this again?” in a completely lethal tone. Tim, already hacking away at his computer responded “Not there yet, but from what I can find out, she goes to College Francois DuPont and she’s fifteen.” He briefly looked up and made eye contact with Bruce before asking “How fast do you think we can get our lawyers onto those kids B?” At the declarations of his children, Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “We can not file any lawsuits yet, not without Marinette’s permission.” He answered, sighing tiredly. “Marinette?” Dick questioned. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Tim responded instantly. “That’s her name.” 

“She will be coming on Monday, and Alfred will be picking her up from the airport. She is also going to attend GA, so someone please tell Damian.” Bruce said as he stood from the table. “Now hurry up, we have patrol tonight, and there have been rumors about a drug ring near Crime Alley.”

---

After coming back from the hospital and having a sleepover Thursday night, Chloé and Adrien were completely sleep-deprived as they trudged into school the next morning. Settling into her usual seat beside Sabrina, Chloé silently thanked all the Kwami that she didn’t have to sit next to Lila. Halfway though class, Mrs. Bustier suddenly frowned and looked at the back row. “Does anyone know where Marinette is? She still hasn’t arrived yet!”

“Probably still sleeping at home! She’ll come in completely late as usual!” Alya cackled. At her words, Chloé felt her entire body heat up with righteous indignity. She opened her mouth to tell that wannabe tabloid reporter to get her facts straight, but then Adrien caught her eye and shook his head. He then pointed at his phone, and mimed unlocking it before pointing to her. Catching the hint, she checked her messages to see that Marinette had sent them a text.

FashionableBug: Mari said to tell Chloé and Adrien not to do anything to Lila or anyone else that starts making stuff up. (From Luka btw)

You’reUnderAgreste: Me-ouch, My Lady. I would never!

QueenofMean: shut it with the puns, Noir. Maribug, I will only listen to you because you’re injured and I’m not going to go against your wishes.

Putting her phone away, Chloé resigned herself to a miserable school day. 

---

After school, she walked into Marinette’s room and flopped dramatically onto the chaise, before letting out a long groan.

“That bad?” Mari chuckled as she scribbled sketched one-handedly in her design notebook. 

“You have no idea.” Chloé responded. 

Their conversation continued into mundane things, such as everyone’s patrol routes, and various theories on who Hawkmoth was. Totally normal topics for teenagers. As the day drew to a close, they made plans for everyone to come over to start packing the next day before Chloé left the bakery and headed home.

---

Come Saturday, Marinette, Chloé and Luka spent the morning playing board games one handed “to level the playing field” as Luka put it and eating lots of cookies and pastries-provided by Marinette’s parents of course. Adrien and Kagami were attending their various classes until afternoon, so the remaining three spent their time relaxing, and coming up with a list of things to pack for Mari’s stay in Gotham. Two o’ clock rolled around, and the bells over the bakery jingled to announce the arrival of the final members of the packing committee.  

Any plans to begin their assignment of somehow fitting all Marinette’s fabrics into the suitcase were cut short by an Akuma. 

They all transformed, even though Kagami and Luka has been  extremely reluctant to let Mari go even though the suit temporarily healed her injuries. Climbing through her roof hatch, they set out across the rooftops to defeat their latest villain.

---

Five hours later, the teen heroes dropped into her room, and detransformed in various flashes of multicolored lights. They collapsed onto the bed and chairs and silently agreed to just  sleep , and get the packing done the next day.

---

All of Sunday was spent throwing various clothes and accessories into Mari’s pink and black suitcase. There were several sweaters and hoodies (added by Chloé), as well as several leggings and many thick pajama pants (Sabine).

Adrien (with the help of Tom) had somehow managed to pack over ten different pun-covered t-shirts, and by the time they were discovered, they had been buried under piles upon piles of fluffy socks from Kagami. Luka also threw in some scarves before Marinette added some toiletries, her sewing kit, and her computer.

Picking up the backpack she had decided to use as a carry-on, Marinette rifled through it to make sure she had everything in there as well.

Spare change of clothes in case she loses her suitcase? Check. Phone, headphones, and charger? Check. Sketchbook and pencils? Check. Disguised Miracle Box? Check.

She turned to her family (Not her teammates, not her friends, but her family.) and smiled. It was small, and bittersweet, but it was a smile. “Alright guys, I guess I’m all set.” She said, before joining them all in a group hug. They offered her soft, tearful smiles before Tom carried her big suitcase down the stairs. 

That night, Marinette fell asleep surrounded by all the people she loved, and she couldn’t have been happier.

---

The next day, her Papa carried her downstairs and placed her into her wheelchair (since she had a broken foot, and couldn’t use her leg, they had given her a wheelchair) before wheeling her outside and placing her into the car waiting by the street. 

Her friends were all inside, and she gripped Adrien’s hand tightly as they drove to the airport. 

As she stood to board the plane, she turned back to catch one last glimpse of them all. Chloé was leaning into Kagami’s side who was holding her girlfriend’s hand tightly. Adrien was waving wildly, and Luka and her parents all raised one hand in farewell. Her Maman and Papa has some red rimming their eyes, but they smiled at her as she was wheeled into the plane. Next stop: Gotham, New Jersey.

Since her flight left Paris at 10 AM, she was set to arrive in Gotham at around 12 PM/noon. With that in mind, she decided to stay awake for the entire flight so that her body could adjust better. 

As they crossed the Atlantic, Marinette, sitting in first class thanks to Chloé and Adrien’s combined nagging; popped her earbuds in, and began to sketch. 

She stared out the window as she touched down, shocked by all the dog and darkness in the city. As she collected her bags, and wheeled her way outside to look for her host family, she couldn’t help but notice how everyone in this city was much more on edge than most normal people. ‘They act as though they are expecting an attack at any second of the day.’ She mused to herself. Her train of thought was cut off by the sight of an elderly man with a powerful aura standing next to a limo with a sign saying “Marinette Dupain-Cheng”. She wheeled her way over to him and smiled brightly. “Salut! My name is Marinette! What is yours, Monsieur!” She questioned, holding out her hand for a handshake.

“It’s lovely to meet you Miss Marinette, my name is Alfred Pennyworth.” Alfred responded, smiling gently down at her. “Now let’s get you and your bags in the car, shall we?” He reaches out to shake her hand, and the moment their fingers touched her vision was filled with dark blue and red. She laughed and smiled up at him. “It is an honor to meet you, noble Peacock.” She greeted him in the Guardian language, honoring his position as a True Holder. “And it is an honor to meet you as well, Ladybug.” He answered. She grinned and allowed him to help her into the back of the limo before he climbed into the driver's seat and they sped off to Wayne Manor. 

---

When he saw the young girl, Alfred was shocked to say the least. She was roughly 5’ 4” (162.5 cm), and was very petite. Her stature, combined with her wheelchair, wrist brace, and the cast on her leg, all strengthened his resolve to protect the young girl from any further harm. That was only intensified when their auras recognized each other. How could anyone place the responsibility of upholding balance on such a young child? 

As he drove to the Manor, she informed him that the Cat, Bee, Dragon and Snake were active on her team. Before he could ask her what the threat they were battling was, they had arrived at the Manor, and she had immediately tensed and gone silent.

Deciding that it was better to ask more questions later, he got out of the car to retrieve her bags and chair. Master Bruce and three of his children except for Master Damian were waiting in front of the doors to the Manor, and they all waited patiently for her as she exited the car. 

---

Marinette was nervous. Sure, taking to Monsieur Alfred was really fun, and she couldn’t wait to tell him more about Paris, but now she was meeting her actual host family! What if they didn’t like her? What if they decided to send her back?! Then what would she do?? A small cough interrupted her downward spiral, and she looked up from her lap to see Monsieur Alfred waiting in front of the open door with her wheelchair. Grabbing her backpack, she awkwardly maneuvered herself into the chair and allowed herself to be wheeled out in front so she could meet Monsieur Bruce Wayne.

---

Note: Alfred doesn’t know that Marinette is the Guardian. He just knows she’s a Ladybug holder.

[siriuslyshewrote]

Tell Me - Finn Shelby

Request - Hey girl can I just say I love your fics and I’m sorry they’re not getting the same amount of notes that they used to!😘 I think you’re fabulous and if it’s not too much trouble can I request Finn Shelby where he has to marry for a business deal? It can be angst/fluff:

A/N - arranged marriage AU’s I swear... they’re one of my favs. Also can I just thank @ the lovely requester of this for being so freaking nice??!?

1927

You both stood in the kitchen (your new kitchen, you reminded yourself), in what was the opposite of a comfortable silence. You both still wore the clothes you had worn to the wedding party, but the drink had worn off now, and you had both suddenly realised that you knew nothing about each other.

“I know this isn’t what you’re used to.” Finn Shelby’s hand gestured to the room. “The house, I mean. Well, I guess this too.”

You shrugged, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove, searching for something to do.

“I think the house is beautiful.”

He was right in a way. You had grown up in a grand country manor, with more rooms than inhabitants could ever fill, though their egos most certainly did. Your father had struck a business deal with Thomas Shelby - and the product of that was yours and Finn Shelby’s marriage, their alliance. You hated that they had bargained with people - especially that one of those people were you, but it didn’t surprise you.

Growing up, you had known you would end up in an arranged marriage - all the women in your family did, one of the most important choices in their lives controlled by men who acted like they knew better. Some part of you had always thought that perhaps it would be wonderful. Your mother and father truly had loved each other, before your mother passed away. Some part of you thought you would end up with the same, with a rich boy who maybe would be a bit of a prick, but would love you all the same. But instead of that, you had been engaged to a Peaky Blinder . And not only that, one of the Shelby boys.

You had thrown a fit at first - not wanting anything to do with the life that being married to a Shelby entailed , the drugs, the drink, the cheating, and more importantly , the constant threat of death if they made another enemy.

“My sister, Ada, she decorated it. She thinks she’s some sort of interior designer.” He let out a laugh, though it was halting and uncomfortable. He sounded as if he had about as much clue as what to do as you.

“She did it well.” You poured the hot tea into two mugs, going to pour milk, before realising you didn’t even know if Finn liked milk in his tea. You let out an exhale.

“Look, lets not pretend that either of us wanted this. Let’s just get on with it, yeah?” You didn’t intend to be harsh - in fact, your tone was soft, but you knew it came across as cruel.

He paused. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You tried to pretend that you couldn’t hear the hurt in his voice, as you cradled the mug of tea in your hands.

___________

Two Months Later

Finn appeared home relatively early for once, slamming through the door loudly in his usual day, at around half seven, startling the cat snoozing in your lap.

“I’m home!” He yelled.

“I think the whole street knows that!” You replied with a laugh, as he entered the living room, shrugging off his jacket, letting it drop onto the floor behind him, not particularly caringly, as he shot you a grin.

Ever since that conversation in the kitchen, you and Finn had lived together as nothing more than friends, though it took a while to build your relationship up to even that point. You thought it was the best way, at first, convinced you could never have feelings for him, and him, to you. Recently, however, you couldn’t deny that your feelings towards the Shelby boy were beginning to change.

He paused at the mantelpiece for a moment.

“You put up photos?” There was a smile in his voice, a small one, as he looked back at you.

You stood up, walking next to him, at your collection at the mantelpiece - his family photos and yours mixed together , almost as if you were a real family. For a moment, it felt like you were.

“I finally got round to unpacking, yeah.” You laughed a little.

“Is that your mum?”

You looked at the photo, the laughing woman, who looked so much like you, holding a five year old you on her lap, and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“She was beautiful.”

“She really was. I can’t remember much about her, of course. She died when I was only little.”

“Like mine.” Finn spoke softly, his eyes glancing to the photo of his mother, and all of his family, all of them looking a lot younger, and a lot happier.

“Do you remember much about her? I... I mean, I can’t about my mum. Just a couple memories, the rest is just... fog.”

“Not much. I remember this one time really vividly, though, I don’t know if it was just a dream. We were in the living room, just us two and Ada, and I remember her dancing with me. I remember her laugh, the most. I can still hear it, if I close my eyes.” His voice was soft, and his eyes were firmly focused on the photo, as if he was lost in the memory. “What about you?”

You paused for a few moments - you never really talked about your mother, but with Finn ... though you didn’t fully know him, you trusted him, a lot, already.

“I must have been only three or four at the time, but she took me out to the grounds of the house, and I picked a tree, and she made me a swing, from scratch. My mum loved stuff like that. I loved that swing. My dad cut it down after she... after she passed. I don’t think he could bear any reminders of her.”

You both stood in silence for a few moments, lost in the past.

“Your dads a bit of a...” Finn began, then stopped himself as if unsure if he was going too far.

“A prick? Oh, definitely.” You both laughed a little.

You rearranged one of the photo frames so the grinning boy in it faced you.

“Who’s that? I don’t remember meeting him-“

“That’s my older brother. Eddie.” Your voice caught a little as you looked at the photo - his war photo, the one they took when he was enlisted. It was the last one you would ever have. “He died - in the Great War , I mean.”

“I’m so sorry.” Finn’s voice sounded sincere, sounded truly sorry, was the first person who ever really had had that reaction.

“He raised me, really, after Mum died. He was my best friend.” Your fingers traced over his smiling face. “He promised me he’d come home. He nearly did - he died two days before Armistice.”

“Shit...” His voice trailed off for a moment. “Do you know... where he’s buried? Is it in England?”

“They sent us a letter, telling us where he is. Somewhere in France. Calais.”

“Maybe we could go there, someday.”

You turned your face, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Sorry - was that stupid to say?” His voice was slightly panicked.

“No, no, no.” You said hurriedly,not wanting him to get the wrong idea, wiping away your tears. “That- that would be wonderful Finn.”

You reached out your hand to his, linking your fingers together, shooting him a grin, watching the corners of his smile pull up.

__________________

It was several days later, when you were walking home from the market, with the intention of cooking Finn a meal you had discussed a few nights ago, the one his mother always made for him as a kid.

You’d only just pushed open the gate to your cottage, when you noticed Finn rather haphazardly balancing in the branch of the old oak tree in the garden.

“Finn! What are you ... doing.” You trailed off as you got closer, noticed what he was doing.

Dressed in only a shirt and suit trousers, a small gash on his face that hadn’t been there when you left only a few hours ago, Finn was carefully securing rope onto a tree, that was connected to a small, wooden swing. You bit your lip, trying to keep your emotions in.

He shot you a startled grin.

“I thought you’d be out longer, I wanted it to be done-“ He carefully lowered himself to the ground, so he was facing you. “Before you got back.”

“You made me a swing?” You fingers brushed the rope, lip trembling.

“I remembered what you said the other night, about your dad cutting down your swing - I wanted to make you one here. I wanted to make it like... I don’t know, home.” His cheeks were flushed red, his eyes darting around awkwardly.

“This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Your voice cracked.

“You like it then?” He grinned.

“I love it.”

Spurred on by emotion, you stepped forward, one of your hands cradling his cut open cheek, eyes looking into his. Gently, unsure, you kissed him. He kissed back, not showing the awkwardness you knew he felt from his flushed cheeks, his hands going to your waist, and you realised how much you liked them there.

You pulled away after a minute, eyes going back to your swing, Finn’s hands still on your waist.

“Should we try it then?”

Your voice indicated towards the swing, but really, you thought, you meant your relationship. For the first time, you were certain you could grow to love the auburn haired freckle faced boy in front of you - if you hadn’t fallen in love already.

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