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adaratrixie · 3 months

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Poetry & Blood Chapter 1: The Initiate

By Trixie Adara

Laura held the advertisement in her shaking hand.

“You have to be kidding me.”

This was the address the secretary had sent her to. It was a massive estate, at least four stories tall and almost as large as a city block. In the middle of downtown Memphis? That didn’t make any freaking sense.

Laura checked the ad again:

WANTED: English major. Experience with editing and copy editing. Female. Experience with romantic fiction, reading or writing. Must be able to read poetry with emphasis, clarity, skill, and accuracy.

She found it on her old college campus on a bulletin board. It was dark purple with a picture of “The Purpose and the Passion,” by Camille K, a successful romance writer. She wrote mostly fluff, stories of overly buff and wealthy men pursuing strong and independent women. It made money, but it wasn’t the Next Great American Novel.

Laura had assumed she’d be working for Camille, though the ad wasn’t clear. What she hadn’t assumed was that Camille K lived in a giant estate in the middle of downtown. It looked like a library or a cathedral. It was oddly Victorian, standing out against the modern and concrete aesthetic around. Not many buildings from that time period were downtown, and even fewer had survived a giant fire from the early 1900’s.

Laura shivered. The building wasn’t just impressive. Impressive was a word you used for skyscrapers and giant arches. This was intimidating. Camille K, her new boss, had somehow managed not only to live here, but to afford living here all while writing dressed-up smut. It was entirely possible Laura was way, way over her head.

Laura approached the door and looked for a doorbell. It didn’t have one. All it had was a giant knocker attached to a lion’s face like a nose ring through the lion’s nostril. It was heavy, dark black iron. The circle itself must have weighed ten pounds. Laura pounded away with it and waited.

Eventually, a tiny blonde woman, she looked to be no more than thirty, with a cute pixie haircut appeared. She wasn’t in a maid’s uniform, though Laura must admit she expected a maid from the 1800’s to appear. The woman was in a simple sleeveless white blouse and a black pencil skirt. There was nothing eye-catching or extraordinary about her, really.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Uh, hi. My name is Laura Delazier. I got hired for the copy editing job?”

Laura had assumed it was a copy editing job. She’d be plundering Camille K’s predictable plots and painful dialogue for typos. But she needed a job. The world wasn’t desperate for English majors unless you wanted to be a teacher. Laura wanted to be a writer, but first she needed to find a story worth telling. She was still looking for it.

Unfortunately, her landlord wouldn’t take that reason for rent. Neither would her grocery store, her student loans, her phone bill, her insurance, nor gas for her car. No one wanted aspirational stories. They wanted money. Camille K had enough money for a mansion, and apparently, enough money to help out lowly English majors only a few months out of school.

“Copy editing job?” asked the woman.

Laura held up the ad. The woman scrunched her nose to try and read the ad, then took it from Laura. As she read, her face relaxed.

“Ooooo, the assistant job.”

“Assistant?”

“Oh, yes. Come right this way Miss Delazier.” The woman disappeared into the estate, and Laura followed. She turned around to make sure the door was closed behind them, then scampered after the short blonde.

As soon as she stepped inside, she wanted to pause and gawk. There was a grand staircase that wound all the way up to the fourth floor, and maybe even the roof. There were three different hallways to choose from. The building was rich with dark wood and pale marble that made Laura feel dirty, clumsy, and poor all at once.

But Laura didn’t have time to investigate closely. The blonde was fast, and Laura had no idea where she was taking her. She lost track of all the turns they take. They seemed to go up a side flight of stairs, and then down another flight of stairs. One floor had a garden in the middle of it, and another floor had a grand dining room.

“Am I getting the tour?” asked Laura.

“Sort of,” said the blonde without turning around. “Miss K is in a meeting. It’s a moving meeting, and I’m to make sure they don’t see you or me. Hence, the roundabout course.

“I’m not going to Miss K?”

“You’ll meet with her shortly. For now, I’m taking you to her primary assistant.”

“She has multiple assistants?”

The blonde stopped abruptly, and Laura almost slammed into her. She turned and gave Laura a look of disappointment and amusement. “Miss K employs a research assistant, a personal assistant, a primary assistant, and now you, an editing assistant. Not to mention: me, two other housekeepers, a personal cook, several lawyers, an accountant, and a personal trainer. Her primary assistant oversees all of us.”

“And she’s the one who -”

“Hired you. Will pay you. And will direct you. You’ll spend most of your time with her.”

The blonde turned back around and led on. They went up to the fourth floor - Laura’s calves were killing her - and came to a glass door. Behind that glass door was a beautiful office that had giant windows overlooking the waterfront of the Mississippi River.

Sitting at the desk, was an elegant Asian woman. She wore a flowing pantsuit that looked like it came off the runway in Paris. The legs flared a little below the knee, but were tight at the thigh. The neckline of the jacket was plunging, but the woman wore a simple white blouse underneath. She had long and straight black hair, going to her lower back. She looked to be only a little older than the blonde, in her mid or late thirties. She stood as she saw them round the corner and opened the door for them.

“Hello,” she said. “You must be Miss Delazier.”

“Please, call me Laura.” Laura extended her hand and shook Miss Lancaster’s.

“I’m Lucy Lancaster, I’m Miss K’s primary assistant. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes,” said Laura.

Everyone stood awkwardly outside Miss Lancaster’s office. Miss Lancaster and the blonde had some type of conversation with their eyes, and Laura tried to avoid eye-contact entirely.

“Is Miss K still with the -”

“Yes,” said the blonde quickly.

“Good.” Miss Lancaster turned to Laura. “Come on in, Laura. Let me tell you more about the position.” Miss Lancaster turned to enter her office, but Laura turned to the blonde.

“What was your name? I’m sorry, but I never got it.”

The blonde blushed and smiled. “I’m Angelica.”

“Thank you for showing me around, Angelica. I appreciate it.” Laura held out her hand to shake the blonde’s, but Angelic curtsied instead, and walked away. Laura turned and entered Miss Lancaster’s office.

Miss Lancaster was in the wrong job. The woman belonged on Wall Street or in Washington. Her talent, intelligence, and composure were wasted working as the staff manager for a romance writer. Laura respected her immediately, but was too intimidated to like her. She wanted to like her. Laura wanted to like everyone. But Miss Lancaster made her feel stupid and foolish for being an English major. She disapproved of Laura’s tiny writing credentials. She kept saying “we can make that work,” and everytime she said it, Laura died a little inside.

Laura’s job was to be feedback and copy editing for Miss K. Apparently, Miss K often gets stuck on story ideas. She needs help finding inspiration. She needs someone to bounce ideas off of. And yes, Laura will need to go over Miss K’s writing at the end of each day, line by line, to check for grammar, spelling, and inconsistencies in the text.

“What about the poetry reading part?” asked Laura.

“Miss K likes to have poetry read to her. It moves and inspires her.”

“Sure,” shrugged Laura. Whatever Miss K wanted, Miss K was going to get.

Miss Lancaster sighed and pushed back her chair. “Now comes the unpleasantness of this meeting.” She opened a drawer a pulled out a one-inch-thick stack of paper. She dropped it onto the table in front of Laura.

“Unpleasantness?” squeaked Laura.

“Unfortunately.”

“What’s this?” asked Laura.

“This is a Non-Disclosure Agreement, or NDA. It is a legal document binding you to privacy, secrecy, and confidentiality while under the employ of Miss Camille Kontalban.”

“Kontalban?”

“Doesn’t roll off the tongue, does it?” said Miss Lancaster with a smile.

“Not quite.”

“Hence, Miss K.”

“Right.”

Miss Lancaster flipped through the pages and explained them as best she could to Laura. Laura couldn’t tell people things that were happening in Miss K’s books. She couldn’t talk about Miss K’s process or methods. She couldn’t reveal Miss K’s creative or inspirational process. She couldn’t reveal Miss K’s lifestyle or homelife. In short, she couldn’t talk about Miss K in anyway to anybody outside Miss K’s employ unless she wanted an avalanche of legal troubles.

“Should I have a lawyer read over this?” asked Laura when Miss Lancaster was finished.

“You can if you want to. It’s pretty straightforward, though.”

“It’s a lot. And it’s … scary.”

“We’re not trying to scare you. We’re trying to protect Miss K.”

Laura sighed. “Where do I sign?”

“That-a-girl.” Miss Lancaster flipped to several spots, and Laura signed at each of them.

“One last thing,” said Miss Lancaster when they were finished. “And unfortunately, this was not in the add.” Laura went cold. “We insist that while you are in Miss K’s employ, since you will be working so intimately with her, that you should live in the manor.”

Laura’s mouth dropped. “In the manor?”

“Yes,” said Miss Lancaster. She chewed on her pen, nervously. “Is that alright?”

“You mean, I have to move out of my crappy apartment to live in a mansion with a greenhouse, a ballroom, a grand staircase, and and and …”

“A swimming pool?” suggest Miss Lancaster.

“This place has a pool?!” squealed Laura.

Miss Lancaster grinned and nodded. “And a gym. And a hot tub. And a spa.”

“Holy shit,” whispered Laura. Then she gasped and covered her mouth. She blushed with embarrassment.

Miss Lancaster laughed. “Holy shit, indeed.” She seemed to relax and sat back down at her desk across from Laura. “I take it you’re not upset by this?”

“Am I allowed to leave when I want?” asked Laura.

“Of course. It’s just easier for everyone if you’re nearby in case Miss K writes in a fevered passion at five in the morning.”

Laura shrugged. “Fair enough.” It certainly beat paying rent. She’d also get to cancel her membership to the gym? What might have been the sketchiest ad for an English major in history, may have turned out to be her luckiest break.

“I’ll have a full write up on the routines for the house: when meals are served, laundry, guests, etc.”

“Great,” said Laura.

Miss Lancaster stood and extended her hand. Laura stood and shook it. “Graumann will show you to your room.” Miss Lancaster pointed behind Laura. There, on the other side of the glass door, was a man in a white button-down shirt, a black tie, and black pants.

“Um …” started Laura.

“Yes?”

“When will I meet Miss K?”

“Ah, yes,” said Miss Lancaster. “Each night, Miss K has what she calls a Muse Session. You will meet her there tonight to start. It will be after dinner.”

“Not until then?”

“No. And let me make this clear,” Miss Lancaster’s smile faded, “you are not to harass or bother Miss K. You should not go near her office, her study, or her quarters. She will ask for you when she wants you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Laura.

“Good,” said Miss Lancaster. “Grauman?” she asked to the man behind Laura. He opened the door for Laura and gestured for her to exit. She followed him.

“What kind of name is Grauman?” asked Laura as they climbed down the stairs to the second floor, the one floor Angelica had made her skip.

“My name,” he said in a thick European accent. German maybe?

“Right, but where is it from?”

“My mother gave it to me.”

Right, thought Laura. Angelica nice. Lancaster scary. Grauman might be crazy or stupid. Got it.

Grauman was surprisingly young for a butler, or whatever the hell he was. He seemed to be in his late twenties, the closest to Laura’s age of anyone she’s seen so far. He had thick hair that was parted to one side and slicked with something. It was a dark brown to match his dark eyes. Laura didn’t ask him anymore questions.

When they arrived at her room, Grauman held out his hand. Laura stared at it.

“Oh, um,” she reached into her pocket. “Am I supposed to give you a tip?”

“No,” snorted Grauman. “Your key.”

“My key?” asked Laura.

“To go and get your things. Yes, your key.”

“Oooo,” said Laura. “The key to my apartment. Right. Sure. Here.” She took the key off the keyring and handed it to him. In turn, he handed her a key.

“This will open your room, your bathroom, and the front door of the house. After midnight, the house has an alarm. You do not get to know the code.”

“Okay, but -”

Grauman turned around and stomped off.

“Guess I’ll figure that out later,” muttered Laura. She turned around to inspect her room.

It was gorgeous. And spacious. Room isn’t the right word. It was a suite. Laura had a small kitchen, a seating area for guests, and large four-poster bed. She’d seen rooms like this in movies or on television, but she never thought she’d get to sleep in one, let alone live in one.

She squealed when she found her bathroom. It was huge. It had two full length mirrors, a shower, and a bathtub large enough for her to lay down, sprawl out, and share.

Not that she’d shared a bath with anyone ever, but she now she could if she wanted to. Well, she wanted to, but if someone else wanted to, now they could.

After completely freaking out about how incredible her amenities were, Laura went to explore the house. No one had told her she couldn’t, but she felt nervous that she might accidentally bump into Miss K or go into some forbidden section of the house.

Luckily, she wasn’t ten feet out of her room before Angelica found her.

“Lost?’ chirped the blonde from behind her.

Laura turned around and smiled. “Unfortunately.”

“It takes time to get used to.”

“I mostly don’t want to accidentally bump into Miss K. Miss Lancaster made it sound like she’d bite my head off.”

Angelica giggled. “Oh, I certainly don’t think she’d do that. Miss Lancaster is overprotective of Miss K. She wants to make sure nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, interferes with Miss K’s creative process. None of us get paid if Miss K can’t write.”

“Makes sense,” said Laura.

“Anyways, I can explain the house to you like this: fourth quarter is entirely business related. There are offices, like Miss Lancasters’, meeting rooms, etc. Your office will be up there.”

Laura nodded, but inwardly she jumped up and down, screamed, fist pumped, and danced. Her own office? She had her own office and her own apartment and a swimming pool and a gym and a personal chef and …. Her own office?! She needed to get into romance novels ASAP. Apparently the pay is to die for.

“The third floor is for used for a variety of things. I showed you the gardens. That’s also where you can find the gym. There’s also the movie theater. It’s recreational, I guess.”

A movie theater?!

“The first floor is for entertainment. That is where the primary dining rooms, ballrooms, and guest rooms are. If we host as a party, which we don’t do too much anymore, it will stay on the first floor. The second floor is the residence. The east wing is for staff, like us, and the west wing is entirely for Miss K. Her office and suite all occupy that space. Once you come to the double burgundy doors, you’re entering into her space. Stay away from the doors, and Miss K will be left in peace. If she finds you in the garden, you’ll have nothing to fear from her.”

Laura nodded. Double Burgundy Doors are the point of no return. Got it.

“I’ll go through those doors tonight, though, right?”

“Hmmm?” asked Angelica, turning around. “Oh, yes. For the Muse Session. Yes, those will happen in her suite tonight. Yes.”

“Where are we heading now?”

“I want to make sure you meet all the staff.”

Angelica took Laura all around the house (there were so many stairs! Her thighs burned!). She met the personal chef, a man named Jacques. Angelica said he only spoke French. The other housekeeper was a curvy redhead named Nikki. She had an adorable Southern accent. Miss K’s personal assistant was a mousy girl with thick and large glasses named Erika. She wore a thick sweater and scarf even in the depth of a Memphis summer. Those were the only staff that lived in the house. Miss K kept the “non-essential” assistants worked “off site,” normally from their homes.

Laura had dinner with Erika. Nikki waited on them. Erika said nothing, but Nikki talked her ear off. Apparently, she had only been working here a week or two. Miss K felt things were being missed and wanted an additional maid at all times to help out Angelica.

Nikki was sweet. She reminded Laura of her roommate, Claire. Both girls were extremely extroverted and had no issues sharing any bit of personal information. Laura learned that Nikki didn’t have a boyfriend, but she went out several times a week to find “a nice gentleman to ride.”

Laura blushed like she used to do with Claire. Where Laura grew up, people didn’t talk that way. They pretended they never had sex at all. Sex was what whores and prostitutes had. Respectable people made love, at best.

But Claire helped Laura mellow out. Claire liked to tell Laura who she had recently hooked up with and gave her explicit details about it. Laura learned that Claire went to clubs to explore her kinks and fetishes. Laura followed Claire two or three times on these expeditions, out of curiosity. The clubs were strange and hot. People were pushy or needy. It was too intense for her. It was no different than going to a wild pride parade. Yes, people were celebrating their sexuality. No, Laura didn’t want to participate. Yes, she could be around them and not freak out.

That was precisely what was on Laura’s mind as she pushed through the Double Burgundy Doors to Miss K’s side of the second floor. Laura noticed immediately that the air was staler here, stuffier, almost thicker. It felt like Angelica and Nikki had not dusted here in years. Which is strange considering the fact that if Laura was a housekeeper, she’d make sure the area around her boss’ room was the cleanest of all.

Nevertheless, Laura wandered through the hallways, looking for Miss K’s suite. Luckily, Miss Lancaster found her and led her to the right door. Laura hesitated before entering. She’d barely heard of Camille Kontalban a day ago. She hadn’t read a single book by the woman, nor would she read her books if they were given to her. But now she’d seen the house and the staff. The woman must be made of money. And ambition. What kind of woman was she?

Miss Lancaster pushed open the door and revealed an empty suite. “She’ll be in her bedroom,” said the tall asian woman as she stepped past Laura.

“Her bedroom?” asked Laura.

“Yes.”

“What are we going to do in her bedroom?” Laura raised an eyebrow at Miss Lancaster. The woman smiled and waved off Laura.

“I’ll admit, this will be the strange part. But she writes in a highly sexualized genre for women who want steamy sex scenes with gorgeous men.”

Laura blushed and looked down at her shoes.

“But you won’t be doing anything sexual,” said Miss Lancaster, raising her voice as she caught how her words sounded. “I promise.”

Laura looked up. “Oh,” she whispered.

“I promise. We’d have mentioned that in the ad or in a contract or something. There may be sexual things going on around you, but you will not be asked to do anything you’re uncomfortable with and nothing sexual.”

“What kind of sexual things?” asked Laura. Were they going to watch porn together?

“That’s hard to explain,” said Miss Lancaster. “It will be easier to show you.”

Miss Lancaster reached for Laura’s hand, but Laura pulled back. “Wait. Before we go in there, tell me what I’ll be doing. Exactly.”

Miss Lancaster sighed and looked at her watch. “You will be asked to read a poem for Miss Lancaster while she is … serviced.”

“Serviced?” asked Laura.

“Yes.”

“And by serviced you mean …” led Laura.

“Yes,” nodded Miss Lancaster. “Exactly what you think I’m hinting at.”

“She wants me to read poetry while this happens?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why the ad wanted me to be able to read poetry well?”

“Exactly,” sighed Miss Lancaster. She looked at her watch again. “Are you ready? We really can’t be late.”

“Wait,” said Laura, lifting her hand to Miss Lancaster. “I’m trying to figure out how I feel about this.”

Miss Lancaster stepped forward. Laura almost jumped back, but held her own. “Miss Delazier,” she said with iron in her voice. “You will be paid handsomely. You will edit her work, while having little editing experience yourself. You will copy edit her work while having literally no experience doing copy editing. You will give her feedback on a genre you know little of. You will have access to this home and all its amenities. And you get all this, despite your low qualifications, precisely because Miss K likes the way you read poetry. It is for that you were hired. If you won’t do this, we will be forced to dismiss you. Is that clear?”

Laura thought about all the magical perks of this job. This is the catch. Of course, there’s a catch. It was too good to be true. In order to keep the job, she’d have to participate in Miss K’s bizarre inspirational sex acts.

Well, not really participate. It was just reading poetry, right? She’d recorded poems and read them publicly hundreds of times. Sure, it was weird. But it was just reading. What bad could come from reading a poem?

Laura nodded. “That’s clear.”

“You’ll do as your told?” snapped Miss Lancaster.

“I’ll read the poem,” said Laura. “But that’s all I’ll do.”

“Good.” Miss Lancaster gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” She smiled at Laura, and Laura smiled back, though she didn’t know why. But Miss Lancaster didn’t linger. She stepped ahead of Laura and opened the door to Miss K’s bedroom.

Inside, candles were lit all around. There was no lamp of any kind. In fact, Laura didn’t think she saw a single electronic thing. No alarm clock. No television. No stereo. No phone charger. Nothing. There weren’t even outlets for electricity to get into the room. There were no windows, but there were two doors to the far corner. One was to a bathroom, where Laura could see shadows moving inside. The other was closed.

In the room were Grauman and Jacques. They both had unbuttoned their shirts considerable and taken off their ties. Laura admired their physique. Before, they looked like simple servants or businessmen. Now, she could see that their muscles were taut. Their shirts were constricting. They were strong and young. Laura could imagine their abs beneath their shirts. She wondered if they ever modelled for the covers of Miss K’s books. She felt herself flush with desire or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure which.

Neither Grauman or Jacques said anything to her. They barely noticed her. It gave Laura the chance to balance herself and adjust to her surroundings. The room was filled with the scent of candle smoke. Things felt surreal and thick. Laura wandered forward and caught herself on a stool near the door. On it, was a book. It was titled Poems by Marcilla. The book had a brown cover. It was old. The pages were thick and yellowing. Laura opened it and flipped through it. It looked as though the words were transcribed by hand in old ink. The script was flowing in beautiful calligraphy. How old was it? Laura felt she was holding a piece of history, but she’d never heard of Marcilla.

Laura looked up when she heard ruffling in the bathroom. A woman Laura had never seen, in similar clothes to Nikki and Angelica, scampered out of the bathroom and past Laura, almost knocking her over. Laura looked behind her to watch the woman go, but there was a sound from the bathroom. Laura turned to see the light come off and a woman who could be none other than Miss K stepped out.

Laura didn’t know what she imagined Miss K would look like. Perhaps she imagined some mousy bookworm that spent all day writing fantasies with men she would never have. Perhaps Miss K was an elderly woman: wiry, twiggy, and fragile. Silvered and ancient. But Laura never expected Miss K to look younger than her. It couldn’t be possible. Miss K had been publishing for ten years or so, but the woman that stepped out of the bathroom looked like she stepped off of a college campus.

Miss K was pale. Paler than pale. Pale women were cream. Miss K was snow. Her skin almost glowed in the dark room. Her hair was dark and curly, falling over her shoulders in waves. She was neither tall nor short. She wore a thin gold robe parted down the middle. Laura’s eyes were drawn to Miss K’s plump breasts and her ghostly nipples beneath. Laura’s eyes went to the floor, following the length of Miss K’s body. Miss K’s bush was absent, and two smooth and bare lips teased and embarrassed Laura.

But despite her impressive body, it was Miss K’s stride that struck Laura. She took small steps, carefully swinging each foot in front of the other before lifting a leg. Her hips swayed from the effort, but her feet moved in a perfect line. One foot swung out in front of another. There was a breath. Then the other foot swung out in front of the first. And decorating Miss K’s feet were a pair of bright blue heels. At the sound of their click on the wooden floor, Grauman and Jacques stood at attention for Miss K. Laura forgot about the missing maid, the ancient book, the hairless pussy, and everything else.

Miss K commanded the room.

“Laura,” she said with a smile. She reached out both hands for Laura to take, as though they were old friends about to embrace. Laura hesitated, but stepped forward and took both of Miss K’s hands in each of hers.

“I’m so happy you could join us here,” said Miss K. Her voice was heavy and thick, as though it were coming from underground, or through a veil. But it was pleasant and inviting. Laura liked her instantly and smiled despite the situation.

“I’m honored to be here, Miss K.”

Miss K laughed and threw her arms wide, releasing Laura’s hands. Her robe billowed and Laura saw more of her naked body, her glowing skin, her rolling flesh.

“Please,” she laughed. “You’ve seen me naked. The least you can do is call me Camille.”

Laura smiled. “Of course, Camille. Thank you for inviting me into your … process.” Laura tried not to sound judgemental with the last word, but she knew Grauman and Jacques weren’t here for moral support.

“It is a strange one,” admitted Camille with a shrug. “But it’s worked so far,” she spread her arms again and gestured to the entire estate, her entire writing career. “After this, my mind will be brimming with stories and words and sensations to put into my characters.” She stepped towards Laura and whispered, “and thus my readers.” She winked, and Laura found herself smiling again.

“But, let’s get to it.” Camille stepped away and clapped her hands. “Laura, darling, all you have to do is sit on that stool and read those poems. The words and the boys will do the rest.” Camille gestured to the poems Laura had found already. “Start at the beginning. There is a bit of a narrative to it all.”

Laura was about to ask about the author and the book, but Camille shrugged out of her robe. Grauman picked it up and carried it into the bathroom. Camille sat on the edge of the bed, turned, and faced Laura. Jacques went around the bed and sat next to Camille, facing away from Laura. He held a silver bowl, and in it was a flash of black and red. He extended his hand, and Laura saw a chocolate-covered strawberry. He lowered it, and Camille bit into it. Rivulets of red juice dribbled down her lips and her neck. Laura blushed and looked away.

Grauman came back from the bathroom without the robe. He stood in front of the bed, between Laura and Camille, and sank to his knees. Laura finally figured out that he was going to eat out Camille while Jacques fed her strawberries.

All while Laura read her poetry.

Grauman lowered himself to Camille’s flawless pussy. He began with long licks. Camille shivered, but she didn’t pay him any more attention than that. Instead, she caught the dripping strawberry juice as it slipped between her breasts. She licked her fingers and motioned for Jacques to feed her another bite.

She went back to college, back to Claire and the orgies and the kink clubs. She’d seen someone eaten out before. It was strange, asking her to participate with poetry, but no stranger than people dressing up like animals to have sex.

All she had to do was focus on the poems, the words.

She could do that. She could do words for days.

She opened the book. There was no table of contents. No publishing or copyright information. The first page began with a poem, like someone’s personal journal. Laura read:

The Yawn

Across the hall gather the women,

Each watching their husband,

Each daring him to dance with

Each strategic tittle of breast.

But Miss Laura Karnstein

Turns her head and yawns.

Her unadorned neck grows tight,

Then sags with parted lips,

Her mouth wide with boredom.

Laura looked up at Camille. Her mind ran over the name. Laura? The poem is about a Laura? Coincidence? It must be a coincidence. Laura is a popular enough name. But odder than that was the poem itself. This is what she wanted to read? And a poem about a yawn? Again, Laura wondered at the age of the text. Tittle? That’s an old word. This is what Miss K wanted to listen to while she was serviced by her two strapping employees? Laura watched Grauman as he went deeper into Camille’s pussy. His tongue gave long and deep strokes. Camille’s lips were bright red from strawberries. Her chin, neck, and the top of her breasts were also faintly pink.

Laura shrugged and continued:

But her porcelain skin catches me.

The length of her thin neck,

The pale skin masking

So much red life, so much

Thrumming potential,

But she passes it on

As yet another yawn.

I look for Mr. Karnstein,

But he is neither in Miss Karnstein’s eye

Nor among the men.

He must be a yawn,

Missing the twitch in her

Pulsing throat,

The brazen sign of desire

For more than this,

Camille moaned. Laura looked up again. Camille’s eyes were open. She was staring at Laura. Jacques offered her another strawberry, but she shook her head. She ran her hand through Grauman’s hair. Camille kept her eyes locked on Laura and moaned again, tilting her head back, but never looking away. Laura blushed and kept reading:

More than traditional dances.

She pulls away, and I follow.

I see the vein of her neck shiver,

And I join it. The first twitch

Of game before it runs; she rises

To excuse herself,

As though it possible,

As though a resting note,

A caesura,

May be

pardoned

or ignored.

Laura paused again. A line break like that wasn’t conventional for the time period. That’s a visual element of a poem, saved mostly for the early 1900s. She felt tempted to skim through the book, to find more evidence of who Marcilla was and when this poem was written.

Camille moaned again. Laura felt heat rush to her thighs. She blushed at being turned on and the impossibility of the scenario. Heat spread through her cheeks and down her neck.

Her neck. Laura’s neck.

She saw it clearly, Laura Karnstein bored at a party. Laura Karnstein’s neck stretching and yawning. Her neck taught. Her neck bare. Her neck pulsing. Laura’s hand brushes her neck, self-consciously trying to hide it from Camille’s gaze. She dare not look up, dare not see Camille staring into her, moaning at her. She read the last couplet:

But I rise and follow.

She retreats, and I give chase.

Camille let out a shrill moan. Laura looked up and sees Camille’s back arch, her head flung back, as she humped Grauman’s face. Jacques abandoned feeding her strawberries, and licked one of Camille’s nipples. Camille spasmed and let out another moan.

Laura found herself hoping Camille would cum and be satiated. She didn’t want to endure another poem. She wanted to take the book away and pour through it. She wanted to find out how it was made and who wrote it. Who was Marcilla? Was this autobiographical? Was Laura Karnstein real? Her warm, throbbing neck?

But Camille’s moans rolled on. She almost fucked Grauman’s face with her fevered thrusting. Jacques used a free hand to administer to Camille’s other breast, but she stopped him. She paused, hesitating. She went rigid, and then sighed.

Laura couldn’t help but notice Camille’s thighs quiver as Grauman moved away.

Both men went the bathroom. Laura heard the sink turn on, and then both men walked past her and left the room. Could Laura join them? Did she need permission to go? Would Camille dismiss her? Or would she read more? Would she give chase to Laura Karnstein as Marcilla did?

Camille lay on the bed for a minute. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. Another finger absentmindedly swirled over her clit. Laura’s thighs were warm from watching such a beautiful woman glow in the dark and openly touch herself without shame. What a power, to be so shameless.

No. Shameless implies she ought to be ashamed. Camille was free of shame, and that stirred Laura again.

Camille sat up and smiled at Laura. “Thank you, Laura. That was a beautiful reading.”

“Really?” asked Laura, flustered from the compliment.

“Yes.” Camille came to sit at the edge of the bed, but one hand never left her smooth mound, keeping soft circles rolling over Camille’s clit. “You have a beautiful voice. It fills the room, like your words roll over my body.”

Laura blushed and hid her face.

“But don’t pause next time. Read it all in one rush of emotion. Poetry is a storm, not a story. Okay?”

Laura nodded, embarrassed at the gentle reprimand.

“May I go?” asked Laura.

“Soon, darling.” Camille fell back into the bed and kept touching herself. Laura looked away, wanting to give Camille privacy, though Camille clearly didn’t need it. She flipped through the pages of the strange tome in her hand. She turned to the next poem, something about a peach. She tried to read, but the light was dimming in the room. Laura looked up to see the candles low, and Camille sitting up, her robe back on. Her lips were still bright red. They glowed on her pale skin in the fading light.

Then everything went dark.

** If you want to follow me, get more of my writing, or support me, check me out on Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/trixieadara **

#smut #lesbian #wlw #vampire #romance #gothic #horror #victorian #sapphic #dark #corruption kink #mind control #brainwashing

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naturesvice · 2 years

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@mrscoultxr // continued from here.

the invitation had come as no surprise, in the end. talk had arisen in the coming weeks, and praise was exchanged towards her work by some, kept in highest regard as placing the foundations for something extraordinary while held under heavy ridicule by others. It had raised eyebrows on occasion, and she’d received a letter once, the sender clearly agitated and under the strong belief that there was a sort of sanctity to be kept between a human and their daemon. they claimed that in placing the connection under the lens of heavy scrutiny, picking apart the essence of thought and the subconscious mind, what it meant for both you and your soul, that you were violating the intended nature of such a bond on unfathomable levels. it was the sort of argument you could sense ulterior motive in, and while she's certain they tried to suppress it, they’d done a horrible job of concealing the implication that they had something to hide. ( it’d been unsigned, for starters. ) but it’d bolstered her theory, and it’d been gratifying to see the practice challenged all the same. debate and discomfort meant there was weight to the idea, they couldn't deny that.

she suspected at least one person to feel a similar way this evening, steeling herself for the possibility that she was walking into a welcome debate as she exchanged pleasantries throughout the evening. and for every question offered to her in the coming hour, passing company instead received an array of prepared half - truths in exchange for their guided intrigue. there'd been nothing spoken beyond what she'd written already- what was safer in the form of a simmering thought, than through the subtle albeit detrimental art of word-of-mouth. she had to be cautious.

no matter the occasion, she would observe events like this for what they were, and often found little merit in attending unless she had company or other means to uphold. though she enjoyed the opportunities it proposed, and it fascinated her endlessly to twist and pull, and watch on to observe the myriad of ways which people failed to conceal themselves.

all, of course, save for one attendee in particular.

fingers wrap around the offered champagne flute, a gentle thank you bestowed before she commits herself to the conversation. Adara watches the ongoing conversation with a passive sense of courtesy, tail folded neatly inward as she keeps near Bedelia's heel. her head turns momentarily- a languid motion coming to a subtle halt once her attention has been caught by something of interest- and Bedelia offers her attention inconspicuously during a decided point, a subtle glance graced upon the two through the corner of her eye.

daemon's eyes trained and ears upward, her head tilts lightly aside, attentive in how she oversees the potential approach. it isn't until the scholar they had been conversing with- relatively knowledgeable, despite his undoubtedly ill-guided manner- proceeds to excuse himself, that it occurs to her Bedelia may have said something to make him uncomfortable. she returns her attention briefly to the flighty nature with which the small mouse on his hand scampers to his shoulder, and it becomes apparent through the satisfaction Bedelia otherwise did well to conceal that it'd very much been intentional, and that he hadn't appreciated the question she posed at all.

"poking around where you shouldn't is risky, you know that." is all she offers once she's found a spot further up, and she's met in return with Bedelia's hand running briefly through her fur, amused and unapologetic in nature though still a sign of silent promise. "I've said nothing of importance. Some people would just rather hear a lie."

“Mrs. Coulter,” the moments leading to their reunion pass quickly, Bedelia's silence spent examining nothing but intent. she'd read the other, ever since her college years, to be an admirably unrelenting force self assured with an aspiration others could only dream of. dangerous? undoubtedly, as all forces had been. but she was also due to be far more compelling company than she could say for other attendees.

there's a sense of failure to provide any overt surprise, nor the stage-led aura of shock one might possess upon reuniting with an old acquaintance. instead, she takes to an easy, polite smile, her daemon gently circling around her feet before exchanging a glance from Mrs. Coulter to the golden monkey. "What a pleasant surprise ... I wasn't aware you'd be attending. How are you?"

#› bedelia . ‹ answered .#› bedelia . ‹ verse ╱ his dark materials .#had the reply to this done and the editor ate like half of it i might just go insane #but i played into it being prior bc i thought the lack of certain answers could make for an interesting back and forth ♡︎#mrscoultxr

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hoodwinkd1 · 3 years

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the stars that shine - Ch 3

Ch 2 here.

Chapter 3: I was sixteen when suddenly

“Excuse me, esteemed guests,” the herald called out. “A toast, from Queen Mother Georgina.”

The room silenced quickly, people putting down their dessert forks and picking up their flutes.

Hollin watched his mother rise, fixing her skirts and simpering at the crowd. “My dearest friends, thank you all so much for joining us for such a wonderful evening to celebrate Adarlan’s future.”

They couldn’t all be her dearest friends, could they? Considering Hollin didn’t recognize over half the faces, he highly doubted it.

“The fall harvest has produced more bounty than anyone predicted, so tonight is to celebrate the hard work of our farmers and all those who financially support them.” She paused for a moment, allowing light applause to flutter through the room.

He caught Dorian’s eye. Although the King looked engaged and supportive externally, Hollin could read the boredom oozing from him. They shared a look, both thinking that this dinner couldn’t celebrate farmers if none had been invited.

“And of course,” Georgina continued. “Tonight is celebrating my son as well. Happy birthday, Hollin. May this year provide even more success for you and the kingdom.”

She raised her glass against his, then sat down.

“Thank you,” he muttered, taking a large sip of champagne. “The dinner is...lovely.”

His mother preened. “Oh, of course my dear. Anything for your sixteenth.” She sighed and drank half her glass. “I cannot believe how grown up the two of you are. I remember, oh it feels like yesterday, when you first rode a horse--”

Her closest courtiers leaned in to hear the story, right as Hollin tuned her voice out. Only one glass, and he could sneak off while pretending to “work the room.”

Luckily, Dorian jumped in as soon as the story ended with him falling on a stable boy. “Hollin, would you join me? I spotted some people I should greet.”

His brother had been more supportive than usual in the past two year. After Hollin had begun his training, with a mortifying first lesson, Dorian had quietly stepped in to help. Although the two of them lacked the easy conversation between many siblings, they had come to some sort of arrangement. Hollin could find Dorian whenever he felt overwhelmed, without fearing judgment or scorn.

“Do you think she’s ever met a farmer?” Hollin wondered, as they navigated past tables. “Actually spoken to one before?”

Dorian chuckled. “I always forget how sheltered she’s been as Queen. Even during the damn war, Mother was too far away to interact with any soldiers or common people.”

“So was I.” The words flew out of Hollin’s mouth before he could think.

Dorian stopped walking. “What? You were a child.” He turned his head sharply. “Hollin, you can’t possibly feel guilty for-”

“Your Highnesses!” A family approached them. Hollin recognized the parents as Ladies Bernice and Nerissa Finnick, who oversaw much of the sea commerce in Rifthold, leading three of their children towards the princes.

Nerissa reached out a deep bronze hand. “Excuse the interruption. If you have a moment, Your Majesty, I would like to request a meeting for next week.”

Dorian took her hand and smiled warmly. “Of course. Hollin, have you met the Finnicks yet?”

Maybe his brother didn’t have his back all the time.

“Yes, Anya and I have had some classes together.” He nodded at the middle daughter.

Anya stepped forward as the adults began some boring conversation. “These are my brothers, Galen and Sebastian.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hollin responded, shaking both of their hands. He hated the formality these parties required, since most of his peers treated him quite casually in other settings. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

Galen smiled. “The food was excellent, so I can’t complain.” Hollin had to glance up to look at him, the whole family annoying tall, tan, and beautiful.

“Have you heard any news from Terrasen?” Anya asked. “From Evangeline?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer her question, whether she simply meant to further the conversation or if she wanted a certain piece of information. “Nothing...particular, but the royal family seems to be doing well.”

“Ah, well. I’ve written to her a few times, but she hadn’t mentioned any plans to return. We all miss her so much,” Anya sighed.

Oh. Apparently everyone on this damn planet loved Evangeline and expected them to be best friends.

“I’m sure she knows she’s welcome here anytime.” Hollin took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few more guests to greet.”

He was lying, of course. Hollin snuck into the kitchens as soon as he maneuvered past prying eyes, content to finish the evening with another round of dessert and absolutely no more niceties.

---

Thick snow layered Orynth, as it always did in late winter, but the dining room inside the palace was downright toasty. Evangeline’s gaze kept catching on the massive window across from her, the white powder falling down in countless patterns and twists.

“Excuse me, Queen speaking!” Aelin called out, tapping a knife against her champagne flute to command everyone’s attention. “I’d like to make a toast.”

Evangeline started at the interruption, turning away from the snowfall, as Lysandra rolled her eyes from the seat next to her. “Just keep it brief, Galanthynius. Today isn’t about you.”

Aelin pouted for a moment, garnering laughs from the table, then shrugged her shoulders. “Fair point.” The two women shared a grin before she turned to face the larger group.

“Today is about two of my favorite people,” she began. “Lysandra and Evangeline, I am incredibly happy that we all came together to celebrate such happy news.”

Aedion leaned across the table and caught Rowan’s eye. “‘Two of my favorite people’ and we aren’t even included? Pure misandry,” he muttered. The silver-haired Fae chuckled lightly.

“Exactly,” Aelin shot back. “Now hush, male. Eva, even with the most chaotic group of parental figures, has managed to grow into one of the kindest, wisest, and most genuine young women I have ever met. I hope this year brings you joy and fancy jewelry, both of which you deserve plenty of. Happy sixteenth birthday, my darling.”

Evangeline blew her aunt a kiss. She couldn’t put into words what this entire evening meant to her, how unbelievable it was that the Queen and King of Terrasen hosted her birthday dinner. She glanced down the table, smiling at all of the family and friends that looked at her with such love in their eyes.

“Lys,” Aelin continued. “My best friend. You took care of me, and so many other people in this room, when we needed it most, giving you more than enough practice for this next chapter in your life. I think I might actually be more excited than Aedion for this baby.”

Aedion leaned back in his chair. “Not possibly, cousin.”

“Didn’t I already hush you?” Aelin scrunched her nose. Evangeline held back a giggle at their dynamic. “Anyway, I can’t wait to force Adara to befriend your child, just so we all have another excuse to spend time together. Cheers to these two beautiful women.”

“Cheers!” The whole table cried out, glasses clinking and liquid sloshing.

Lysandra tapped her glass of sparkling juice against Evangeline’s. “I’m a bit sad that you get to drink alcohol while I can't. I always imagined sneaking you liquor on a ladies’ night.”

Aedion put down his juice as well. The couple had agreed that if Lys couldn’t drink, neither of them could. “I always wanted to take her to one of the taverns in Rifthold. Watch little Eva drink her first ale while taking men for all their worth in cards.”

“I’m not that good,” Evangeline laughed. “And anyway, this is a very classy way to have my first, proper glass of alcohol.”

“Proper?” Rowan interjected, bouncing the crown princess on his leg. “Does that mean you’ve had an improper drink before?”

Aelin gasped. “My devious little angel”

“No!” Evangeline scrunched her nose. “I just meant, first drink beyond accidental sips and tasting it from your glasses. You’re all horrible.”

Aedion shrugged. “My first drink was when I was fourteen. Stepped off the battlefield and took a very large sip of something disgusting.”

Lysandra patted his knee affectionately. “That’s a terrible story. We probably all had bad experiences during our first time.”

“First time? Lys, you make it sound like something dirty,” Aelin teased. “My first time was quite romantic-”

“Really? Bringing him up at a nice dinner?” Rowan drawled. “In front of our child?”

Evangeline finally stopped trying to hold back her laughter and huge smile. She would miss this family, miss the ease and joy that came with every conversation during her next round of travels.

----

Evangeline all but threw herself onto the lavish bed, too exhausted to even consider taking a bath, though she most definitely needed one. Banjali might be the loveliest city she had ever seen, if not remarkably warm in the early springtime.

She had a week left in Eyllwe, with most of that time spent travelling. Aelin had pulled her aside before her visit, and asked her if she would be prepared for a visit to Calaculla to demonstrate Terrasen’s grief for the horrors committed there. Evangeline, of course, agreed to the detour.

As if to make up for the depressing finish to her stay, the Ytgers’ had ensured her time in the capital city was as happy as possible. The younger crown prince in particular put in the most time and effort to show her around the city. Evangeline didn’t mind, not when Deji was nice enough to look at.

She sat up at the sound of a sharp knock. “Time for dinner,” Fenrys announced from the other side.

“I haven’t had any time to change!” Evangeline protested, scrambling towards the vanity, eyes widening in shock at the state of her hair. “I thought we had an hour!”

She didn’t love that this trip was chaperoned, but Lysandra and Aedion had insisted. The ship would travel past Skulls Bay, a place where Aelin had apparently made more enemies than friends.

“We would have had an hour, if you didn’t stop for cake on the walk back.” Fenrys opened the door carefully. “Can I come into the sitting room?”

“Ugh!” Evangeline huffed, pulling her hair out of its braids. She walked over to the entrance of her bedchamber and slammed the door between them shut. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

She could hear him pacing around. “If we get any snide remarks for being late, I’m tattling on you to Aedion.”

Evangeline stuck her tongue out, although he couldn’t see her. She didn’t have time for a proper reply.

Seventeen minutes later, the two of them walked down to one of the smaller dining rooms. The Queen stood at the entrance, looking impeccable as always. Evangeline looked...passable, clothed in a fresh, crimson dress and golden hair somewhat brushed.

“Hello, Your Majesty,” she greeted. “I hope we aren’t late.”

The Queen waved her off. “Tonight is a rather small affair, do not fret. Lord Fenrys, I hope you don’t mind that we planned on separating the children from the adults tonight? The boys have a couple friends with them and they do hate it when we eavesdrop.”

Fenrys puffed his chest a bit at the use of his title. “Perfectly fine by me. Assuming you can handle yourself, Lady Evangeline?”

“Of course,” she responded, her polite tone at odds with the elbow she shoved into his side when the Queen turned to lead them in.

Kharis, the elder prince, walked up to them. “Good evening. May I escort you in?” He offered up his arm, which Evangeline took with one last wave to the adults.

He steered her towards another door that he opened to reveal a room with a much smaller table. She was met with four pairs of eyes, only one of which she recognized.

“This is Lady Evangeline, from Terrasen,” Kharis announced.

“Oh please, just Eva,” she insisted. “Pleased to meet you.”

One of the girls stepped forward. “I’m Athaliah, and these are my siblings, Jethro and Phebe.”

They all took their seats then, and luckily, conversation flowed easily. The three of them were not nobility, but their grandmother had served with the Queen’s father. Evangeline didn’t quite understand how he had managed to get his daughter on the throne after an alleged rebellion against the former King, but she didn’t think it polite to ask.

Phebe and Deji seemed to have some special connection, joking on a level that suggested intimacy. Evangeline forced herself to feel any sort of disappointment at their banter. Even if she thought he had flirted with her, nothing actually happened.

“Would you like a drink?” The boy of her thoughts interrupted the conversation Evangeline was currently having with Athaliah. “We nicked some spiced wine.”

“That sounds lovely,” she replied. Deji handed her a glass, seating himself next to her on the couch.

“Where will you go next?” Athaliah asked, continuing on. “Back to Terrasen?”

Evangeline nodded. “My ward, Lord Darrow, is expecting me back in a few weeks. We have some additional time, but quite honestly, I’m excited to sleep in a familiar bed again.”

“Our accommodations aren’t good enough for you?” Deji teased.

Evangeline scrunched her nose at him. “Of course not! But I am unaccustomed to this heat so early in the year.”

Jethro called for his sister, the others beginning to play a card game of sorts. She left them alone on the couches, Evangeline scrambling for something to keep the conversation going.

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

Perfect. “How far is this ‘something’?” Evangeline brought the glass to her lips, enjoying the slow buzz of the wine.

Deji stood, holding out his free hand. “Not far. I wouldn’t dare make you walk for too long in this heat.”

She followed him out of the room, down the hall, and towards a large balcony that she hadn’t noticed before. He held open the opaque doors, gesturing for her to step out first.

Evangeline let out a small gasp at the view. From this angle, the ocean seemed endless, and the moon looked close enough to touch. Large, swaying trees framed the water’s edge. The entire scene glittered with starlight, more real than a painting, yet more beautiful than real life.

“This is...unbelievable.”

Deji leaned against the stone railing. “It’s my favorite view, especially at night. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t see and hear the ocean most days.”

Evangeline joined him on the railing. “You might have ruined me as well. I’ll miss this dearly back home.”

They glanced over each other at the same time, bringing a heated blush to her face. His skin was too dark to show it, but she prayed she wasn’t alone in this feeling.

“Can I kiss you?” she blurted out, then immediately covered her mouth with her free hand. Oh gods, she might as well fling herself from the balcony now. Evangeline wanted to blame the wine, but truthfully, one drink hadn’t clouded her judgement at all. “I’m so sorry, that was--”

Deji cut her off, grabbing her hand gently and holding it in his own. “I was afraid you were going to make me ask you.”

He leaned in then, pressing his lips against hers. Evangeline’s eyes fluttered shut, experimentally deepening the kiss and moving her mouth against his.

It was sweet, if not a bit clumsy and filled with nervous giggling. Everything a first kiss should be.

----

Dorian found him in the training ring, one morning. Hollin wanted to get reacquainted with walking up earlier, now that spring had arrived and the afternoons would soon be too warm for exercise.

"Do you need something?" he huffed, talking a second to chug some water. The endurance circuit was quite honestly kicking his ass.

His brother shrugged. "I feel bad that I didn't warn you last time, so I'm telling you in advance now. Evangeline and Fenrys Moonbeam will be staying in the palace for a few days on their way back from Eyllwe, arriving in one week."

Hollin spun on his heel, pretending to grab a towel to keep his face hidden. "It's a bit last minute for royal guests, isn't it?"

Dorian sighed. "They're dear friends, not courtiers. Perhaps we could do a more casual dinner, allow you the chance to get to know both of them better. I'm sure Fenrys would offer to train you a bit as well."

"Is that the purpose behind their visit? Give me training with a feared Fae warrior?" Hollin didn't cover the sarcasm in his tone.

"No, I believe Eva wanted to see her friends here, something she doesn't regularly get a chance to do. Are you done with the questions?"

"Yes. Fine. Whatever." He pushed himself up, abandoning the towel. A bath would do nicely for his aching muscles. "Add the required events to my schedule."

Dorian mumbled something under his breath, but thankfully turned to leave. Right before he re-entered the main hallway, he called out: "It wouldn't hurt you to have friends!"

"I have two!" Hollin called back. "Who needs more than that?"

#tog #throne of glass #fanfic #hollin havilliard #evangeline tog #dorian #eyllwe #sjm #sarah j maas #fic

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drethanramslay · 5 years

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Part 1: Adara

Pairing: Aurora x MC (Iris Everette)

Author's note: Hey guys! Here is the first installment of the mini series. Hope you like it and enjoy it.

Songs: Kiwi by Harry Styles and Nervous by the Neighborhood

Tagging: @agent-breakdance @miyakokurono

Warning: PG, slight swearing and violence and some fluff

Iris rode on her motorbike, feeling the fall wind sting her through her leather jacket. It was five am and there were hardly any people on the usual busy streets of Boston.

Iris enjoyed these moments. Riding her motorcycle, feeling the wind ruffle her red hair, making her look like a tantalizing flame, easy to see, hard to catch. The sun was slowly rising, and peaking through the various buildings as if it was playing hide and seek.

In these moments she felt free. Almost liberated.

But, such moments don't last very long. She saw the hospital's great glass facade and pulled into the parking lot. She took out her helmet and shook her windswept hair. She picked up her messenger bag and walked towards the entrance of the building.

She spotted Dr. Naveen Banerji stepping out of his car. "Hey Chief! Good morning." She called out. Naveen's kind eyes stopped at the red head and he smiled. "Well, a very good morning to you too, Dr. Everette." She waited patiently for the older diagnostician, so that they could walk into the hospital together.

"So, I saw Declan Nash yesterday in the foyer. Is it true that he got his own office here?" Iris said slowly, side eyeing the chief. Dr. Banerji was the most diplomatic person she had met, and was a very good actor. Hell, he had the entire hospital fooled regarding his illness. So when she saw him grimace, she knew that it was true.

Fucking cunt. It would only be a few minutes before my fist would bury into his mouse face.

"Yes Dr. Everette. That's apparently true. And I also learned that Ethan was responsible for this entire... transaction." ."But, Chief-" Iris began before Naveen held a hand up, stopping her.

"You don't need to explain it to me. I know how it went down. I don't blame him or you at all. Sometimes, we need to bite the bullet for the greater good." He said, with years of wisdom pouring out of him. Iris rarely respected authority, but there were very few people who she respected and Dr. Banerji was one of them.

Iris mulled over the words, lost in thought. Soon she reached the locker room where she saw her roommates, changing. "Hey frriiieenndsss." Iris said with a haunting voice.

The group burst into laughter as Jackie groaned. "For the love of Lord Ram, Iris stoppp." She grumbled as she tied her shoe laces. The previous week, on their day off, they had binged watch 'It lives in the woods' against Jackie's wishes. Jackie maybe as tough as a rock, but she despised horror. So they did the exact opposite. She disliked the 'black ghost thingy' and his obsessive need to say 'frrriiieeennnndsss'. She found it creepy and spooky. Spooky because, when Iris was going to bed, she saw Jackie sleeping with the lights on.

"C'mon Jackie. You know I love you right." She said as she nudged her shoulder. "Fuck off. I'm outta here." Jackie picked up her things and headed for the door.

"Don't forget, we are watching season 2 tomorrow night." Bryce hollered after her. She just flipped him off and walked out. Iris chuckled as she hung her jacket in her locker. She was just taking her shoes out when Bryce strolled and sat next to her on the bench.

"Well, your hair looks like sex hair. Who is the lucky someone??"

Iris just rolled her eyes. "Don't talk shit, scapel jockey. It is too early and I need a coffee or four to have the strength to deal with you." Bryce just laughed and stood up. "See you later bro. Dr. Tanaka allowed me to assist on a Whipple."

Iris whistled lowly. "Oh ho, Hotshot. Remeber me when you are famous."

She just shook her hair and smiled. She was in her underwear, reaching for her scrubs, when someone cat-called her. "Nice legs. Putting a show on for me, mia cara?"

Oh god, give me strength.

"Suck a dick, Vincenzo." She didn't bother looking at him as she slid her, scrubs on. He came forward and leaned at the locker adjacent to hers. "C'mon babe... It's meant to happen anywa-" She was done with his bullshit, so she opened the locker door, letting it bang on his face.

"Why you little-"

"Leave her alone, asshole." A husky feminine voice spoke out. Both of them turned to see Aurora standing there, with her hands in her waist and her eyes narrowed.

Iris' breath caught in her throat and she felt flustered. She usually was the one who made people flustered, which she found amusing. She wasn't one for all these- feelings. But, after she met Aurora, she couldn't help but be fascinated by her. She found the quiet, observent and intelligent resident intriguing and someone who she felt drawn to, like a siren.

"What are you going to do? Run to your auntie?" Vincenzo scoffed.

"No. After I am done fucking up your case, my aunt will almost look cute." She said cooly. Vincenzo's jaw dropped and he just turned tail and ran away.

During the entire exchange Iris, almost swooned. Operative word being, 'almost'.

"Careful Rory, it almost seems like you care for me." Iris said teasingly.

Aurora rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Princess. And, how many times do I have to tell you, my name is not RORY?!!"

"Well, I am gonna pretend that I didn't hear that. C'mon Rory, it's a beautiful day to save lives." Iris said as she dragged Aurora by the hand.

Aurora was caught off guard but she would be lying if she didn't enjoy the feeling of the redhead's warm hand in hers. She squeezed it gently and followed her for rounds.

⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️

It was a crowded Friday night at Donahue's. Aurora hung her coat at the overflowing coat rack, praying to God that her coat won't become the new doormat for the pub. She then shoved her way towards her new roommates.

Roommates. That's a new term she was still getting used to. She never really had them before. She was from the hustling city of New York, before she shifted here for med school. She was a day scholar at Harvard Medical school and had stayed with her aunt.

She found herself a group of friends. She never really had friends before. She had learnt from a young age, that people always had an ulterior motive. She was basically royalty. They always wanted to impress her so that they could have a good word with her family.

Her mother was a famous actress, who had starred in various TV shows and movies. Her dad, was a nation renowned cardiac surgeon and her aunt was one of the leading neurosurgeons of the country.

Knowing her family history, it was but obvious that Aurora would get into medicine. As you expect a fish to swim in water, people expected her to nail her SATs and get into one of the best colleges in the nation.

She never really had the chance to decide her own path. She thought that she had escaped her overbearing parents when she shifted to Boston. Boy, she was wrong.

Her aunt's heart was in the right place but GOD, she was annoying. But, she was better than her parents. Anybody, would be better than her parents, who were just a bunch of robots who gave Ethan Ramsey a run for his money.

But, Iris changed that outlook. Iris really shook the walls she had spent years reinforcing. One look at her piercing green eyes, Aurora felt exposed. Usually, Aurora felt uncomfortable feeling this exposed. But with Iris....She was willing to take the leap.

But when she thought about Iris, she couldn't help but feel that she was still an enigma. She knew so very little about the young resident. She could see the fort, surrounding her. Iris maybe laid back and teased people incessantly but, there was so much more to her.

"Hey girl. Wassup?" Jackie greeted her. She shrugged and slid onto the barstool. "Same shit. Different day." Sienna spat her drink while Iris snorted. Jackie just smiled slyly. "Okay then."

"Rory, what do you want?" Iris asked, beside her.

I want to know more about you.

"The usual. Cherry vodka and soda." Iris nodded and then flagged down the barkeep.

"Hey Rory! How was your day?" Bryce asked.

Iris slapped his shoulder. "Only I can call her that. Be more creative, Lahela."

Aurora snickered and nudged Iris. "So overprotective."

"I am your knight in the shining armour. Get your facts checked, Rory." Iris exclaimed.

Everything was great, untill it wasn't.

Vincenzo was right behind Iris, trying to get to the bar table. It would have been completely normal if, he wouldn't have reached down to grab her ass.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Iris turned around, grabbed his wrist, twisted it and pinned it to his back. He yelped but that didn't stop her. She slammed his head on the bar and kept him there. Collective gasps went around them and someone pulled the cord of the jukebox at the same time.

"Now, now Vincenzo. What have you done?" She asked, her voice so cold, that it sent a shiver down Aurora's spine.

"I-I didn't do anything!!" He sputtered.

She pulled his hand more, make him screech in pain. "Wrong answer. Try again."

He was sweating now. "I-I grabbed your ass."

"Correct. Now tell me, is it nice to molest people?" She asked sweetly.

"N-n-no." He gasped.

"Ding ding ding. That's the correct answer. Now listen to me, and listen good. Next time, if I see you anywhere near me or any girl, and try to manhandle her, I will skin your testicles. And don't feel for a moment think that I am joking. Because I am not." She said with acid dripping in her tone.

She lets him go. She straightens his tacky jacket and pats his cheek. She smiles. "Now run along, boy."

She turns around towards her drink and takes a sip of the smooth whiskey. Over the rim of her glass, she noticed the expressions of her friends and colleagues.

Sienna had her mouth open, with a lettuce hanging out.

Jackie, was stunned while, Bryce had a hand on his chest, taken aback.

Dr. Ramsey's eyes were as big as saucers, which was the most expression she had seen from him.

Aurora had a heated gaze.

And, Elijah had fainted.

"Elijah?!!" Iris rushed and shook his shoulder. He woke up disoriented. "Yeahhh I might have passed out after seeing something so scary."

"I don't know whether to be scared or be turned on." Bryce said, recovering first. "Well, I'm turned on." Aurora mumbled into her drink, so lowly that only Iris heard. Iris was as red as her hair.

"Well, remind me not to ever cross you Iris." Jackie said.

Iris laughed but her laughter was cut shot when she was pulled roughly of the chair by an angry Vincenzo. She was hurled into the table, hitting the back of her head, hard. Glass broke and cut her in the stomach.

She could see black spots in her vision and she froze. This blow reminded her of her personal hell. She was reminded of the monster, she had been running all her life from. The demons haunting her and reminding her that they are not very far away. That they would ways be there, right over her shoulder.

She stayed there, waiting for the next blow when she saw through her bleary vision, Dr. Ramsey and Bryce restraining Vincenzo.

"Hey, hey, HEY!!" Aurora said as she shook Iris' shoulders. "Stay awake for me Iris. We are taking you to the hospital to check for a concussion."

"Rory...stay..." Iris mumbled as she held onto Aurora.

"I'm here Iris. I am always here."

⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️

Aurora flashed the light into Iris' eye for her neural check up. It blinded Iris and she slowly and painfully followed the source of light.

After a few moments, Aurora nodded to herself and switched off the light. "Good thing is that you don't have a concussion. Now about the gash on your stomach, I will stitch it up and give you a tetanus shot."

"But I'm sooooo sleepy." Iris said mid yawn.

Aurora chewed her lip, to come with something that could keep her awake. "Well, let's play the question game."

"Question game?" Iris asked amusingly. "Yap. I ask a question you give an honest answer and vive versa. You can even go first."

"Hmmm... favourite colour?"

"Forest green." Just like your eyes. She added mentally.

"Do you have any tattoos?" Aurora asked as she cut the shirt which was drenched in blood.

"Yeah... Two."

"I haven't seen them." Aurora as she lifted the t-shirt to rest below Iris' breasts.

Yup it it's a mess. She sighed and reached for antiseptic

"For that you might have to get me naked."

Aurora stopped in her tracks. She slowly turned to look at Iris who was giving a shit eating grin. Without hesitation, she dabbed the antiseptic, right on the wound.

"FUCK. Fuck. Fuck. Couldn't give a warning Rory??!" Iris said as she hissed.

Aurora just smiled smugly and said, "Oops??"

"My chance. Why do you call me Princess?" Iris asked. She never really understood the reference behind that one.

"Well, you remind me of Merida, from 'Brave'. You haven't seen it?" Aurora asked as she searched the wound to make sure, there weren't any glass pieces left.

"Nope."

"Well, it's my personal mission to make you watch it. Don't move. I am stitching you up." Aurora said.

She picked up the needle and thread and moved closer to her stomach. "Sooo.... Tell me about your family." Iris froze and the room became so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

Way to go Aurora.

"You don't need to say if it's too invasiv-" Aurora quickly covered up but Iris just reached and squeezed her shoulder, with a soft smile on her face.

"It's okay...it's just been so long since I have spoken about them. Well, my mother was like a ray of sunshine. She was always radiant and positivity just oozed out of her like a waterfall. She had so much love for everyone and she was empathetic. She and I used to sing karaoke in the kitchen while we cooked food. We were not very well off but, she made sure that I never felt that I lacked a childhood. She was my best friend, more like a sister than a mother." Iris said with a small smile, her eyes having a faraway look.

"She died when I was sixteen. Leukemia. She had grown into a shell of a person because of the constant chemotherapy but, her spirit stayed strong. If you spoke to her over the phone, you wouldn't even realise that she was sick.

She always told me, "Adara, always keep your youth alive. Always be kind to people and don't hesitate to help your enemies. The day your curiosity and youth dies, you start wilting like a flower. Never give up and always stay strong." Iris recited from her memory.

"Adara?"

"Iris Adara Everette. It means 'fire' in Hebrew. She used to call me 'little red' when I was younger because of my fiery spirit."

"She sounds like a lovely person. I'm sorry..." Aurora said, gently.

"Nah, it's okay I have made my peace with it."

"What about your fathe-" Aurora asked.

"Hey, are the stitches done?" Iris asked, as she looked down at her stomach.

"Yup. Now, you need bed rest for the next one week-"

"One WEEK??!!"

"-with plenty of water. Keep yourself hydrated. I am keeping you in the hospital for the next two days, for observation and then you can head home after that.

"BUT-" Iris started but Aurora shushed her.

"Doctor's order. Don't worry about your patients, Elijah and Jackie will manage them. Dr. Ramsey is already aware so he has given you the week off."

"Fiiinnneeee." Iris blew a raspberry.

Aurora turned and started disposing off the medical waste and her gloves when she heard a tiny voice saying, "Stay." Aurora turned around to see Iris giving her the cutest puppy eyes, which she could not resist.

"Pleeaaseee Rory?? What if I get a haemorrhage in the middle of the night?? Or or-"

"Calm down Adara, I will stay the night."

Iris smiled a genuine smiled which she had reserved only for Rory. She shifted and patted on the space next to her, on her hospital bed. Aurora took of shoes and settled in the covers.

"Thank you, Rory." Iris said as she nuzzled against Aurora.

"For what?" She asked as she wrapped an arm around Iris.

"For fixing me up... and calling me Adara."

"Do you mind? If I call you that??"

"Nope, infact I love it. But call me that, only if we are alone. " Those were the last words she said before they both drifted into a dreamless sleep.

AAAAAHHHHHH ❤️💖 UWU

Soooooo, how did you like it?? Like and reblog :))

#choices stories we play #playchoices #choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry #open heart #aurora x mc #aurora emery #open heart 2 #open heart mc #open heart fanfiction #dr ethan ramsey #bryce lahela

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isthatbloodonhisshirt · 4 years

Note

For the fic title + questions post you reblogged: I cannot espresso... + 5, 11, 12, 15 (I picked just a few even though I really want to know them all 😅)

I feel like I need to stop shoving things in my queue without keeping them in the back of my mind because every time I post one of these questions things, I forget I posted it and get really confused. But THANK YOU for remembering my memory sucks and giving me a hint of what this was about so I could go find the post (which is here).

So, for Espresso~

5. What part was hardest to write?

I almost want to say the part at the cabin. When Stiles goes up there to hash things out with Derek, because I needed Derek to still be like, the same Derek from the entire fic, but like, softer? Because I needed Stiles to recognize that Derek was honestly just trying his best and totally didn’t know what he was doing but I didn’t want to make Derek too... I guess too different from how he’d been so far in the fic. So I needed him to lower his guard a little bit, but not entirely. Like dropping the drawbridge of a castle instead of just getting rid of the entire outer wall kind of thing :D

11: What do you like best about this fic?

Is it bad if I say the puns? >.> That’s probably bad lol. I think I just had fun with like, the way Stiles treated the wolves and how they were always so surprised about him being a human who didn’t care that they were Werewolves. Idk, I had a lot of fun with all the relationships and building them up. The fic literally ended up being so much longer than planned (I don’t know why I always get surprised by this, I clearly have no self-control when it comes to word count). So yeah, probably the relationships and the clear confusion but delight that Stiles literally didn’t care they were Werewolves and just liked them because they were awesome people :)

12: What do you like least about this fic?

Honestly, that I involved Christmas |D I wanted to write a fic in December about like, winter in general since I know not everyone celebrates Christmas, but I was having a hard time figuring out how to get Derek to stop keeping Stiles at arm’s length and all I could think about was him Christmas shopping. Since I was already on a time crunch (this fic was posted during that Year Challenge thing I did plus was also the Adara Birthday Celebration month, so I was kind of low on time if I wanted to get both the birthday fics and this Year Challenge fic out) I just wrote it in and I still hate that I did :(

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

That I still love puns and coffee shop AUs LOL But yeah, also probably that I apparently like pack dynamic fics. I wrote this one what feels like forever ago so I can’t really honestly remember what I learned from it in a more critical thinking sort of way, but I do know I still love me some puns, and I do want to write more coffeeshop AUs because those are really fun XD

Thank you for the ask! Sorry I rambled, but I mean, you guys who’ve been around for a while are probably used to that by now >.>

Fanfiction Author Asks

#not TW #Blood's yakkity yaks #simpsonizer-demigod-143

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melancholicvampires · 5 years

Note

Have I ever requested: How do they mhhh act? when they have a bad cold? Just assume those who are immune arent, its a special cold that also affects vampires and succubi and stuff

No, you haven’t yet, also I like the request. I apologize in advance in cas something makes os sense. I'm really tired uwu

Amalia: doesn’t think much of it. Will just continue working and acting, like everything is fine. She doesn’t want to stop her work, because of a cold. She is aware of the risk of infecting other people, so she takes a bunch of medicine. Of course this doesn’t go well and she passes out over the course of the day until Carmilla tucks her into bed and forbids her to continue working until she’s completely healthy again.

Carmilla: is annoyed. She may mostly stay at home, laying in bed and reading, but the constants ache of her body and coughing, bothers her. Amalia looks after Carmilla and calms her down, when she complains about this pesky condition. Though she hates the bed rest, she isn’t so much against seeing Amalia caring about her like a special patient with special treatment.

Rebecca: she knows a cold isn’t the worst, though she knows more than enough people who died of a cold, but she knows what herbs to take. Only annoyance are some customers, who, even though she put a sign on the door that informs her shop is closed due to sickness, won’t stop knocking. And some ghosts don’t bother talking about their worse sicknesses that left them dead. So it’s mostly a painful waking status she’s in.

Adara: she has lived over many wars, plagues and many years of living through all kinds of other stuff, so a little cold won’t put her down. Though she has to admit to herself, she feels terrible. Still she simply continues working. She can’t let her employees and customers down and has to stay informed about everything that is going on. So she continues her day as always with some coughing and a nauseous feeling. She does asks one of her people to bring a telegram to Valère, asking him to come for the night with some medicine. Her employees don’t need to see hee like this. Normally she’s more than happy to lay in her bed and have company at night, but not under the circumstances of her feeling like a dead fish and need to get taken care of this way.

Dahlia: still goes to work, but only physically. The discussions they have to listen to are already tiresome, they are even more tiresome, when ones eyes are heavy and the head is clouded with pain. After a while of listening to some trivial problem, they simply fall asleep and sleep for the rest of the way too long discussion. They do feel better when they awake again, especially when they realize the discussion hasn’t progressed and they argue still about their first point.

Célestin: hates it. Only weak comfort is that it’s currently apparently fashionable to appear sick, so at least he has that going. He can’t talk, can’t think, can’t move, can’t do anything but laying in bed, being bored and in pain. Wonders if that’s what dying feels like and considers writing his testament. Enzio tells him, he can’t die and a cold leaves as quickly as it appeara with enough bed rest. Amalia comes by and laughs about Célestin saying, he might not see the next day and wants to see a lawyer or whoever is required for all the death stuff. So for the rest of the day he's sulking. Though he noticed being sick has it’s perks, since Enzio pretty much does anything for him whatever Célestin asks for. So he might act one or two more days like he’s sick after he’s healthy again.

Enzio: he plays it off as some small cold and nothing big, when Célestin asks him about the constant coughing. Enzio doesn’t want to cause any inconvenience, so he says everything is fine, but Célestin knows well enough how fragile mortals are, but also how stubborn they can be about admitting they don’t feel so well, so he does all the tasks before Enzio gets to them. Enzio still feels guilty and says everything is fine, that he can do his duties just fine. And then gets nauseous from all the exhaustion. So Célestin helps him to his bed and says he'll stay there until Enzio falls asleep. Yet Enzio insists he’s fine and has to fulfill his daily duties, though he pretty much has to cough after every third word and falls asleep after a few minutes and sleeps the rest of the whole day through. When he awakes he sees Célestin asleep on a chair next to his bed, some tea on the table and the things he has to do for the day all done. He does feel a little bad, but mainly thankful, asking Célestin how he could make it up for him, who only demands that he doesn’t push himself when he’s sick and a kiss.

Claude: noticed something is different, when he awakes with a sore throat, aching limbs and feeling of being hot and cold at the same time. He tries to not think too much of it, but quickly has to admit he isn’t feeling too well, when getting up feels like the worst pain he has ever felt. So he asks Valère to get him some herbs, who appears confident, but has little to no idea what they look like, but still somehow manages to get the right ones (with a little help from a friendly neighbourhood healer) ans makes tea of it as instructed. Claude is aware Valère didn’t do it by himself, but is still proud of him.

Valère: there has been worse things, he went, but he can’t deny to himself the migraine and nausea wouldn’t bother him, but he has to do his work. Arsène isn’t happy, when Valère almost falls asleep after every sentence and doesn’t fully listen to him and says he should simply find someone, who he can drink blood from without anyone noticing, which Valère isn’t too inclined on doing. He remembers he still has some tea from Gwen against all sorts of sicknesses. He thought he wouldn’t need it, but now is thankful Gwen insisted on him taking the tea and makes a mental note to get her a gift as a thank you. The tea perhaps doesn’t cure him from one moment to the next, but he already feels better, perhaps also because it reminds him of the comforting atmosphere around Gwen.

#Amalia #Carmilla #Rebecca #Adara #Dahlia #Célestin #Enzio #Claude #Valère #about ocs

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normal-goatboy · 6 years

Text

heart pumping blood

Pairing: Carver Hawke/Merrill Words: 3050 Summary: The kids are momentarily stranded with Merrill’s clan

Read on ao3

The glow washes over him, harsh against his eyelids, waves rocking unrelenting. Made it another night. His insides may never recover, twisted all up in knots. Carver cracks a glance and swears. Thatched ceiling slowly rotating, straw poking out at angles. He isn’t at sea; the motion is in his head.

He’s mid rolling over, anticipating minding his head when it occurs there’s no top bunk above him to mind. This is not his house.

Sitting bolt upright is neither a good course of action for his stomach nor his head. He groans and heaves, and then gasps as Merrill’s voice finds him.

“You should lie back down. I expect you’ll be a bit dizzy.”

He does so, clenching his jaw against another wave of nausea, vision blurring as he lowers himself. Maker, this is the sickest he’s felt in years. Maybe ever. He must have been very drunk.

“I’m so sorry, vhenan. I feel a bit responsible.”

When he opens his eyes again, she’s crouched next to him, and he reels. He’s ruined it. The few times he’s even been in her house, he’s left with a kiss at the most, and now he’s undressed in her bed and doesn’t even remember.

“What’re you sorry for?” he mumbles. His mouth tastes of vomit and blood and grit.

She looks at him sideways. “Do you know where we are? What’s the last thing you remember?”

Someone sharpening a dagger, Marian laughing, flashes of black and red. His last coherent memory is of following Marian out of the house, the tip of her staff bouncing behind her head. It was afternoon. How long ago?

“We were headed to Sundermount,” he says, and then it rushes back. Those beastly giant spiders. Hands and knees in the dirt, oh Carver, not on my boots. He can still hear Marian’s laughter faintly repeating in his ears. For a panicked moment, he thinks he might vomit over the edge of the cot, but he braces against his boiling insides until it’s passed. Merrill backs up incrementally, and he tries to think of anything but those things and their fangs, poison in his veins.

“I’ve never seen anyone react to spider venom like that,” she says, a hint of relief in her voice, alongside what sounds dangerously close to amusement. “You must be quite sensitive to it.”

Sensitive, that’s just great. Merrill moves to perch next to him, her hand flitting up towards his face. She cards a hand through his hair, comforting until her delicate fingers come away with white webbing pinched between them.

He shudders as she flicks it onto the floor. Her face creases, a hand on her chin, “I should have seen it. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Where did- I don’t see any bites,” Carver says, tentatively lifting the skins draped over him. He can’t feel his upper thighs at all.

“They’re not terribly big. And they’re all treated and bandaged now. The healer said it’s just a matter of letting the toxin run its course.”

She isn’t looking at him anymore, thankfully. She glances around the room, crosses over to a chair with some clothing tossed over the back, his sword leaning against the wall behind it.

The Keeper agreed to let us stay here until you’re ready to make the journey back. She’ll expect you to thank her, just so you know.”

“I know,” he says, more irritably than he meant to. He reaches for his clothes, but finds he has little desire to move. “Did my sister leave?”

“She went back to the city with Varric. I told her I would see to you.”

Varric was there. Fist to his mouth and Marian leaned sniggering into his shoulder.

Merrill’s put on a dark green tunic that billows around her slight frame, loose around the arms. “You should sleep more. It’s quite early still.”

He curls into himself, letting his limbs fall heavy into a position that’s almost comfortable if he doesn’t think about it too much. Eyes closed, he listens to the rustling and shuffling of Merrill trying to be quiet moving about the room. His chest lurches when she runs her hand over his shoulder on her way out. She said it’s early still; he must have lost several hours.

But he smiles to himself because she called him vhenan, and though she might not think he knows what that means, he does. He thinks he does anyway.

Carver doesn’t exactly sleep, but he can’t do much other than lie there burning and shivering and cursing Marian, spiders, the Maker, and anyone else who may have been involved in this turn of events.

The bites are on his ass, he discovers. Well, one is, and the others are on the backs of his thighs. Marian’s laughter makes a bit more sense now; she’s forever found that sort of thing hilarious.

Merrill confirms it when she returns. “She felt very badly about it.”

“Nice of her,” he grumbles.

She laughs softly and turns away. He is making things uncomfortable with his mood, something he has a talent for or a habit of or whatever his sisters have always said.

She’s pouring water into a cup from a flask, the curve of her hip, the space between her thighs shadowed when the light catches her clothes. It feels familiar somehow, and a sudden but not unpleasant thought descends on him, that he’d like to see her like this every morning.

Just as soon as it comes, he chases it away. “Is that for me?”

“You’re meant to drink as much as you can,” she says, turning to him and raising the flask. Her left arm is bandaged where it wasn’t before. “You need to replace your fluids.”

He’s nervous he’ll spew the water right back, but he doesn’t. “So… we’re with your clan, then?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says, then, “I’m surprised. I thought you’d laugh at the bit about fluids.”

She’s teasing, but something cloudy has crept into her voice since he asked about her clan. “No, I- I mean,” he struggles, “I’m not the one who- I’m not Isabela.”

He gets a smile for that. “No, certainly not. Your boots aren’t nearly tall enough.”

It gets worse before it gets better. The water comes back up just a moment later, as if his stomach has suddenly reversed its stance on fluids. And the healer makes it sound like he was even worse last night.

“I see you’re not on the floor now, at least.”

He never learns the healer’s name, an older pot-bellied man, hair graying around the ears. When he speaks, he doesn’t look at either of them, which makes Carver itchy and irritated, the way he feels when people talk to Marian and act as if he isn’t there.

The way almost everyone does.

She left him here, her own brother, an inconvenience to her plans. He can only imagine what’s so damned important, that took precedence over his being violently ill and apparently lying on the floor at some point.

Probably Anders. Probably… whatever they get up to when they go out for days at a time. She can’t be going home; mother would throw a fit.

She likely already is. Fuck.

The sun is going down by the time his fever breaks. Carver wipes down his face and chest, but still feels sweaty and grimy when he leaves the little structure.

“I didn’t think the Dalish… built things,” he murmurs to Merrill when he finds her sitting cross-legged on a log. His knees shake when he settles next to her, and he remembers her unstrapping his sword from his back yesterday and carrying it for him.

“They don’t usually. Nothing permanent. But w- they don’t expect to leave soon, and the weather here is tricky.”

She was writing in a little book, but she put it away when she saw him coming. About the camp there’s movement, back and forth, figures dark against the sky’s dusky pinks and blues. They’re cooking, cutting, cleaning - about the same activity as you’d find in Kirkwall or Lothering or wherever, except outdoors. That grumpy woodworker has his coveted blue bark, and the slow rhythmic scraping of his tools is oddly soothing, makes everything else quiet in comparison.

The Keeper finds them, asks after him. Her voice is kind, but her eyes flicker to Merrill’s arm, wrapped just underneath the elbow, back to him, and narrow.

“What happened to your arm?” he asks once she’s gone.

He forgot to thank her.

She touches it, puts her hand over it like she’s hiding it. “We can talk later.”

“Who is Mythal?”

A very old man squats in front of a group of restless kids, all jabbering and climbing over each other. They answer, but not loudly enough for Carver to hear them. He only hears the man as he replies to them.

“All-Mother, protector, keeper of justice…”

Merrill must notice him looking. “That’s Paivel. He’s our story-teller.”

“And what did she do?” Paivel asks.

Carver remembers he and Bethany sitting in the Chantry in a group like that one, some Sister or another talking at them. They didn’t ask questions, though; they only talked. Beth always sat at the front, while he hunched in the back and stared longingly out the window.

His stomach growls.

“...from the sea, yes…” Paivel is saying.

“I heard that,” Merrill smiles sly, and inclines her head towards his center.

“Yes, the moon, that’s right, Adara. Now what-”

Carver puts a hand to his belly. Less sore than it was. “Heh, yeah, I guess I’m…”

She nods, brushes off her bum when she stands, turns around three quarters or so like a dog. The way she nearly always does when she stands up. “I’ll get you something.”

“...and quelled Elgar’nan’s rage, so that the sun could return, and the world be remade. What does this story tell us...”

The others avoid her, part around her as she moves through them. No words, that he can hear at least, but glares, grimaces. There’s a shoulder bump, brief enough to be accidental, but it isn’t. She doesn’t react. His head buzzes and his throat hurts. When she carefully hands him a steaming flat piece of bread, he has to unclench his fist to take it from her.

She called him vhenan. He wasn’t imagining it. And he thinks he knows what it means.

Eating was a good idea. He feels sturdier, more focused. And ready to get out of here. He almost asks Merrill if she’d like to go now, but it doesn’t make sense to leave in the dark.

They stay one more night, he on the same cot as before, her elsewhere. He wishes he knew where. He wishes he’d at least asked her if she’d like to go home.

He wakes to arguing outside, and wishing hardens into regret.

“I am not a child-”

“I understand that. I wonder if you do, Merrill.”

He slept in his clothes this time. He still feels vaguely hungover.

“I wonder if you’ve considered-”

“Even if I hadn’t, haven’t you conjured every horrid scenario, every-” Merrill’s voice climbs several steps, threatening to break, “dire consequence you could think of by now? And haven’t I answered you? Every time, haven’t I-”

They stop abruptly as he rounds the corner, two faces whipping towards him.

He doesn’t say anything, and wouldn’t be able to think of anything if he had intended to.

Merrill looks him up and down. He must look awful. “We should go.”

The Keeper is taller than Merrill, and standing up straighter. She is slightly out of breath, and looking at him like he’s a fox in her hen coop.

“I’ll get your pack,” he says.

They don’t go back to Kirkwall. She heads further up the mountain without waiting for him, and he has to run to catch up to her.

Now even she’s leaving him behind.

He shouts after her once he’s caught sight of her again, and she turns quickly as if she’s startled to see him there.

And something jumps out behind her.

“Merrill!”

She yelps and lets out a wave of energy, knocking both he and something brown and furry back a few paces.

He stays on his feet. The goat tumbles backward and rolls, hooves flying.

It was a goat. “Oh,” he says, slinging his sword onto his back again, “I thought that was…”

Merrill nods and straightens. “I know.”

She thinks he’s an idiot. He’s sweating again, exhausted, and he needs a bath. And no matter where he goes, no one wants him there.

“Can we-” he shrugs, exasperated. “Can we go home?”

A sharp intake of breath, and she crumples, her hand over her mouth, and everything aches.

“Merrill…”

He’s ruined it. If it weren’t for him, she would have left two days ago and none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t be standing here crying. She’d be probably doing whatever Marian’s doing right now.

Feeling useless, he takes a few tentative steps towards her because, well, there’s no one else here to do it. She doesn’t pull away when he lays a hand on her shoulder; she leans into him, her head on his chest.

“I’m sorry, Carver,” she says.

She called him vhenan.

“No,” he replies, arms around her shoulders, and leaves it at that.

“Can we sit for a while,” she asks, “first?”

She leads them to a small lake off the path, and he leaves her to sit on her own while he washes off. Even in summer, the water is freezing. It feels awful and nice at the same time.

He pulls his trousers back on, his boots, stubborn on wet legs, and finds her again.

She’s sitting on a rock with her knees pulled up to her chest. She looks like a ghost in the fog, like something mysterious. “Do you ever feel like,” she says after a while, “everyone in the world knows something that you don’t? Something so obvious they wouldn’t even know to tell you?”

“All the time,” he answers without hesitation. “Like if someone couldn’t see colors or something.”

“That’s how it’s been since we got here,” he says. He doesn’t even remember getting here, not really. “I feel stupid. I- What’s going on? What happened to your arm?”

She winces. He must have spoken too harshly.

“Blood magic?”

A nod. “What I’m doing isn’t safe.” She’s not crying anymore, her voice more confident than he expected. “But I know that, and I’m being- I’ve taken precautions.”

He should disapprove. That’s what his father would do, what Marian would do. Though lately, he isn’t entirely certain he knows that about Marian. “Merrill…”

“This is what I’m supposed to do. I’ve studied for this my entire life. This is- This is what I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t understand why it’s all gone so wrong.”

She’s crying again, a shaking hand wiping her nose and then thrust out in front of her as if she’s choking someone. “I don’t understand. And there’s no one I can go to. A Keeper is supposed to help, but she-” She puts her head between her knees, and he wants to take what’s hurting her and snap it in two.

“I don’t know why you’re any of you doing this,” he says.

She looks up at him, questioning. “Why torture yourselves over something that’s gone?” he asks. He’s speaking louder than he should, his voice an intrusion on the peaceful scene in front of them. “Why does everyone pray to gods that don’t listen to them? I don’t understand it. Why dwell?”

“What would you have us do?”

She says it gently, not intending to scold him or make him feel stupid, so he tries not to feel that way anyway.

He tries. “I… I don’t know. Look forward instead of back, I guess. That’s- I don’t know. All anyone talks about around me is what they used to be.”

Merrill shakes her head. “It’s different for you, for your family. You know where you’ve been. All we have is what we’ve been. And from what I do know, it’s worth searching out.”

She sounds sure now, in a quiet way. He sighs.

“You’re a lot smarter than me.”

“No I’m not,” she says immediately. A reflex, politeness.

Her ears are flushed. He touches behind one of them, soft with his knuckles, the backs of his fingers, and she jumps a little.

“Sorry,” he says.

“No, it’s-” She hugs him, slipping arms around his waist, and he hugs back. It’s been too long since they haven't had eyes on them.

She’s warm, her face wet and pressed against him, and he should have put his shirt back on. As if she’s read his mind, she says, “Carver, don’t you ever wear a shirt?”

He laughs weakly. “Uh…”

“I’m teasing. I like it.”

She called him vhenan.

“You’re not alone,” he says. “Not if you don’t want to be.”

Arms squeeze him tighter. “The Keeper doesn’t like you. Doesn’t-” She seems to think better of that statement, “Doesn’t approve of you.”

“You told her?”

“Not intentionally. She has a way of just knowing things.”

That’s what she says, but she’s hugging him still. And she likes it when he doesn’t wear a shirt. She shifts fully into his lap, fits in the space between there and his chin easily, her back against his chest. She’s light, easy to hold. No trouble at all.

He waits for her to tell him either way.

“I don’t care about that. Do you care?” She lifts her arm, and he catches it, examines the wrapping, where she bound it up.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Not anymore.”

“I want to- What does vhenan mean?”

She tilts her head back to look at him. “It means ‘heart.’ Ma vhenan, my heart. I’m sorry, I assumed you knew, but I shouldn’t have.”

“I was just making sure.” He pulls her against him again, backs straight and even. “I want to help however I can. I don’t know if that’s what I should do, but I want to.”

He wants her to be safe.

“Just keep me company,” she says. “That’s all the help I need.”

“I can do that.”

#carver hawke/merrill #carver/merrill #carver hawke #merrill #dragon age fan fiction #idk if tags work w links but #it's so long #i had to include the ao3 #i never write one shots this long #i even edited a bunch of it #idk it just happened #forgive me for all the dang words

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ao3feed-sterek · 6 years

Text

Just the Four of Us

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2LydBfu

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

And he was dating Derek. That was definitely the piece most of the pack hadn’t been surprised about. Apparently the only surprised people were Derek and Stiles themselves, because when Stiles had awkwardly told his father, he’d thrown his arms in the air, said, “Finally!” and promptly called Scott to tell him he owed him fifty dollars.

As it turned out, there were many bets going around in the pack about when he and Derek would end up together, up to and including items such as who would ask who, wether the admission would come out during a life or death situation or a normal one, and who would grab the other’s face first to kiss passionately.

In that order, it was when Stiles was twenty-three and Derek was twenty-five, Stiles asked Derek, it was an admission over dinner at Derek’s loft, and Derek was the one to grab his face and kiss him like a man starved of oxygen.

Apparently his father won all the bets.

Words: 3573, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 18 of Adara Birthday Celebration

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Stiles Stilinski is Good with Kids, Derek Hale is a Failwolf, Derek Hale is a Softie, Cute Kids, Werebabies, Kid Fic, Stiles Makes a Good Mommy

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2LydBfu

#ao3feed #fanfic #sterek

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ao3-sterek · 6 years

Text

Just the Four of Us

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2LydBfu

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Apparently his father won all the bets.

Words: 3573, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 18 of Adara Birthday Celebration

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Stiles Stilinski is Good with Kids, Derek Hale is a Failwolf, Derek Hale is a Softie, Cute Kids, Werebabies, Kid Fic, Stiles Makes a Good Mommy

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2LydBfu

#ao3feed #sterek fics #sterek #fics

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magicallibary · 6 years

Text

Unknown Connections

A/N: I might make a part 2 for this one; I don’t know! I can see how it would work so, we’ll see. That said, hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Word Count: 2367 Words Warnings: I think there’s nothing :)

Summary: A young man starts taking care of a young kid, neither knowing about the child’s past.

It had all started a couple of years ago. A heat wave had been around for a few weeks and the thick, hot atmosphere was starting to affect everyone. Pools and beaches were filled to the brim with people trying desperately to cool down while air conditioning systems were being installed and turned on everywhere. The sun covered streets were becoming more and more empty as the days passed since people would much rather stay inside in front of their fan.

On one flaming night, a young adult named William was preparing himself for a long anticipated rest. A white tank top and a pair of loose shorts that ended right above his knees, covered his rough copper skin. As he walked to his room, a hand tangled in the short dark brown grass of his hair, the sound of a soft knock made his steps stop in a halt. He was about to ignore it and blame it on his imagination when the knock came again, louder this time. An exaggerated sigh fell through his pointy tipped lips while he turned towards his dark door.

Opening the door slowly, William prepared himself to greet whoever was at the other side, but he didn’t expect to find a young girl at his doorstep. For her apparent young age she had rather long hair that was colored a light brown similar of those of fallen autumn leaves, the color seemed to fade into the white of a cloud as the tips of the strands ended. A couple of black dots seemed to be scattered around the wrist of her left arm, that had a tone that could remind you of a silver necklace with highlights of the white tinted sand by the salty water of the beach that were being slightly hidden by the drops of sweat that fell from her forehead. William’s tall figure covered the girl with a shadow while his hazel eyes squinted as he caught her pair of jade green orbs. Her eyes were quite big compared to the male’s small pair and the intense green color of them contrasted the bright white shirt and light blue shorts she wore.

The older individual called out as he looked around for the girl’s guardian but ended up finding no one around. Deciding that he couldn’t just leave her there, William slowly made move to pick her up, making sure not to scare her in the process. As he held her small form, the hazel-eyed male noticed how much colder her skin felt compared to his own. Also, he was now made aware of a shiny necklace that hung around her neck, the name Eira on the jewelry.

“I guess that’s your name.” William whispered, a small smile began appearing on his face as he closed the door and he entered his house, the green-eyed girl in his arms. “Eira?”

That’s how it all had started. William had spent the following days calling and informing everyone he knew about the small girl, who’s name was Eira. Years passed, and the brown-haired male found nothing so he continued to care for Eira like a sister or a daughter. As she grew older, her appearance change a small bit, most noticeably was her curly hair. Her hair remained light brown but the hints of fading white tips were much easier to notice making it seem almost dyed. Truth was, he had grown quite fond of her and the company around the small house truly helped him, though he began noticing things about Eira and he began questioning whether all those things were there to begin with and he hadn’t noticed. One of those discoveries had been her skin temperature. She always seemed to be colder than anyone else, not by much, but it was different enough that the temperature change could be noticed. The other was much more alarming for William. When Eira turned thirteen, William began to make notice of a mark by her left wrist. At further inspection, he learned that it was a simplistic almost mandala-like design of a bird. The wings were extended and curled upwards so the were beside the head while the feathered tail was formed so it made its way away from her hand. William began panicking. Had Eira gone and paid for a tattoo? He began thinking back on the past weeks and found that they had spent every waking moment together, so, when had she done it? William’s chest tightened at the discovery, he didn’t know if he was truly mad at her and somehow he found a way to blame himself for the seemingly permanent mark on Eira’s wrist. That feeling banished and was replaced with curiosity and nervousness after speaking with her.

Eira hadn’t even noticed the drawing by her left wrist and worry laced her voice as he swore to William she hadn’t done anything, that it had been a surprise for her too. Of course, William had trouble believing this, until tears began forming on the edges of her jade eyes. The next couple of weeks were spent trying to find out how this mark came to be and, to none of William’s surprised, he had found absolutely nothing. As time continued passing, both William and Eira had grown to like the tattoo-like mark. Eira felt some sort of strange connection with it. She felt her heart beat slightly faster when someone, even herself, would run their fingers on top of the drawing. Everytime something would become too overwhelming, she would focus on the delicate patterns that made the bird image come together. Likewise, William learned to like the drawing, too. He quickly noticed how her skin was much colder on the place where the mark stood. Of course he had his questions about it, but he decided that those where better saved for another time. He simply reminded himself that one day he would find all the answers he wanted, for both himself and, also, for Eira.

And, one day, those answers did arrive.

One morning, William opened his curtains to find a snowy scenery before him. This alarmed the young adult since as recently as two days before, everyone was talking about a nearing heat wave. Turning on the television to watch the news, he found that no one was expecting the ongoing weather and it had seemingly caught everyone by surprise. Eira was extremely happy about the sudden temperature change, though. William’s strange day filled with weird surprises continued when he saw the short girl run around under the falling snowflakes in nothing but a mid arm sleeve shirt and loose pants. He attempted to dress her accordingly but she refused, claiming that the chosen clothes were too warm for her. At some point, William had to stop pushing Eira into the clothes and he began noticing how her body temperature remained constant no matter how long she stayed out in the cold snow for.

Soon, the night arrived, being colder than the day. William began preparing everything to send Eira and himself to bed, when suddenly he got interrupted by a soft knock. Flashbacks of the night he found Eira began playing in William’s head, noticing that the only difference between that night and the current one was the weather. He slowly reached the doorway and when he opened it, more similarities began rising inside his brain. A teenage girl was what he found by his doorway. She had tanned, tawny skin and was dressed in brown clothes. A long, black cloak reached her toes, her hands hidden in the pockets. She had big, hazel eyes but, by far the flashiest feature she had was her hair. The top of her head was dark, almost black, but where her neck ended the hair was completely orange. The different shades of the flame color mixed together, giving her a beautiful yet scary appearance.

“Where’s the girl?” She demanded, her voice deep, her face serious. Anyone could read her annoyance and desire to finish whatever she needed to do rather quickly.

“What girl?” Asked William, playing coy. He didn’t know why, but he had this strange feeling on the pit of his stomach that told him to be wary of her.

“Look.” The mysterious girl suddenly banged her hand on the wall next to the opened door, blocking the snowy scenery as she began getting closer to William. He, on the other hand, attempted pushing her away from the entrance of his house, still not trusting the flashy-haired girl. “I don’t have time for your little ‘I don’t know’ act, so are you going to tell me where she is or are we going to have to do this the difficult way?”

“Look,” he began, imitating her. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about and, even if I did, why would I trust you?” He raised his right eyebrow as he finished his question, clearly trying to end the conversation.

“You’re right, you shouldn’t trust me.” She pulled the other hand out of the coat pocket, revealing a shiny dagger with intricate orange designs that made it look like a feather on the side of the sharp object. She placed it near him threateningly. “But, I’d listen.”

Before she could say anything else, a voice interrupted her.

“Adara! Leave the man alone.” Another teenage girl said. She stood tall, her skin tone was similar to Eira’s one but the rest of her appearance was different. Her slightly below shoulder length hair was blue that faded into white and her eyes were matching, icy blue and large. She wore a white and blue combat suit with many gray belts and straps. The outfit had a collar than framed around her neck and the sleeves ended after the mid arm point. White fingerless gloves fitted her hands and high white boots started at her feet. On her left hand she held a dagger similar to the brown-dressed individual, but it was decorated with a light blue metal wing, similar to the one of a dragon. Beside her a teenage man stood. His maya blue hair was long and combed to the right. His eyes were the same color as the girl beside him. He wore a similar outfit just fitted for him and he, too, had the same blue decorated dagger.

“And why would I do that dear? He’ll have to tell me where your precious ‘half-sister’ is eventually.” The girl, apparently named Adara, used her fingers to make quotations.

“Can’t you see he doesn’t know?” Began the blue-haired male. “We can’t let you hurt him for no reason nor can we allow you to find the girl for that matter.”

“Well, Lixue, you always say something like that, don’t you? Plus, you need to know where she is and she has to be near for you two to intervene, otherwise you would’ve left me alone. Unless, you don’t know where she is. Then, it’s just a fight for who finds her first. How did you know we were coming anyway?”

“You fire phoenixes were always predictable anyway; you take your heat waves with you everywhere. We are more unexpected.”

Questions began filling William’s head. What was happening? He didn’t even know where to begin. Worry remained in his veins as he started realizing that everyone was talking about Eira.

“Whatever you say, Neve. Well, farewell dears, may the best find the girl.” Suddenly the figure that used to be the one of a female turned into the one of a bird. A medium bird colored in all the tones of a powerful fire flame. As the big wings fluttered away a small trail of yellow sparks stayed behind, burning out after a while.

“Sorry for that, William.” Apologised the girl. “Despite everything we said, this whole event did surprise us at the beginning, but we’ve learnt to react quickly.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?”

“Oh right, I’m Neve Icebound and this is one of my brothers, Lixue Icebound. We are ice phoenixes.”

“Ice phoenixes? What is going on?” William questioned himself.

“Well, you know Eira, right?” Neve began. “She was supposed to be our sister, but, a fire pheonix named Agni cursed her when she was born turning her mostly human. Of course, a few attributes remained like her cold skin but most of the main abilities were lost. Due to the danger we would bring her in her now more fragile state, we had to leave her with you but we gave her a mark so that we could find her, that’s the drawing by her wrist, if you’ve seen it. But now, she seems to be gaining power, quickly. And it isn’t any power, she seems to be stronger than both fire and ice phoenixes which has alarmed them, so they are after her. We are not sure if they want her dead or captured but we can’t allow either. Not just because she’s powerful but because after all she’s still originally our sister.”

Unknown to them, Eira heard the whole exchanged and they learnt this when she pushed passed William to see the other two individuals. Neve and Eira’s eyes locked together and tears began forming in the male sibling’s eyes at the sight of his growing sister.

“You two are really my siblings?” Asked the small voice of Eira.

“Look.” Said Neve, while kneeling to her sister’s height. “Give me your left hand.” The younger girl raised her hand, hesitantly. Neve grabbed her hand lightly and ran her thumb on top of the drawing of a phoenix on Eira’s wrist. Suddenly, the mark began glowing a bright blue color where it used to be black before it died down to its original color.

A gasp escaped everyone’s mouth, all at once, as they shared an impactful silent moment. The two sisters embraced each other as the silence continued. Until, Eira broke the silence with her sudden concern, looking into her sister’s bright blues with her green orbs.

“Are the fire phoenixes going to hurt me?”

“No.” Answered Lixue, no hesitation in his strong voice. “We’ll protect you. Neve and I. We’ll protect both of you.”

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avani008 · 6 years

Note

Since I have made the magical discovery that Harry Potter requests are a thing, may I please request Sirius Black for the Four Seasons meme?

Spring

the circumstances of his/her birth | favorite (or least favorite) family member | first word | happiest birthday | genderswap au

When Adara Black is twelve, her cousin Bella takes her aside. She lifts Adara’s chin to get a better look, and pronounces solemnly, “You’ll do.Your cheekbones could stand to be a little higher, but Potter will be pleased someday.”

Adara is surprised enough to say, instead of inquiring what the state of Bella’s cheekbones will be if Adara punches her: “What?”

Bella looks down her nose at her. “Potter. You’ll marry him some day, of course. Not the best match possible, but at least a pureblood to keep the bloodline going.”

“James,” Adara enunciates, “is my best mate; it’d be--it’d be like shagging Regulus!”

She doesn’t need Bella to explain that that doesn’t count for much, not in their family; but she does take particular pleasure in encouraging James’ pursuit of Lily Evans at every opportunity after that.

Summer

fantasy | love language of choice | a pet or other animal companion| the decoration of their bedroom| fusion au

The night he runs away, Sirius stays up late cutting out every picture of pretty Muggle girls in the magazines he bought on illicit trips to Muggle London. They’re awfully strange, he thinks, staying still the way they are, but no less tantalizing for it. He’s hidden them under his bed for years, knowing Mother would go into one of her rages if she knew her precious son and heir had lowered himself so, and still wanting, at that time, to avoid upsetting her; now he only wishes he had thrown them all in her face, every time. After what she’d said, what she believed--

He pastes them all to the wall with the trickiest sticking spells he knows, the ones he and James spent hours laughing and joking over: a last memento for Mother dearest to remember him by when he’s gone.

Fall

the one person/cause/ideal they would sacrifice everything for| storms| nightmare | the lie(s) he/she has told | hero/villain reversal au

You learned an awful lot about astronomy, growing up in a family like the Blacks. Sirius remembers shivering as a child, standing on the roof with Reg and Cissy and Dromeda, forbidden to come downstairs until they’d picked out their namesakes in the night sky.

(He always suspected Narcissa failed her Astronomy OWL out of sheer spite at such treatment: a master of slow sweet revenge, she was, and cleverer than anyone gave her credit for.)

But Sirius knows something about gravity, and irresistable forces, and the terrible vacuums that arise when the great stars around which you revolve are gone; there’s no solution but to replace them, as soon as possible-- if such a thing is even possible.

“Harry,” he croaks, in the remnants of the Potters’ house, “I’m his godfather--give him here--please--”

Winter

haunting | tarot | then and now | gods and mortals | reincarnation au/historical era swap

Auror Potter likes to walk home from work on pleasant days: Apparating never seems worth it, and he’s never cared for Floo. No matter how strong the Wizarding World’s hold on him, after all, he will always remember the England of his childhood. So when first his eye lands on a knot of Muggle teenagers talking and laughing, his first reaction is only to smile and nod indulgently.

But then the one sitting in the center, tosses back his head so that his long black hair catches the sunlight in a very familiar manner; he takes a puff of his cigarette and waves (an acknowledgement, not an invitation) at the gentleman who stands there gaping.

Slowly, Harry waves back.

#harry potter #sirius black #four seasons character meme #fic by me

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okthisisforvideo-blog · 6 years

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So this is my short story that I am basing my movie on (it probably needs some more editing)

Sunlight fills my room and forces me awake. It must be 7 am. No need to set an alarm to wake up - It’s Christmas day! I quickly hop out of bed and run downstairs to open presents. As I enter my living room, I hear laughter and upbeat chatter. My parents, Holly and Jedidiah, are nestled together on the couch, watching my older brother Brandon and younger sister Rose open presents. It’s the same scene every year, but it’s my favorite family event. There are three presents with my name on it. I open the smallest one first. It’s a beautiful silver necklace engraved with my name on it. I carefully put it back in the box and set it aside. Then I open the next biggest present. It’s the Naked 3 eyeshadow palette. So far, so good. I’m pretty happy with my presents. Now, the last present. From the shape of it, I think I know what it is. I have been wanting this for months. I want to open it slowly, but there’s no use. I tear open the wrapping paper and scream! It’s the Dream Recorder 3000! I’m so happy my parents finally got my hints. I’ve only been pointing out the commercial on TV and saying, “I want this,” since September. I can’t wait to try it out tonight. I used to think when I was younger that I didn’t dream because I couldn’t remember them once I woke up but now I can finally watch them. I can go to school and talk about my dreams the way my friends do.

We spent the rest of the day eating cookies, drinking eggnog, watching Christmas specials, and testing out our new gifts. While I am excited about my new necklace and eyeshadow pallette, I can’t stop examining my Dream Recorder 3000. I read over the instructions at least five times. I’m so excited. Finally nighttime comes, and I set up the Dream Recorder. I make sure everything is plugged in. The app has been installed and is working, and the earplugs are in correctly. I’m too excited. I can’t fall asleep easily. After a little tossing and turning, I finally fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning and immediately turn on my phone. I open up the app, go to my first dream video and hit play. I had a dream where I am a princess running through a magical forest with a prince, who looks oddly similar to my friend Ryan. Then I had a dream where I run off a cliff and fall but never stop falling. Finally, I have a dream where I’m talking to my friend Aubrey about our friend Lucas who we are worried about. She starts the conversation by saying, “Did you hear that Lucas is now failing math?”

“Yeah, I did. He really worries me. I think he might flunk out of school. He also keeps missing classes,” I told her.

“And his parents don’t even care. Or don’t care enough to notice. It makes me so sad,” she said.

“Should we talk to him? Have some kind of intervention?”

“I think I should talk to him. You can come too but I don’t want him to feel attacked. You know what I mean?”

“I think you’re right.”

“Okay I’ll do that soon. I have to go my mom is calling me. Bye love you!”

“Bye. Love you too!”

I then close the app, turn off my phone, and head downstairs to eat breakfast.

Later in the day, around 3 pm, Aubrey calls me. When I pick up she says, “Did you hear that Lucas is now failing math?” We then continue to have the same word-for-word conversation that I did in my dream. It’s kind of freaky but I shrug it off, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.

That night, I set up the Dream Recorder 3000 again, put in the earpiece and fall asleep. The next morning I wake up to watch my dreams again. Three new dreams appear. First, I dreamt that I was back at camp. Second dream, I’m a school principal and the students won’t leave me alone. Third, my mom and Brandon got into a fight because he kept missing his curfew. All these dreams make sense, I really do miss camp and can’t wait for this summer when I can go back. The principal dream is kind of odd but now I know that I never want that job. And the fight between my mom and Brandon was a pretty accurate representation of a common occurrence in my household. For the past couple of years Brandon has been seriously pissing off my mom.

Because it was the last day of winter break, my family decided to go sledding in the main square. We spend most of the day going up and down the snowy hills, taking occasional breaks to warm up with hot chocolate. After dinner, Brandon leaves to go hang out with his girlfriend and comes back around 1:30 am, almost two hours after his curfew. My mom stays up waiting for him and they get in a huge and loud fight waking me up. I listen in and the fight is exactly like my dream. Any fight between the two of them starts off exactly like this.

“Would you like to explain yourself?” My mom tells Brandon as a way of making him feel guilty.

“Mom, for the last time I’m 18. I shouldn’t have a curfew. I’m going to college next year for chrissakes.” Brandon says in an annoyed tone.

“If you are still living in my house under my roof you will follow my rules.”

They go in circles continuing the most cliche fight for the next hour.

This is so odd. But my dream couldn’t have anything to do with it. It just doesn’t make sense. I try not to focus on it too much and go back to sleep.

The next morning I wake up extra early so I have time to watch my dreams. I’m excited to see them. I still can’t get over how cool this gift is. The only dream I had was that my teacher was going to give us a pop quiz. I get to school and low and behold, there is a pop quiz. This can’t be a coincidence anymore, I have to be the one controlling what’s happening.

During lunch I consult with Aubrey and Lucas about my dreams. They are the only people who would believe me. If I told my parents they would think I was crazy. I show them the dream videos on my phone as proof. After getting over their disbelief, they also come to the conclusion that it is not a coincidence.

“I just read somewhere on Instagram, so it’s probably not true, but apparently if you think about something before you go to sleep then you can dream about it. Maybe try this tonight?” she said.

“I think I will,” I responded.

I fell asleep that night thinking of getting a good grade on the pop quiz. Hours later, I woke up, panting and drenched in sweat. I dreamt that there was a man following me around all day. Everywhere I would turned he would be there. Even when I was at school. If I turned around in English class he would be at the back of the classroom smiling at me. While I was walking home from school he followed me. The more I walked, the closer he would get to me. I started to increase my speed and he did as well to the point where I was running and he was chasing me. My heart was beating so quickly and I was gasping for air. Even though my knees wanted to give out and I was feeling sharp pains in my sides, I had to keep going. I kept running until I woke up. I check my phone, it’s 2am. I have to go back to sleep. I’m sure it won’t happen tomorrow, not everything I dreamt came true.

I couldn’t fall back asleep, I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, not getting a wink of sleep. My alarm went off the next morning, and I was still awake.

I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and looked in the mirror. The man was there. With a racing heart and sweaty palms, I turned around to see nothing. Okay, calm down, I told myself, you’re just imagining it. The man is not there.

Everywhere I saw the man. When I was walking to school, I looked behind me and he was there. I got to school and went to my locker and the man was across the hall opening another locker. But no one else seemed to notice this random man.

“Hey, Adara are you okay? You keep looking in the back of the classroom all paranoid.” Lucas asked me.

“Aren’t you a little worried about that man in the back of the classroom?” I asked while point to the back of the room.

“What man?”

The man was suddenly gone.

“Oh, nevermind. I just think I’m imagining things. I didn’t sleep well last night that’s all.” I said while scanning the room for the man who was nowhere to be found.

“Okay, be careful though.”

✱ ✱ ✱

As I walked home from school, I felt like I was being followed. I turned around to see the man about a block behind me. I knew I wasn’t crazy! I knew he existed. I kept walking, and the man kept following me. What did he want from me? I turned the corner into an alleyway and he was still there. I felt like I was in a horror movie. I started to increase my pace in hopes of losing him. But he just went faster. It was just like my dream.

“Help!” I yelled, “This man is trying to hurt me! Somebody please help me!”

But no one came to help me. They all looked at me like I was insane, as if no one was there.

“Do you not see the man following me?” I cried out, “I need help!”

I kept running, even if no one was going to help me I had to escape him. I was barely breathing and my head was throbbing, but I kept running. I didn’t even care where I was going, I just had to get away from him. I didn’t notice where I was going until I looked around and realized I was on the highway. I turned to look for the man and a car came charging towards me. I didn’t have time to move out of the way and the car hit me. It then went black.

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kaldoreiyarns · 7 years

Text

Dear An’da #5

Dear An’da,

How are you and Min’da? Sorry it’s been awhile since my last letter, Nightpurr ate the last one and with the mission we’re on, it hasn’t allowed me much time to write. Thankfully the dragons we’re camped with remember me from the last time we were here and don’t mind delivering letters to Dalaran in exchange for some origami figures. The whelplings love it especially and they all flock to me when one spies me pulling out my origami paper as they all want a little paper dragon of themselves.

Anyway, I’m fine physically, but I’d like to tell you something that I’m not entirely sure how to say. I guess, I… how do you know you’re in love with someone An’da? I don’t know for sure, I mean I know you and Min’da are more friends than lovers and both mutually agreed to have me, but… I seem to have somehow developed a love life and it’s rather a mess.

I think I’m turning into Uncle Ourrin… (er, former Uncle Ourrin, not the current one.)

So anyway, at first I have a bit of a thing with a Moonclaw Sentinel, but, she, ah, wanted something more and I didn’t. I mean I liked her fine, but… I don’t know how exactly to put it into words. She wanted something more and at the time I wasn’t sure I wanted that - at least in her timeframe. I mean, it is something serious to consider, Worgen/Humans don’t have the same time on Azeroth that we do. I tried to break it off with her, I thought I made it clear that maybe we should just be friends from now on, but no, she keeps sending me letters and packages and it’s getting a bit… unnerving. I promised to speak with her face to face over this after this mission when we’re back home in Darnassus, but should I send her a letter saying thank you but please stop? Its making me very much want nothing to do with her anymore. I mean the gesture is nice, but the letters are… clingy. I don’t like it, it’s becoming blaringly obvious I must be more firm with her when I see her next and just end it completely, even the friendship sadly.

You’d think I’d learn my lesson with this, but no, apparently not. I swear, if I’m nice to someone, everyone takes it as I’m in love with them. I don’t quite get it. Can’t someone be nice just for the sake of being nice?

That aside, Huntress Glaiveheart was doing one of her informational lessons that I attended as the Broken Isles are full of so much of our history I couldn’t pass it up. As we were walking around and she was giving her lesson, I noticed someone following our group listening in. He was on the fringe and he just... I don’t know what happened or how to describe it. I looked upon his face and my heart bled for him. He just had so much loneliness and pain etched there. I had been fiddling with my origami paper at the time and had just finished off making a dragon. At the end of the lecture I just walked up and handed it to him. I thought it would just be a nice gesture. That’s all I intended originally, I swear, once again I was just being true to me and just trying to be nice to someone who looked like they could use some cheering up. A senior Priestess once told me that sometimes the smallest act of kindness can change the world, but I didn’t know it would rock mine.

After that he kept coming around and we got to talking. I don’t know how to explain it really, looking back it should have been creepy and I shouldn’t have… I just shouldn’t have, but when I’m with him... It just feels right, like nothing else matters, even when I know it should matter. I’m scared, not of him, just of these feelings, they’re so intense. My heart and my head feel like they’re at war over this and I’m not sure how to resolve it.

His name is Vilaxian Dawnstorm and he’s, well, a Demon Hunter. Sorta. It’s a complicated story. He was made into one by his mother, so he didn’t choose to be what he is currently. He wasn’t on a good path until recently and he has a ton to atone for, but… When I see him I just want to pull out all the hurt and heal it. It sounds so crazy, no, it IS crazy. Again, my brain says one thing, my heart another.

I ask myself, is this Elune’s will? Did she send me to him to help him? Or for him to teach me something as well? Will it be a lesson of healing and love or pain and remorse? I must confess I fear either answer currently. I am too young I feel, too young for something this serious. I feel like a runaway saber who hasn’t seen the cliff he’s about to run off until it’s too late to stop. Elune help me see more clearly.

And it gets crazier, oh yes, your daughter is that stupid. I’ve told you about Liall before, the Worgen who follows our cadre? We’ve grown very close since my time meeting her. I was going to bring her home to meet you as she and I took the rite of becoming Heart-Sisters. I like to think of her as my best friend (since Guardian Nightbreeze is well, a Guardian and I am just a Keeper, so you can’t be best friends with your superior officers, that’s not good, but I do feel a kinship with her too). But we’ve become even more close, she’s not been happy of late as her marriage broke up recently and I’ve tried to be there for her. However she hates Vilaxian (and he’s not fond of her either) and when she found out I had been seeing him she told me she couldn’t see me anymore and that broke my heart. We’ve since made up as she’s in a similar boat as I, she too loves another she shouldn’t and feels like she’s always second fiddle to everything. We’re a fine pair, eh?

Oh, Elune, maybe I’m turning into Cousin Adara instead. Eek.

So there you have it, a confession of my weary heart and while it feels good to finally tell someone all of this, I also know the face you’re making right now as you read this. I can see it in my mind as clear as day and I know you’re disappointed with me. I’m disappointed with me. I feel like I could have handled all of this much better than I did/do. Like I said previously my heart and my head are at war. I need to be a Sentinel above all else, no, I want to be a Sentinel above all else, and I need my head on straight so I can fight with my Sisters as we protect each other during these dangerous times. I pray to Elune with every moonrise and every moonset of the Mother that this will all work out, for everyone.

Please know I love you An’da. Send Min’da my love and I will send another letter soon if Elune allows. Be well.

Much Love,

Iyora

#world of warcraft #azeroth #kaldorei #kaldoreiyarns #roleplay #wow #Iyora's letters #letters home #Letters to An'da #Iyora #Vilaxian #Liall #Ourrin #night elves #demon hunter #Sentinel

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heroesoftherepublic-blog · 7 years

Text

High Noon

Part II of III of "Lidia's Day"

It was a poor excuse for a gymnasium, a square of breaks whose walls were covered in scrawling and curses and hid sweat, rags and a shameful collection of punching bags. She did not mind the poor conditions of the building; being in the periphery of the Urbe, it had the opportunity to grow into an impressive palaestra. Piles of rock and wooden beams supported temporary hallways that protected spectators from the elements and creating private training spaces. In this safe site, the youth and the less well-off could mingle and study, improving themselves in order to face the savagery of the world.

Rome might not be her house, but these were her hunting grounds.

Lidia pushed the gates of the gymnasium, approaching the center of the palaestra. Her golden hair was covered by the combined effort of a wig and a kerchief, her light exercise tunic revealing muscles that were normally kept very discreet, olive oil shining over her deceptively darker skin. Saluting the youths in the central halls, busy with their training or reading material, and waving at her fellow athletes, Lidia advanced forward. Happy, she rose her hands high and started clapping as she described a wide circle, kicking into the air a cloud of dust and dead leaves.

She had quickly ensnared the attention of those present.

“What day is today?”

“Bellum! Challenge! Challenge!” The younger members started to howl.

Lidia lowered a hand to her ear, as if she had been unable to properly listen.

“I do not hear anything. What day is today?”

“Challenge! Challenge! Bellum!”

Two servants appeared, carrying a board between them. They told Lidia that at the top it was written the name of Kleitomachos and she believed. Accepting a piece of chalk, she lifted the tablet towards the sky.

“What happened to Acastus?”

“Defeated!”

Lidia scratched a mark in the tablet.

“Myron of Siracusa? Kurodon the Cynic?”

“Defeated! Defeated!”

Another two marks.

“What about Kleitomachos?”

The public started to boo him, increasing in intensity as Lidia kept repeating the question.

“Where is the prodigy of Hellas? Where is the master of a hundred modalities?

A cascade of insults.

“Who is your champion?”

“Lidia! Lidia!”

“Who represents you?”

“Lidia! Lidia!”

“Who it is that Kleitomachos refuses to face, week after week?”

“Lidia! Lidia! LIDIA!”

The pugilist threw the tablet into the ground.

“It seems he fears more than just copulating dogs. Since the best that Greece has to offer is not willing to accept my invitation to a duel.” Lidia cracked her knuckles. “Is someone here willing to compete for my title?”

A fulminant confrontation followed up, a row of athletes challenging Lidia as spectators gambled and celebrated the simple pleasures of the sport. Sliding under the uppercut of a rare pugilist that was able to compete with her eye-to-eye, Lidia finished the encounter by describing a circular arc and putting of her momentum in her swinging fist. A new challenger approached, Lidia keeping working her feet game and never lowering her guard. Punches connected against his arms like waves against cliffs, defeat falling down with a single jab. The next one was quickly presented to the ground by an arm that bent and leaned in a dangerous hook. Soon excitement gave way to boredom, each new challenger failing in providing more than sweat and humiliation; nothing kills in the interest in bets than a string of victories.

As more and more spectators abandoned the palaestra, Lidia resigned herself and asked for the towel. Two pugilists replaced her at the center, the gasping woman drifting towards a corner to wax her cestus.

“Salve, Lidia.” She was greeted by a stubby and bald middle-aged man, their large torso covered in scars and muscled arms betraying the constitution and craft of a classic gladiator. “I see you continue to be just a stubborn. Look at these empty halls; if you want to put asses in seats, you must accept the advice that I can offer you.”

“This is no amphitheater and I am not a gladiator, Calpurnius.” Lidia smiled as she washed her brow. “What was good for you probably does not apply to me.”

“Fair.” Calpurnius admitted. “But is that hard for you to entertain the request of an old man with too much free time? Think that you are offering one last grace to someone half-past-dead with one feet in the Underworld.”

Smiled turned into laughter.

“The fight where Caeso Calpurnius will fall has still not been scheduled, you still have much fire inside of you.” Lidia pointed with her chin towards two empty places. “You are right, it takes no effort to lend my ear to a friend of the club.”

“For whom do you fight, Lidia?” Was the rethoric question enunciated by Calpurnius as he sat down. “It is a rare event for you to face an opponent that forces you to give it all, so surely you do not do it for respect for your opponent and in name of good sport. For the public? Then you are doing a miserable job, so distant and so concentrate in the fight that you do worry in selling your fight and sharing with the audience the impact of each blow.”

Lidia crossed her fingers, thoughtful. The gladiator’s words were not without worth, despise it not being immediately apparent what she could distill from this conversation.

“You know why I fight. I do it to feel strong and to communicate to the others my confidence in my skills. I do not want to be seen as something as low as a simpleton brute, however, radiating strength and competency is the best way to inspire the populace.”

Calpurnius chuckled.

“Ah! Clearly you have been spending too much time in the Palatinate, that sounds like talk from boring people thinking about their next step in the Race of Honours. Strength and competency are the most inspiring things… ridiculous! One day, you will lose. Might not be due to no fault of your own, you can give it all, but it is simple not your day. And then what? Do you to win every single match until you have your first and last defeat? You are good, but being good is not enough and there will be encounters that you cannot win no matter what or you are not willing to pay the price that victory demands. Everyone wins, everyone lose, even a child knows that. Why do you place so much emphasis in something that is irrelevant and subject to the whims of Fortuna? If you want to inspire the public, you need to focus in the way that you lead with success and failure.

Lidia forced a neutral smile as her mind turned to the battles she faced in which defeat or running away were not an option. Challenges she had failed outside of the palaestra.

“I suppose I do not think much about those factors when my life is not in the line.” She shared a genuine smile. “Or at least, not as much as you put yours. What am I doing so wrong that might inspire the wrong emotion?”

“You do not share the moment, as I told you before, you’re awful selling the action. You need to get the audience involved, make them feel your effort as their own, show vulnerability and hesitation. And if one day someone manages to plant a fist in your face, you must show how much you are struggling to keep fighting on, how much it hurts. Convincing them that yes, it is your worst moment but making your stance crystal clear, that you will not move one step back.

“This is pugilism, Calpurnius. Not to mention this is not even my main job, it is essentially a focus for my otium. Exercise, and when I finally allow myself to relax.” Lidia stretched herlself, lazily. “Release all the pent up frustration in a way that rewards me for doing so.”

The intense stare of the old gladiator made her twist her face in a grimace.

“Gods. You are really concerned about me. Is this because of the club? I pay my share and I will not renegade my responsibilities in the future.”

“You finally managed to secure your freedom, the last thing I want to see is your debts leading to you being under the mancipatio of someone.”

“You heard about that, hum?” Lídia murmured. “It could not be helped, I had to do so in order to protect someone else’s liberty.”

Cocky smile.

“You know what? I miss Adara. What do you say about us gathering the club for a feast, honoring and sharing some happiness with her? There is someone special that I have to introduce to you guys.”

Caeso Calpurnius gave her a friendly slap in the back, going on and on with jest and provocations mixed with repeated confirmations that he shared the same desire. Did not even notice that he had lost Lidia, the eyes of the woman scrutinizing the heavens.

Catching a glance of a black armor.

“I have to go.” Lidia removed Calpurnius’ hand, forcing her expression into one of confidence. “I did not forget your advice nor will I forget our plans.”

#ancient rome #super heroes #story

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