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the-midnight-blooms · 2 months

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ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴀ ꜱɪʀᴇɴ'ꜱ ᴄᴀʟʟ

pairing: siren!choi jongho x fisher!reader

AU: fantasy au

word count: 4.6k

masterlist

Whatever you do, do not follow a Siren’s call. Its sweet voice may entice you, its looks may blind you. But to follow its heed, is to open your arms to the Angel of Death and say “Let me be your devotee.” To follow its call is to be marked by the Siren, forever.

The hypnotic beam of the ocean called for her in the dead of the night, where the dilapidating of her dwindling soul aided her quest to hunt for the food she was deprived of. It was the allure of the ocean too. Calling her name, its whispers sent a tantalising shiver down her spine, beckoning her. Magnetising her. Each of her limbs bowed to the sea, begging to feel the rush of cacophonous tides slap against her skin. The spray of sea salt-a musk, she could get intoxicated on until the Angel of Death travelled to her from darkened lands.

Her fingers flipped over the dense pages eyes scouring over reams of text and intricate drawings of the enigmatic creatures that harboured the sea, she sat on the floor of her boat, the barge settling upon the large expanse of the desolate sea. The moon hung serenely in the sky, the flickering of candles that penetrated the bleak homes had been blown out as sleep overtook the aching hearts of the townspeople. Over the past few weeks, the village had been struck with a shortage of food. Prices inflated as terrified fisherman refused to sail out into the sea and hunt for fish. It seemed the weather was equally aghast to the earth's aquarian- for a storm was brewing, the sky darkening into a stony grey, wind howling every night parrying against the wooden doors that were tightly locked, the metal hinges gripped onto the architraves for dear life. When she asked why they were so terrified, it was revealed that a daring fisherman had angered the Siren’s; thinking that a man was God and not made by him. Thinking that a Siren's land could easily be as colonised as one human colonised another. In turn their malevolent roars had burst his ear drums, their nails as sharp as knives impaled brutally into his supple flesh. With severed limbs, and gashes embroidered into his corpse, they had pushed back at the boat-rolling onto the port with poisoned fishes. A mockery. A warning, even.

Do not dare to anger a Siren. Its wrath exceeds boundaries that surpasses human imagination.

But the townspeople were wrought with hunger, starvation killing of the younger child with a weakened immune system that was simply pending on a trigger. Starvation had killed off her mother too, along with her father-who had in fact been taken by the sea itself. It was just her and her brother remaining, hungry and struggling to make ends meet with his measly job as a clerk. He promised that when he’d conjured sufficient funds, they’d move to the city to forge a better life for themselves and she would too be able to work. Though that seemed impossible with the way that progression, in his line of work, was almost unattainable. Thus, with her already struggling to stand on her own two feet-she decided to take matters in her own hands. It seemed quite impulsive of her, but she had enough skill to fish for the whole economy- it was just the danger she needed to steer clear off. As long as she didn’t venture into their lands and cause a ruckus, she’d be fine. Right?

“What am I supposed to do? If I don't go out there then we'll both be dead by the end of the month.” She argued. He slumped deeper into the sofa, resting his head in his palms.

“I’m just going to have to travel to the nearest town and see what they have.”

“The nearest town is three hours away. How will you cope?”

“I’ll cope alright. You stay here, its too dangerous. If the Sirens don't take you, the sea will.” He patted her head, gingerly as if to console her. She hated the way she was confined to their small home, feeling helpless as every day her brother came back home with little pennies in his pocket. Despite her best efforts to convince him otherwise, she failed a number of times. It wasn't until he handed her all of the information she needed into the palm of her hand, that he had catalysed her venture out to the coast.

“The fishermen are thinking about going out to sea again.” Her ears perked up at the news, though she kept her gaze fixated to the chopping board as she sliced the vegetables. Flicking her eyes over to the stirring pot, she stirred the soup, her hands circulating the pot- before gripping the knife again. Picking up the map settled beside him, he ambled to her side-leaning against the countertop. “Look. They’ve said that on the safe side, we won’t use the first and second harbour. We’ll have to use the Queen’s Harbour, but steer clear of this part instead.” Fixating her gaze on the map, she gave him a curt nod, reeling in the co-ordinates and committing as much as she could-subtly moving forward as if she could not see the map clearly from where she stood.

“That’s good, but you should plan to make your trip anyway. They’ve been saying that for two weeks straight but nobody's been moving.” She advised. Agreeing with her - he grabbed the tin off the shelf, folding up the map neatly before placing it in. He didn’t notice her memorising his words, lips moving up and down as she poured his soup into the bowl dropping it in front of him. Before the dawn rose, she scuttled out of her bed-reaching for the tin on the shelf to steal the map.

Their fishing boat was not the largest among the array that sat proudly upon the shoal of the iridescent waves. It was ghostly white in colour, but perhaps the most meticulously cared for seeing that when their father had left it to their possession, he entrusted them to care of it. No matter how scarcely they went fishing. Throwing in her tools, she jumped into the boat, unravelling the ropes that tied the boat down to the docks. Hauling at the heavy oars, the barge drifted outwards towards the large expanse of the sea. She didn't travel too far out, considering the fish were mostly dense near the rocky shores. Moving out early was tactful too; grabbing the bait from the box, she pierced it to the end of the hook, slinging the line into the water.

Her luck was poor. The wind had gotten a lot colder picking up its pace, and she forgot her coat back at home in the rush of having to escape to the shore without being seen. With trembling limbs, she tried and tried again-growing tired and hungry yet all the fish seemed to have dispersed. Paddling out a little, she tried a number of areas yet she failed.

"Come on fishies. I gotta eat." She pleaded, turning the reel handle, the fly line drew up and out of the water. The hook was empty. With an exasperated sigh, melancholia flooded through her. Losing all hope, she wrapped away all of her equipment settling it to the side. One last time, she peered into the water, hoping to find a small aquarian shimmering beneath. Instead, she sought the silhouette of a much larger figure- flickers of a broad back with dark hair. A Siren?

“Come throw your heart into the waves

Your soul is lost, and still it saves

Drink me in and come undone”

A melodious voice permeated her ears, its hum serenading her blood, smoothing the flow of her palpitating heart. Its voice so eerily translucent, vibrating through her muscles, shimmering in the breeze as her hair fluttered delicately in the midnight sky. Her body paralysed to the spot, her skin itching to rip the fabric that clung to her like glue. At once, she lunged for the oars ignoring the intense rippling of the cerulean sea as she travelled the surface of the boat. Her arms rowed powerfully, as the waters rocked harshly against her. Panicked breaths escaped her, as she oared through the waters, the port in sight though tiredness gnawed at her aching muscles.

“Bring your body unto me”

Her eyes felt itself droop, her panicked breaths became eroticised by its seductive voice. She hated the bewitchment, she hated the way she wanted to feel its touch upon her cold, paling skin. Yet she persisted against her wild emotions, rowing and rowing. A shriek escaped her lips, as the boat rocked backwards upon a sudden weight. Paralysed to the spot, the saccharine hums edged closer. A shadow loomed above her, creeping down, its slender fingers reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“My sweet girl, you’re so strong.” A masculine voice whispered, sending a shot of delirium through her. “Let me gift you, my dear.” A pearl necklace clasped itself around her neck. Her hands flung towards it immediately. Daringly, he pressed his lips to the gleam of her neck. Instantly, she snapped her head around and the enigmatic figure was gone, lost to the sea. As soon as she reached the port, she grabbed all the fishing tools and dashed back to her home. With the dawn slowly infiltrating the sky, she placed all of the tools into the shed, and traipsed back into her bedroom.

Catching her eyes in the mirror, the pearl necklace was coated with a silvery blue, glistening in the darkness of her room. Her hands slid to the back of her neck, in a desperate attempt to find the clasp. There was no clasp. Immediately, panic fulfilled her, tears rushing to the brim of her eyes. She’d just have to pull it off. Yet she could not, as she tried to tug at the pearls, the skin around her neck pulled violently. With a painful gasp, a weary sob eructed from her - flopping onto her bed she continued to sob into the pillow.

She was marked by a Siren. There was no other possible explanation. Reaching for the book she'd thrown onto her bed, she frantically flipped through the pages. Looking for something, anything, on markings; their potentially symbolic meanings and how to get rid of them.

Siren's can mark humans in a multiple of ways. There are three key types of markings. A tattoo can simply mean the mark of death. Marking can also be through inhabiting sharp canines, longer nails even a tail which allows a Siren to share your body so it can walk freely across the lands. This is temporary, the markings can be removed safely. The last one is marking by what the Siren's call 'gifting'. This is mainly carried out by male Sirens, they often give their human counterparts gifts such as earrings, bracelets, necklaces.

On instinct her hands flew to her neck, where a string of pearls were embedded into her skin, the bumps sending a jolt of despair through her. It felt like a set of hands gripping around her neck. Her eyes shot back down to the book spread across the laps, patiently waiting for her brother's footsteps to stop loitering outside her door.

This is potentially one of the worst types of marking. This is the mark of 'love' where the Siren's now own the body of their lover. It is up to them to do what they wish, whether it be marriage, mating, slavery, a slow death. This mark can only be removed by the Siren itself.

"Where did you get that necklace?" Her brother pondered, the same evening as he came back from work. They sat opposite each other on the dining table, in the crook of their tiny kitchen.

"Oh, erm Mum's jewellery box." Giving her sheepish smile, he turned back to his food.

"It looks nice, speaking of. One of our regular clients at work was asking about you. He saw that photo of you, me and Mum that we took last year." Humming as if she was paying attention, her spoon ran through the middle of her plate-playing with her food. Her ears had tuned out the sound of his voice as her eyes wandered out into the distance where the sea rested upon the crest of the shore. She had no choice but to go back, she needed to find the Siren who marked and get the wretched necklace of her neck. "Anyways, he's rich so I think you should marry him."

"Marry who?"

"San. We wouldn't have to worry about money again, plus he likes you." Her eyebrows creased in confusion, before huffing. He’d brought up the topic of marriage before, wanting his sister to be married to someone who could protect her better than him. Keep her safe and more comfortable than he ever could. In response, she’d tease him about having a wife- but he’d only shake his head saying he needed a lot more money and job security before settling down to start a family.

"Where did San come from?"

"Where you even listening to me?" He questioned with furrowed brows, wiping his hands with the napkin. Her silence caused him to release a sigh of frustration, throwing the dirty tissue her way.

At night, she moved along the shore again-once again unravelling the ropes, setting out to sail. At first she had to wait for her brother to fall asleep, which seemed futile due to his incessant insomnia, which had him roaming around the home at merciless hours. The waters were eerily quiet, letting go of the oars, she got up, summoning as much courage as she had to peak over the side of the boat.

"Bring your body unto me."

A jostle of horror coursed through her veins, as a pair of hands gripped onto the hull. Aerial hums transgressed the cool air once more, his round face slowly arose from the water, big eyes captivating her-the curve of his cheeks and menacingly charming smile, that had her body swaying towards him. His skin was tinted with a light blue shade, his collarbones painted in a gleaning silver glitter. His bare chest triggered a warm flush to spread over her cheeks. Following the movements of his pink lips, she could not help herself as she leaned over the side of the boat to draw her hands closer to him.

"Let your graveyard be the sea, Come away and drink it in."

His large hands ensnared around her wrist, jerking her body over the side, a potent force sunk her under the tumultuous waves. Her lungs screeched for air, the blood inside sizzling as the Siren tightened his grip swimming towards the bed of the sea. Her mind in a haze, body: his, as she heeded to his command. The bewitching croons dispersed as they moved closer to bed; the roar of the wind, rushing of water, wind rippling the surface ached her ears. Before she knew it, the bed of the sea drowned her in-her body pushed through the small crevices into a distant land.

A harsh cough escaped her, exhaling loudly, her body slumped against a rock, eyes fluttering as her temple felt as if a trident had been lodged through it. The Siren sook in her figure with his wide eyes. Her body trembled as an array of goosebumps rippled over her skin, she caught a glint in her peripheral vision-the outline of a sharp blade within arms reach. Upon seeing the Siren, she retreated backwards in fear.

"Were you the one to put this necklace on me?" He nodded, his wide eyes glossed with a certain type of innocence, the type that made her want to forgive him. "Can you take it off?" Her voice brimmed with desolation. His lips pulled into a frown.

“I can't. You belong to Choi Jongho now. You're mine.” Just as she predicted, he would hold his ground-stating true to her textbook knowledge of his remarks. She understood why they said to never follow a Siren’s call now; the beauty of his man had her unconsciously drifting towards him. The desire to outstretch her hand and address the surface of his smooth skin, to feel his bare skin pressed against hers. Those thoughts felt abhorred, but Siren’s were creatures of seduction; pumping lust into their subjects. One last time, her hands reached to the back of het neck; in an attempt to rid herself of the necklace he draped around her. With no clasp she slid her finger through the pearls-yanking the beads as hard as she could feeling the harrowing stretch of her skin as she tugged; her breath becoming lodged in her throat. “Don’t! You’ll rip out your throat.” Arduously, her arms fell at her sides as her weak endeavours failed pathetically.

"Why-why did you do this to me?" Resting her back against the rock, her chest heaved furiously.

"I like pretty things. If I see something pretty, I keep it." Suddenly, her arm stuck out towards him, as if her fingers were magnets attracted to the opposite pole. Harshly she tried to retract, yet instead her whole body lurched forward- into the water-twirling as if orchestrating an elegant dance. Taking an agitating step back, her limbs heavy as she tried to repel her body against him.

“Stop this!” This time both arms stuck out as if she was reaching out for him. Firmly plastering both feet to the ground, her arms remained fixated in the same humiliating position.

“If you want to hug me, you’ll have to come a bit closer.” He teased, he found the spectacle in front of him quite amusing.

“I don’t want a hug. Stop this now!” She didn’t mean for her voice to be crowded with as much apprehension and desperation as it was now, her bottom lip quivering slightly. It was so painful to repel, yet it was damning to surrender.

“I can’t. Our souls are bound now, the attraction you’re feeling? One day you won’t even be able to fight back.” She slumped to the floor, rubbing her hand against her chest as if it would soothe the pain she was feeling. Her lungs were burning, her heart was palpitating, the tension between was growing thick was every waking moment. Shutting her eyes, she curled up into a ball; the tormenting pull on her muscles relaxed, she released a contented sigh for a single second, before she felt a warm weight rest on her waist.

“Get your hand off me.” She snapped, a warm chuckle escaped from his pink lips.

“It feels much better, though. Doesn’t it?”

“No.” His hand retracted immediately at her dismissal, the pain washed slowly into her blood again, like the tides that tugged the sand slipping into unspeakable depths of the ocean- the sharp spike jolting through her so much that she could not even breathe. Irrationally, she jumped into his arms- craving his skin as one craved morphine; wrapping her arms around his own waist to feel the morphine that soothed the burn of a thousand hot knives impaling her supple skin. The pain dispersed as if it was never there to begin with. “Could you at least get the necklace off me?” She begged, peering to look up at him through her lashes. She was just going to have to play his game and win.

“Why?” His lips fell into a frown.

“I don’t like pearls.” She lied. Of course she adored them, she spent the majority of her childhood picking them out from oyster shells-creating small pearl necklaces and earrings.

“What do you like instead? Sapphires? Gold?” Running his hands through the length of her hair, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her forehead.

“I don’t really like jewellery. Could you just take it off? Please?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “My love.” She whispered, his heart swayed with her every breath-drunk on the fumes of her every exhale. Catching sight of the fish hook behind him, she leaned forward, momentarily stopping in front of his face. Was she really going to do this? What choice do I have? Delicately, she pressed her own lips to his, circling her arms around her neck, to pull his head towards her. Her arms outstretched behind her to yeild the blade as close to her as she could. He pushed his body forward, her back hitting daintily against the rock. His body hovered over hers; warm breath leaving a trail of desire littering over her skin. Before she could blink, he began to pepper kisses over her neck. Slowly and softly his head slid down, dangerously lower and lower. It was then she realised how low cut the neck of her dress was. Unconsciously, her hands rinsed through his raven hair-pressing his head down deeper into her collarbone. With a hand around her neck, the heavy weight of the pearls lightened the load on her neck.

“Thank you.” She breathed out. With his head dug into her collarbone, she held back a grunt as she strained to reach for blade, the handle slipping into her palms like glue. Languidly, she drew the knife closer to his abdomen- the honed end waltzed on his skin. Taking a deep breath, the knife dug into the crevice of his skin; pushing the weight of his body off her, she scrambled to her feet, the ends spewing blood like raindrops. His heaving breaths pervaded the air, his siren eyes glaring out.

“I love you and this how repay me?” Letting out a forced laugh, his cackles sent dangerous ripples through the water- before he could do anything else she darted away from rock- the drag of the water halting her. “You clever bitch!” His scream echoed within the caverns yet her feet travelled as far as they could away from him, the water rising from her knees all the way to her chest. She hadn’t thought this was through- how would she get out? Quickly, her eyes scouted her surroundings, until she found a small hole carved within a rock yet large enough for her to fit through. Inhaling a deep breath, she dove into the water arms and legs moving powerfully to resist the harsh waves his anger had conjured. Lurching herself of the sea bed, she swung up her arms, flailing her legs to travel upwards feeling his angered roar tremble through her bones.

“You are no more, you are no less.

For all must die, all must rest.”

His hymns would not work now, she was no longer bound to him with the pearls having been rid from her body. Her head pushed up the surface of the water, oxygen powering into her lungs- inhaling as much as she could. Kicking her feet to stay afloat, she glided towards the boat- with an iron tight fist she flung herself over, rolling onto the floor. Nimbly, she got up towards the oars; smacking them down as hard as she could into the water. The boar tipped backwards with the sudden weight, her head snapping back; she was succumbed to his deadly gaze. If looks could kill.

“You forgot the necklace.” He threw the pearls in her direction, the clatter making her flinch. As fast as she could, she took hold of the oar-slamming the wood against his knees as hard as she could. Letting out a painful grunt, she tackled him to the floor. With a fish hook in sight, she grabbed it- as a beggar grabbed morsel- lifting it above her head, pummelling it into his rubbery skin. Drowning out the sounds of his screams, as she mutilated his skin; gutting it as one gut fish. Repeating the action. Until her arms had given up on her. Chucking the blade into the water, tears rushing to the brim of her eyes, she let out a pained sob. A scream terrorised the waters, purling through the underworld, stunting the water’s fluidity. Her blood stained hands cupped her sides of her cheeks, running through her hair- tears washing away the blood over his body.

In the distance, a figure had pounded into the water- using the little strength she had to push the boat on its head. A Siren’s body floated down towards the sea bed, as the soft waves carried her body to the docks.

Her brother’s trip to the next town proved successful, they were far from hungry-and he bought a little more than he should have; managing to sell a load in the town’s market. After a while, the fisherman formed a congregation and finally went out to sea. At first she was unsure if the Siren’s were still angry as she killed Jongho. Then again, she didn’t know how beloved he was to them. She didn’t want to know either, the image of his dead body engraved in her head. Yet when they came back with mounds of fish, and the economy was booming again, she had come to a quick conclusion that he must have not been anything but a head count. She never went near the sea again, for every step closer to the coast meant a step closer to Jongho despite the fact that his soul had been taken by the Angel of Death. At night, she could not help but let her mind litter to the way his touch kissed her skin; soon after she was reminded of the way she brutally murdered him. Over time, she suffered from insomnia like her brother, staying hidden in her bedroom to avoid suspicion of her sudden sleep apnea.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go fishing with me?” She nodded, unable to tell him that their boat had been lost the waves now- with a few bits of their equipment. Perhaps it was her brother’s insomnia that had impaired his judgement, for he didn’t notice the missing equipment and when he didn’t enquire about the missing boat- confusion struck through her. “What about the boat? It’s still there, why would it be anywhere else?” At first she didn’t believe him, so summoning all the fortitude she had, she made her way down to the docks to see him off to the sea. And there it was. No blood stains, no damage, pearly white as it had always been. Not wanting to entertain a foreign thought (of Jongho not being dead) she assumed maybe the other fisherman had been kind enough to return it to them.

Maybe it was San. She’d finally met him that day by the docks- she could understand her brother’s insistence to marry him. For now, she’d wait and let things settle as they were- and he was a kind soul keen on waiting for her.

Sat on her bed, lazily drifting her eyes through the words on a book- she aimlessly drew her pencil across. A knock, followed by the door creaking open, got her up from her bed- her brother stood in the doorway summoning for her.

“I made a friend whilst fishing.”

“That would be a first.” She joked, placing her book aside to give him attention.

“I thought I’d introduce you to him. He’s a natural at hunting for fish. And he let me use his equipment too.” She followed her brother to the front door. “I invited him to dinner.” She gave him a pointed look, huffing as she’d have to prepare food for one more mouth. Braking violently by the doorway, her mouth hung slightly agape as she took in the figure before her.

He turned around, those same wide eyes greeting her again. His round cheeks, uplifting as he pulled his lips into a charming smile. He was clad in the same fisherman’s dress as her brother, hair smoothed back as if untouched by a drop water. He sent a taunting wave.

“Hi, I’m Jongho.” Her words lodged in her throat, her brother sending her a displeased look.

“I’m sorry Jongho, she’s shy sometimes.” He flicked his hand reassuringly. Digging his hand into his pocket, he pulled a rectangular black velvet box.

“Here, I heard you like pearls.”

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: may edit later!!!! Bro just wanted to give her some pearls 😭 we need more jongho’s, oc gotta get her shit together honestly 🙄✋🏻 the song is from a book called The Siren by Kiera Cass

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

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storiesbyrhi · 5 months

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: You are wide awake. 2340 words.

1986

Every day Eddie watched the jar. He watched how the moon water moved, alive and with a viscosity different from regular water. He watched the apple slices dry and the sprigs of lavender go stiff. He thought if he watched closely enough, he’d see the magic working, but he never caught a glimmer of craft.

When it was time, you let him plant the enchanted seed in the new coven neighbourhood. Your home would grow furthest out, close to the shade of the woods. A spell later, you were traveling back to Forest Hills to begin packing the trailer up.

It had been months since you’d moved in, therefore you had accumulated a lot of items.

“Do you need all of these?” Eddie asked, holding up one of five shoeboxes, all packed with feathers you had found. “And is this a normal amount of feathers to find? What is wrong with the birds in Hawkins?”

“Yes and no and a lot. I told you that if you are gonna help, you can’t question every single thing you pick up,”

“I’m doing no such thing,” he rebutted.

“Eddie, you told me to cull my jar collection,”

“I stand by it. There are too many. You can collect more,”

“I use them! Frequently! And I don’t just keep any jar. All the ones I have are, like, uniquely shaped or extra sturdy!” you whined. “Asking a witch to not collect jars is just…” You shook your head, not able to find the words to express the atrocity.

Eddie smiled at you softly. “Perhaps I am not the best helper,” he conceded. “Perhaps my time would be better spent doing something else,”

“Something else like use your vampire speed to clean the bathroom, or something else like turn into a bat and sleep?”

An hour later, Eddie was asleep in one of the boxes containing clothes, and you were wrapping more empty jars in bubble wrap.

…

A monument to witchcraft and love. That’s what Eddie thought when he saw the house. It had the glorious drama of Ev’s Victorian home and the softness of the other witches’ cottages. Expansive stained glass windows. Detailed architraves, the wood so dark it appeared black. Red brick. A single-story structure, but the dome of a conservatory was visible over the roof. It extended back into the woods, settling into the landscape as if it had always been there.

Eddie thought back to all the places he had lived in. The house his father’s rage felt the brunt of as much as he did. The farm he came into adulthood on. The colony caves. The cold and lonely hotel rooms. The trees above Forest Hills. He’d never had a home, apart from your arms, but there it was. Real and in front of him.

The sun was setting over the valley as Eddie stood before the house. You’d seen it early that day, doing your final checks before okaying the move. It was your magic the house grew from, so naturally you were less awestruck by it. The floorplan and aesthetic had been born in your mind. Still, it was a beautiful thing.

“Think it will do?” you asked Eddie, coming to stand beside him.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “It’s…” How many different words were there for ‘home,’ he wondered. What language could fully communicate the depth of emotion?

“Enchanted seeds create homes, not houses,” you told him as you walked towards the front door. “Come and see.”

Eddie followed, almost expecting something to happen as he crossed the front door threshold. Once inside, Eddie clenched his jaw. It was more perfect than he could have anticipated.

The furniture was plush and comfortable, an eclectic mix of antique pieces and modern amenities. Bookshelves stood tall and waiting, ready for the library to arrive. Potted ivy trailed up and around curtain railings and along the walls.

“You never got to see my place in the Catskills. A lot of the furniture comes from there. The rest comes from the seed… It’s the kind of magic that makes me wish we could study it, you know? I want to know the science of it. How does it work?”

“It seems to me that part of the power of magic is in the unknowing,” Eddie replied, as wise as any of the Witches Who Came Before.

“It does appear to be the case,” you agreed.

For a while, you let Eddie wander aimlessly through the house.

He marvelled at the bath, huge and round, like a pond and definitely big enough for two. A huge wardrobe door that opened into a secret library. The conservatory full of thriving plants, flowers, herbs, and other living things Eddie did not have a word for. Every window a different shape but never square. Strange detailing like cat shaped doorknobs and pink quartz basins.

Eventually, Eddie sat on the end of the huge bed, its four posts grand and its linen crisp. He looked over at you and held out his hands.

“Come.”

You walked to him, taking his hands, and standing between his legs. Eddie looked up at you with those sparkling brown eyes, the adoration radiating from him.

“It’s an irrational idea, this fear I have that I’m dreaming. That I am still cursed, haunting this town until the end of time. But a vampire cannot dream. The cursed cannot dream. But still…”

Gently, you let go of Eddie’s hands and leaned into him, snaking your fingers into his hair as he pressed himself into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“You are wide awake. Alive… kind of… But definitely here. With me. In our home. Soon-to-be, with our friends. Our family. And just in time for Halloween.”

He purred a happy sound, nodding into you. “A witch’s favourite holiday?” he hazarded a guess.

“Hmm, not all of us. Most of the witches I’ve known tended to find more obscure holidays to worship at the altar of. New Years is a big one, too. Alas, I am but a cliché All Hallows witch,”

“With much respect, I see that,” Eddie said. You laughed, shrugged. He looked up at you again. “You did fall in love with a vampire, after all.”

…

Far away from the rest of the world, you and Eddie spent almost a week settling into the new house. Grimoires were catalogued into one of the three library rooms. Dandelion puffs were jarred and shelved. Every trinket found its home.

Eddie tested the rainbow light that flooded the rooms, discovering that in the magic there was safety. Sunlight that filtered through the windows did not burn him. He could be free and at ease.

You explained to Eddie the importance of representing the elements within the home. Earth in the plants, wooden carpentry, and the grounding crystals. Fire in the candles, ever-burning incense, and roaring fireplaces that only ever emitted the exact level of heat you wanted. (“In summer, the flames burn cold,” you told Eddie and watched his smile grow.) Water in the mirrors, seashells, and small fountains found in the glasshouse room. Lastly, air in the wind chimes, feathers, and windows that could remain open without upsetting the temperature inside.

During the day, you began work on your garden, creating flower beds in the shape of pentagrams and sewing seeds. Borage for the butterflies and bees, primrose – I can’t live without you; angelica in case you need to break any future hexes; and yarrow, amaryllis, and polypodies.

One evening, just before sunset, you found Eddie rummaging through the apothecary pantry. As you entered the room, his manic smile told you he’d had an idea.

“What’s the story, morning glory?” you asked him, perching on a stool.

Eddie sunk to his knees and shrugged. “The fires are out… The Shire is no longer burning,”

“The Shire being… Hawkins?”

“Yes. And us. We’ve sailed to the Undying Lands,”

“You’re really making Tolkien your whole personality, huh?” you joked.

Eddie smiled up at you. “Until the next book… But what I’m saying is, now that we do not have a battle to prepare for. No conflict upon the horizon. What do we do with all of eternity?”

“Oh… My plan was to eat a lot of Meg’s cinnamon rolls… Try to get Steve Harrington to stop haunting Mel… Maybe work on a spell to make myself teeny tiny so I can ride around on you when you’re a bat…”

“Wait, seriously?”

You gave him a sly smile. “Maybe,”

“Well, I would love that… But, I was thinking a little more introspectively. Back to things we have thought about before. Like, why I am the way that I am… What that means…” He ran a finger along the leaves of the mimosa pudica plant beside him. The leaves felt his touch, curled inwards on themselves. It was one of Eddie’s favourites, the way it reacted to the world around it.

“Any new insights?” you asked softy.

“No… But… If I believe in you and in your magic and the way you make sense of the world… then I… I have to do something,”

“Do something?”

“We get back what we give, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “It’s not always obvious or direct. Or timely. Or even equally fair… But, yeah… There is definitely something like the concept of karma at play. And even if there isn’t, living as if there is can only be a good thing,”

“Then I must show more grace… and gratitude… Even if I am a monster, maybe especially because I am… I can give goodness too.”

Without thinking, you slid off the stool and joined Eddie on the floor. “You already do. You don’t owe the world anything.”

Eddie smiled, first a small soft thing, almost sad, but then it twisted into something else. Ear-to-ear and full of teeth. “I owe it more than one life,”

“But if we count all the lives you have saved. Both by killing what plagued this town, and by preventing deaths at the hands of bad people-”

“Morality cannot be simple addition and subtraction. There is no math that can quantify goodness or righteousness. You know that,” Eddie cut in. He watched your face, saw the pensiveness blossom across it. “Don’t worry, my little witch, my plan is not as life-or-death as this all makes it seem… I just want to do something good for your friends,”

“Your friends,” you corrected quickly. “They’ll be your friends too. Your family. You’re part of this coven.”

Eddie reached out to cup your face in his hands. “Your coven is yours. But I will take the friendship. I have years of loneliness to make up for,”

“Then what-”

He cut you off again, this time with a kiss. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, draping your arms around his neck. Eddie pulled you into his lap and you curled into him like the leaves of the mimosa.

His mouth kissed and sucked at your neck between sentence fragments. “I’m-” kiss “going-” kiss “to plant-” lick “them-” kiss “flowers.” His punctuation a kiss that wanted to be a bite.

You were hardly listening to his words. His words and ideas and introspective musings could all wait.

Eddie laid you down on the floor, the smell of the oak still new. You arched your back and pulled him down by his collar.

“Bed,” you mumbled into his mouth.

“Why build a house if we’re not gonna use it,” he answered.

One hand splayed next to your head to keep him up, the other tickling its way under the hem of your skirt and up your thigh.

“Besides,” Eddie said. “Doesn’t feel like you can wait.” He was sliding your underwear off, throwing them across the room. He rested a hand on you, sliding an index finger through your slickness.

“I can’t,” you agreed, breathy and impatient. “Now. I want you now.”

Eddie didn’t have to be asked twice. With his pants still hanging from an ankle, he was fast to set up and slow on approach. You felt the tip of him follow the path made by his hand, gathering wetness, and shooting electricity through your body.

You melted into jelly beneath him, bliss written all over your face. Eddie loved you like this, pliable and prone to tears of ecstasy.

He held himself back, keeping his pace slow and steady. His vampire muscles screamed to go faster, to rail you into next week, but he liked pulling you apart. Liked how you unconsciously uttered strings of words like ‘full’ and ‘please’ and ‘can’t.’ Liked when you clawed at him to come closer, bit down on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he told you, mouth on your ear, tongue licking. “So. Fucking. Much.”

There was a seemingly endless amount of ways Eddie had learned could make you cum. Talking to you was a favourite for you both.

“You’re so perfect, so perfect… You feel so perfect… You’re so warm and soft and I… I want to eat you whole…”

Your response was in the pooling tears and the nodding and the slack jaw. The begging, “Please. Please.”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” It was all it took. Your orgasm exploded moments before his. Eddie’s thrusting getting harder and faster for the few seconds he took to follow you. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from ripping into your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, not aware of your surroundings. When you felt Eddie’s arms slide beneath you, you smiled and hummed. He carried you to your new bed, cleaning your skin with a warm washcloth before curling himself in behind you.

With the last of your day’s energy, you tangled your fingers through his, falling asleep happily.

As Eddie listened to your breathing find its mellow night rhythm, he saw a vision of you in his mind. Hands full of flowers and foliage. A coven of audience. Glorious and beaming.

End Note: I made a small Pinterest board with inspo for their house - click here to view.

I hope you are all as well as any of us can be at a time like this. I hope this story continues to provide comfort, escapism, and fuel for daydreams. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @moviefreak1205 @pastel-pillows

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Bat!Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You

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teaandransacking · 2 years

Note

Heyyy! If you do requests, could you do an Anthony Lockwood x reader where he comforts and stays with the reader during a thunderstorm because she’s afraid of them? Thanks :)

Of course!

You curl up under your desk in the old house.

Maybe, the thunder will seem quieter from down here. Except, it doesn't. It's just as loud and makes your insides turn to water.

You've always hated the rumble and crack of huge storms, and even more, hated explaining your fear to other people.

You're resigned to sitting it out alone, rigid in your terror, when there's a one-two knock at the door, and you peer out. At that moment, lightning whips across the sky, and Anthony Lockwood is illuminated in the architrave, the silver-bright glow catching on his dark eyes and face of planes and angles. He wears his habitual shirt and tie, although it's near midnight.

"Lucy said I'd find you here," he calls across the room. "Are you all right?"

"No," you manage, staying in your hiding place.

He takes a step into the room, silent in socked feet. "Would you like some company?"

"Yes, please."

You watch as he closes the distance between the door and the table, and then crouches down to crawl underneath it with you. His dark gaze finds yours, his brown eyes warm. "I never did like thunderstorms much, either."

You nod, holding out your hand.

Lockwood takes it, threading his fingers through yours. "Should I stay?"

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak. You can cope with this maddening attraction when there's Visitors to deal with and rapiers to parry, but now, in the quiet, when you have his undivided attention, and you can breathe him in, earl grey tea and citrus and warm cotton? On top of the storm, it's too much.

"All right."

The thunder booms, long and loud, and you jump, and Lockwood instinctively takes you into his arms, and you press your face into his shoulder.

"It can't reach you here," he whispers. "Let me be your fortress, until it's over. It can't reach you."

He is solid and warm and you let out a long breath you didn't know you'd been holding. His arms tighten around you. You burrow in as the lightning splits the canvas of the sky, but the thunder isn't so bad, viewed through the lens of being with Anthony Lockwood.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #lockwood & co

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orqheuss · 1 year

Text

For whatever we lose (like a you, or a me)

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST)

Pre!Parenthesis Universe

Summary:

“Oh for the love of—” Sebastian cut himself off, quickly drawing his wand from his sleeve and pointing it at your chest. Images danced behind his eyes; Solomon destroying the plant that could have cured Anne; The blurry image of the goblin that had cursed his sister running from the house, cackling in villainous mirth; finding his parents bodies in the cellar, thick plumes of colored toxic smoke spewing from their cauldron. His vision faded to a striking black. White hot pokers stabbed into his temples, and he cast his wand at you in a blind rage. “Crucio!” *** The Scriptorium called your name, and who were you to ignore its song? At least, that's what you told yourself as Sebastian pushed you and Ominis deeper and deeper into the mausoleum.

Word count: 9k

Tags: arguing, violence, cruciatus curse, dark!sebastian (kind of), sexual humor

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

Not a sound could be heard in the moonlit, desolate hallways of Hogwarts. The distant star casted a haunting glow over the courtyard and shone through the grand windows of the Great Hall. Figures long lost to time danced through the paintings lining the hazelwood walls, waltzing to an imaginary concerto. The ghosts floating about chatted quietly about their history, telling tales of cadences forever forgotten in old textbooks. Their whispers shivered the leaves in the trees on the campus grounds, leaving them humming at the fall winds cascading from the sky and turning their once vibrant green spires into a burnt orange. Lanterns lined the Grand Staircase at the heart of the castle, a paragon of regality and the wisdom of the great wizarding school. Baroque styled banisters basked in the glow, expelling person-shaped shadows on the enormous walls lining the mystical architecture. Down the stairs laid an ornate stone door, its architrave adorned with a cosmic silver snake. Two freshly lit braziers framed the entrance and swayed in the steely breeze of the dungeons, its smokey ash pirouetting in romantic couplets towards the ceiling.

A third was sparked to life just down the way. The line of light seemed to lure in anyone who were to walk the halls past curfew; beckoning them with the promise of mischief and pleasure. Standing before the final brazier, basking in its luminescence, were three young students. One leaned against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed tightly against his chest with a sullen look adorning his features. His eyes seemed to catch the light and shimmer like frosted glass on a winter morning. Another stood in front of the boy, directly under the cold stone of the giant candelabra. He was beaming with elation, his eyes glittering with waywardness and intrigue. His brown irises seemed to reflect the fire back in challenge, almost daring it to blaze brighter than he did. Between the two was the final student. A slight frown quirked the corner of their mouth, glancing back and forth between their two friends in trepidation. They could feel each emotion emitting from their companions like a thick fog, coating the hallway and leaving the braziers the lone match shining through the storm. Each felt something different about their quest— had different motives for the scintillating adventure. They all heard the distinct call to the Scriptorium before them, and felt more than compelled to answer. With a great rumble, the stone wall sloughed away and opened up to a chasm leading downward. A spiral staircase slithered from below and attached to the ledge, hissing out a stream of steam in its wake.

The three friends stood in awe at the display, amazed at the grandiloquence of the long dead wizard who made this place. They were about to enter Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium, a feat very few could claim as their own.

Sebastian Sallow turned on the balls of his feet and beckoned his friends over, a giddy look twinkling in his eyes and stretching his smile. The prospect of finding a cure for the curse that plagued his sister heavily outweighed any unease he may have had at the daunting entryway. He nearly vibrated with excitement— the need for thrill buried itself deep in his bones. He could taste the tombs of secrets hidden in the enigma before him, feel the leather bound books worn with oil from the fingertips of his house founder. The forbidden magic thrummed in his veins and set his blood aflame like the brightest sunlight. Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes, something dark.

Ominis Gaunt, the heir of Slytherin himself, flicked his wand from his large robe sleeve and sparked it to life. A red light pulsed from its tip, and the hallway came more into focus in his mind. He pushed himself off of the wall and walked towards the imposing archway, closer to his family history simmering below. He looked striking, noble even, with his even, strong steps. Only someone close enough to be in his own skin would notice the slight tremble in his hands, the sweat that beaded at his brow. Anyone else with his condition could hear the steady hammer of his heart against his rib cage, the fast but even beats swimming in his ears and resting behind his eyes. He thought of his dear aunt Noctua, the last of the Gaunt’s to enter the foreboding mausoleum— how she had disappeared soon after finding its entrance. A shiver ran up his spine and something akin to fear lodged itself in his throat.

You looked on at the two boys. You had no feelings for this moment, nothing to go off of but the words of your two comrades. You peaked down the chilling stairs into the never-ending darkness. It seemed to hiss in contempt at being awoken. This metaphorical pit of serpents had fangs, and each dripped with a deadly poison befitting the strongest men. The blackness crept up your arms and buried itself in your hair— it whispered sweet nothings into your ears, enticing the ancient magic flowing under your skin. You inhaled the titillating aroma of devillment and stored it deep in your lungs. Excitement and worry crashed against your soul and swirled like a hurricane in your stomach, sending ripples of anxiety through your very bones. You truly didn’t know how you felt at that very moment, but you knew, more than anything, that you wanted to protect your friends. Something inside, though, felt familiar. Something was calling out to your magic, and you felt inclined to answer.

You pushed the anxiety aside for now. The two boys, now standing next to you, both had things they needed to learn from the Scriptorium, and you were going to help them find it. The idea of adventure took over your senses at that moment and spread heat through your chest, glowing as bright at the braziers you had just lit.

Even Ominis, a very stoic and reserved boy to most, seemed to have a gleam about his face that shimmered in eagerness. Not many knew, but he most definitely had a taste for chaos— he had to with the company he kept. There was something so intriguing about the Scriptorium to him. Maybe it was something forged in his very being, him being a Gaunt after all. Either way, the young wizard turned his attention towards his companions in a silent confirmation that he was ready to go. You cleared your throat hesitantly, drawing the attention of Sebastian away from the dark hallway before you.

“Alright boys,” you gestured towards the entrance with your hand, “shall we?”

The two nodded in your direction. Sebastian turned to you with a cheeky grin decorating his features. “I haven’t seen a tunnel this big since your mum.”

Another thing about the Sallow boy: he very rarely took anything seriously.

At the unimpressed look you gave him, he held his hands up in a placating manner, chortling to himself, “Aw, come on. That was a good one—”

You reached your hand towards his face and promptly thumped him on the forehead with a flick. Sebastian dropped the troublesome smirk and quickly brought his palm up to rub at the affronted spot, hissing through his teeth in pain.

You looked at Ominis next to you, and as if sensing your disappointment he shook his head while looking up at the ceiling, muttering to himself, “Merlin, help me,” before beginning to walk down the daunting staircase.

You and Sebastian fell into step behind the young Gaunt, trusting his instincts and sentient wand better than your fleeting eyesight. The tunnel was unequivocally dark, even the lumos dancing in front of your face barely pierced the surface. Your shoes made a distinct squelch sound on the wet cement with each step deeper into the pit.

Down,

down,

down you went.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, descending into the fathomless unknown. Each sound echoed off the tightly packed walls, bouncing back and forth like a well crafted game of wizards chess. The seconds ticked by slowly, cascading around you like the steady stream of drips coming from above. The piping loomed imposingly above your heads and drizzled along the black-stone walls. You must be truly under the castle, you supposed. You felt tightly packed like a tin of sardines— three fish wiggling together towards the unknown fate of the stew pot. Ominis could smell your discomfort behind him, and quite honestly, he was inclined to agree. He couldn’t sense the end landing, if there even was one, in the infernal devilry that was the accursed sepulcher. The scent and taste of mildew and stale air coated his nasal cavity and larynx, making it impossible to determine anything else from the two orifices. He would gripe about his lack of sight in situations like this, at least normally, but he doubted that it would make much difference at the current moment. There was truly nothing around them.

Sebastian could taste the unease in the air from his two companions, and he detested the feeling greatly. It was of the utmost disrespect to the boy to turn down adventure; there was absolutely nothing in this world that he didn’t want to poke and prod, to know how it ticked. If there was one thing that his parents passed down to him before they died, it was that. He understood that it was a daunting task, and a very large ask of his dear friends, to take this journey with him, but for Merlin’s sake, it was Slytherin’s Scriptorium! He had only ever read about this monumental library, hiding deep in the caverns of the Hogwarts underbelly. How could he say no to this journey, this discovery? If it helped Anne along the way, what was the harm of it all?

Just as you were beginning to think you would never leave the Hadean staircase, it finally puttered off to a smooth path of river-stones and a dimly lit concourse. Ominis stood at the forefront of the group, his wand casting a small bale-fire and illuminating more of the imposing hallway. Sebastian chuckled lowly behind him. Wrapping his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders and leaning his head towards you, his eyes focusing deep into the darkness before him, he hummed.

“Hmph. Dark, ominous corridors. My favorite!” He cheesed at your bubbling laugh, snickering to himself at the obvious annoyance of the other boy.

Ominis bemoaned the statement, groaning and throwing his head back minutely. A hand raised to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “No comment.”

You turned towards your blond haired friend, placing your own hand on his shoulder and leaning in next to his ear, a dangerously coy simper tweaking up the corners of your mouth.

“I certainly love one of Ominis’ corridors.”

The wiry boy wiggled out from under your arms, making a sound of disgust at the comment as his cheeks turned a bright fuchsia. Sebastian desperately held in giggles behind his hand, watching as the boy made an obscene gesture with his middle finger in your general direction. The taller boy stepped closer to the other, gently grasping his arm by the wrist and redirected the gesticulation to face more fully at you instead of a little to the left where it once was pointed. Both of you paused, looking between each other's eyes and the offending finger with barely contained mirth, before combusting dramatically into boisterous laughter. Sebastian leaned against the wall in support, nearly screaming around the laughs that wracked his body. You still stood across from Ominis, doubled over with your hands on your knees. Gasping breaths left your lungs as you teared up in humorous pain. Ominis’ scowl somehow got deeper, and once again he turned away from the pair of you and began to walk down the hallway himself— screw you two hooligans to the sticking place for all he cared.

“Yes, yes. Hardy har, laugh at the blind fellow. Incredibly mature, you both are.”

Sebastian walked up to your hunched form, patting you gently on the back before grasping at your shoulder and helping you stand. You both leaned on the other for support as the last of your giggles tittered into the air around you. Taking a deep, cleansing breath before shakily releasing the air, you began to walk after the tiffed boy. His haunches were raised above his ears, only the tips poked out and were flushed a light pink. You quickly ran to catch up with his quick steps, waving your wand around in front of you to avoid any obstacles in the low lighting. Your arm landed on his shoulders once again, and you sniggered jovially,

“I do apologize. That was terribly coarse of me, my dear Ominis.”

Sebastian slid up on the other side of the boy, wrapping his arm around his other shoulder and resting his hand at your elbow. He accentuated his accent, adopting an incredibly posh vernacular. “Indubitably. Frightfully uncouth of us. Please forgive us, dear friend.”

Ominis growled in the back of his throat, mumbling curses under his breath and shrugging off both of your arms. “Go lick a leprechaun taint, the both of you.”

You both gasped in outrage.

“How dare you, good sir!” Sebastian cried, a hand fluttering over his heart and a scandalized look decorating his visage.

You took a similar stance. “We are children of God! Deviant behavior such as that must be saved for one's wedding bed.”

The two pureblood wizards paused and turned towards you, confusion laced in their eyebrows. The brunette leaned closer to you, arms now crossed in befuddlement, and glanced at you from his peripheral vision like he was about to share a secret.

“What’s a ‘God’?” Sebastian whispered out of the side of his mouth.

You turned towards the boy, finger raised and mouth open with an explanation at the tip of your tongue. You quickly decided against it, though, as you knew it would just confuse them more. Best not try to explain muggle religion to two boys who have never stepped out of their small towns until it was time to go to school. You sighed, lowering your hand and about facing the end of the hall, ambling along ahead of the pack. The two boys shrugged and continued after you.

At the far end of the hallway stood two imposing stone walls, an ostentatious doorway slid into the space between. Looking at the entrance, embellished in the texture of scales and decorated with serpent imagery, you felt a sense of dread wash over you. Each turn in this maze of a catacomb seemed to linger with a foreboding aura, flooding your senses and raising the hairs at the back of your neck. You turned to look at Sebastian, now at your elbow just behind you. He was gazing at the door in pure curiosity, his eyebrows pinched together in contemplation. He ran his hand along the intricate carvings, tracing each snake with delicate precision.

Ominis slowly entered the room, his head tilted left and then right with a pensive look adorning his face. He stood in the center of the room and closed his eyes, seemingly listening to something that only he could hear. Soft hisses slithered through the room from the pipes above, adding to the dreadful vibe. Each hiss caused him to twitch in one direction to the next. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he was possessed by a snake itself.

His eyes suddenly snapped open, startling you with his ferocity. He quickly paced towards the door, running his hand along the carvings with Sebastian. The homing signal at the tip of his wand cast an eerie glow on the wood, mingling with the green fire torches lining the walls. He leaned his ear on the door, listening closely to the whispers in the walls. He tilted his head towards the pair of students, gesturing with his chin at the entryway.

“It’s speaking to me.”

You quirked an eyebrow at the boy. “The wall is talking to you?”

He nodded, pressing his ear against the wall once again. You walked towards the blond, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead in puzzlement.

“Are you feeling alright, Ominis? Are you ill? How can the wall be ta—”

“Shush!” He gently grasped your arm and lowered your hand to your side. “No, you numpty. It’s speaking parseltongue, the language of snakes.”

Sebastian leaned away from the door, snapping his fingers in excitement and pointing at the blind boy.

“I forgot you could speak parseltongue!”

Ominis huffed to himself, trepidation coating his tightly spoken words, “Well, I don’t particularly enjoy it. Parseltongue is notoriously associated with dark wizards, something as you know I have tried very hard to disassociate myself with.”

He leaned away from the door, instead resting his hand on the wall beside it. He looked up, unseeing, at the grand archway decorating the edges of the room and listened carefully once again to the hissed whispers.

“I think I need to speak to the door for it to open. Please step back, the both of you. I don’t want you hurt if something goes awry.”

You both took a noisy step back, making sure to alert him since he briefly put away his wand in favor of leaning on the stone wall with both hands.

Ominis sighed to himself, blowing upwards and dislodging part of his hair from his styled quiff. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”

From his mouth came a series of lethargic hisses, stringed together as if in a sentence. The sound seemed to fill the entire room, echoing off the stone walls and bouncing back at you from all angles. It amplified steadily as the hisses from above answered in turn.

Three of the decorative serpents came to life within the wood, slithering through the holes of the door and gliding along the edges of its carved trenches. A stream of mist puffed from its outer ridges, silencing the voices floating around you with a defined burst of powerful air. It blew the hairs dangling around your face backwards, tickling the tips of your ears and the back of your neck. Every hair on your body stood on edge and you suppressed a shiver.

The three of you stood silently for a moment, basking in the sudden quiet. It was like a bubble that had mysteriously appeared around your heads spontaneously popped, sending a rush of startling stillness pulsating directly into your ears.

Ominis was the first to break the spell, clearing his throat around the tightness that rested there, his cheeks glowing with a soft rosacea, and gestured through the now open doorway.

“After you.”

Your face broke out into an animated grin. “Ominis, you truly possess a rare ability, indeed!” You gently brushed your hand on his shoulder as you passed through the archway. Ominis’ cheeks blushed a darker red, and he reached his hand behind his head, rubbing softly at his neck in embarrassment.

“Oh, er, it’s nothing.”

Sebastian stayed in the back of the group, a scowl on his face and his arm crossed tightly across his chest. He glowered at the door like it affronted him, cursing it for allowing his friend to show his rare gift. Stalking towards the next room, irritation heavily prevalent in his steps, he muttered to himself the phrase you had just spoken in a mocking tone. He wasn’t sure which of you he should feel jealous of— you complimenting Ominis, or Ominis getting complimented by you.

Both, he decided. He was jealous of both.

The three students passed under the bend and entered into the next room of the monolith-lined maze. Once fully inside, the imposing door behind you closed with a loud slam. Sebastian ran at it, pulling desperately at the carvings and pushing with all his strength. Ominis joined him, throwing his weight at it with a grunt. The door didn’t budge.

“Shit!” Hissed the brunette, punching the door one last time before taking in the room behind him. “Guess we’re stuck in here until we find the next room.”

The blond leaned back against the wood, an annoyed puff of hair leaving his mouth. “Until we find the next room? How do we even know that there’s a next room? We could very well just be stuck here until we inevitably die of thirst or hunger, whichever happens first.” Ominis turned his head towards the sound of the pacing boy. “Sebastian, we’re eating you first.”

Sebastian stuttered in outrage, “Why me?!”

“Because it was your idea to come here in the first place!”

“Say that to my face you—”

Tired of listening to the boys argue, you lit the tip of your wand and began to explore the new area you had unlocked. It was a large stone room with a gunmetal gate at one end, a giant lock decorating the middle. Spiderwebs covered every corner, starting from the very far bottom corner and stretching to the upper corner across the room. You shuddered, thinking of the large arachnids you had fought not that long ago. You hated spiders. Making your way closer to the gate, you traced your finger along the lock, noting strange shapes in the metal. It seemed like it wouldn’t take a key like normal, it was a puzzle of some sort.

Turning towards your friends, you tuned back in their argument. They were face to face, arms crossed, with indignant expressions.

“It’s your ancestor that seems to like puzzles so much!”

“Look in a mirror, Sebastian.”

“How dare you!” He stuttered for a moment, wracking his brain for a suitable comeback, “Were you dropped on your head as a child?!”

Ominis scoffed, a sarcastic grin stretching his lips, “Oh, bold of you to assume I was ever held—”

“BOYS!” You shouted for them from the gate. “Can you have your lover’s quarrel later? I found something.”

Their faces instantly softened a fraction at the sound of your voice. They stepped away from each other, embarrassed by their squabble, straightened their cloaks, and walked over to where you stood.

Sebastian came up to the gate, running his fingers along the lock like you did, before grasping at the bars and giving it a good shake. The gate rattled against the ground, scraping at the concrete below, but refused to budge. He took a step closer, craning his head around and looking through the small slits in the metal. His collar dug into his neck uncomfortably. Growling, the boy tugged on the offending cloth.

“This bloody collar—”

The freckled boy stood back, looking at the gate once more for a moment before undoing his robe and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground. He shrugged off his jacket and vest next, leaving him just in his white button down and tie. He quickly pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, shaking out his arms in the process, and loosened his tie before undoing a few buttons near the top of his shirt. Grasping his wand between his teeth, Sebastian took hold of one of the horizontal metal rungs in the gate and pulled upwards with all his might. Still no movement.

A blush began to creep up your neck at the display before you, and you averted your eyes from the very attractive boy. You turned towards Ominis, only to find him in a similar state of undress. He was in the process of carefully undoing the buttons around his cuffs and folding the sleeves to his elbow. You noticed he had neatly gathered his jacket, vest, and robe and placed them atop one of the assorted rocks littering the ground. He began to walk towards the other boy, listening to his struggling grunts of effort. Your blush somehow got brighter.

“Let me try.”

Sebastian took a step back and waved his hands in a “have at it” motion. Ominis approached the gate in a similar stance to the other boy, flexing his forearms and pulling upwards once again. You could see his muscles straining under the material; he may have been slim, but he certainly wasn’t unfit. Eyes skipping from one boy to the other, one with his hands on his hips, panting at the effort he had just exuded, and the other now pondering the gate before him, a finger resting on his chin and hand resting on his other elbow across his chest, you suddenly felt like the room had gotten at least ten degrees hotter.

In your flustered state, you took a step back away from your companions. You bumped into something just behind you, a piece of sharp stone slicing through your shoulder. Releasing a hiss in pain, you grasped at the wound and quickly turned around, looking for the offending object. Just over your shoulder stood a large stone statue of a snake poised to strike. It was resting on two circular bases, one atop the other with just enough space between to twist them to different directions. You noticed symbols decorating the rims of each— they were the same shape and style as the two on the gate lock. You quickly crouched down and took hold of the stone, turning it until both bases lined up with the ones on the lock. A loud click sounded through the room and the gate before you opened.

The three of you quickly turned towards the sound, wands poised in front of you ready to strike. Seeing no danger, you all lowered your weapons and turned back towards the statue. You crouched yet again, running your fingertip along the other symbols.

You spoke to the boys over your shoulder, “It’s a puzzle. You have to match the gate symbols to the ones on the snake.”

Sebastian barked a laugh, coming up behind you and gazing at the sculpture. “Absolutely brilliant, you are! Bet I could do that just as well, eh?” He patted you on your shoulder with pride, not noticing your new injury. You clenched your teeth, a pained hiss escaping through the gaps. The brunette drew his hand back in alarm, looking at the small streak of blood on his palm. He took your arm gently, eyebrows furrowed at the medium sized cut in concern.

“Stars, you’re hurt! What happened? Are you alright?”

You placed your hand over one of his, looking at him over your shoulder and forcing a laugh. “That’s how I found the statue in the first place. I’ll be fine, it’s just a scratch.”

He looked at you with doubt, but let it go, releasing your arm and taking a step back. “If you say so.”

You stood, shaking out your arms and shoulders. His hands felt like small fires against the cool air of the mausoleum.

“Okay, Ominis and I will stay here and look for more of these puzzles. Sebastian, you go look in the other room and see if you find anything. Call out if you need backup.”

Sebastian saluted two fingers in your direction before running at the open gate, grabbing at the taller ledge of the other room and heaving himself up. You watched him disappear onto the other floor. You and Ominis spread out, each taking a different corner of the room. It was bigger than you originally expected, going on for at least the length of a classroom. There was another gate at the very center of the room, the same as the other. Your eyes scanned each corner of your side for the distinct shape of Salazar’s sculpt, calling to Ominis on the other side of the room.

“So, why does Salazar Slytherin like snakes so much, anyway?”

Ominis shrugged, “Some legends say that he was an animagus— that his form was a basilisk.”

You whistled lowly, “That’s a big snake.”

The boy chuckled softly, going back to the original silence directly after. Ominis bit his lip, chewing it over what he should say next. He didn’t like the silence, it made him feel like he was back home. The ambiance of the Scriptorium certainly didn’t help, either.

He took a deep breath before speaking. “Are you truly alright?”

You smiled, moving over to his side where he was feeling along the wall. You rested your hand on his shoulder, a feather light touch that felt like a heavy weight because of his nerves. “I am, I promise. Please don’t worry about me, everything is fine.”

He turned his face towards your voice. “I always worry. About the both of you.”

Your face softened at the confession, bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing at the contact. Brushing your thumb against his cheekbone, you felt a surge of nerves in your stomach; butterflies bumping around in the inner lining of your gut. You opened your mouth to speak.

“Ominis, I—”

A short shout cuts through the quiet. You both whip your heads in the direction of the open gate, calling out to the boy on the other side.

“Sebastian, are you alright?”

You hear him fumble around for a moment, calling in return, “The statue bit me! Be careful not to get it wrong!”

Ominis gently grasped your chin, turning it back towards his face. He listened to you expectantly, patiently waiting for you to continue your thought from before. The blond was incredibly nervous, hoping that you couldn’t tell that his hand was shaking. You hesitantly flick your eyes from his irises to his lips, soft and inviting. You wet your own, taking a shaky breath in.

“What were you saying?” Ominis whispered, his face a hairs length away.

Your eyes quickly slid over to the left, feeling incredibly hot under the collar all of a sudden. A strange shaped rock caught your attention, curved at the base like a worm. There it was, the final puzzle. You gasped, fumbling out of Ominis’ hold on you and quickly scurrying over to it, turning the dial to the shapes on the other gate. Just as yours slotted into place, a second click could be heard from the room over. The second gate opened with a loud, rusted creak, leading into a third, and what you hoped was final, room.

Sebastian made his way back over to the two of you, an elated grin stretching across his face as he gazed into the next section of the crypt. Ominis had dropped his arm when you de-tangled yourself, now crossing both in front of his chest with an expression similar to someone who smelled something foul.

The three of you crept into the room, wands poised for any danger that may come forward. The gate slammed shut behind you once more, trapping you there like before.

“Salazar Slytherin isn’t done with us yet,” Ominis whispered, a grave seriousness adorning his visage.

You quietly make your way to the other side of the room where a large, disfigured door lay. It was covered in carvings; scratches marred the corners, flowing dangerously into disturbing images of screaming faces. You felt the air around you grow even colder than before, a shiver running down your spine. There was a flutter of paper to your right, and you swung your wand towards the sound. The tip illuminated an old piece of parchment, covered in dust with sections of it nibbled away by rats. You gently pick up the letter, afraid it would fall apart at the slightest movement. On it was a journal entry of sorts, big looping cursive depicting the fate of the last explorer to make it to this room. You carefully scanned the note, each word filling your chest with dread. Gazing down at the ground near your feet, you quietly gasp at the sight of a decaying skeleton. Its bones were a stark alabaster against the gray concrete floor; spiderwebs weaved throughout the skull and down to the rib cage.

Noctua Gaunt.

You quietly ushered Sebastian over to where you stood, handing him the final journal entry of the woman before you. He scanned it, his eyes growing larger by the second and his face adopting a grim expression. The freckled boy looked at you for confirmation, and you gestured to the skeleton below. He gasped quietly in his throat, looking over his shoulder at the other Slytherin quietly pacing by the gated entrance.

You quietly spoke, sympathy lacing your tone, “Ominis, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. There’s a note over here, next to a body.” You cleared your throat uncomfortably. “It’s Noctua.”

The boy froze his movements, head tilting down towards the ground in sorrow. “What happened to her?”

“The note says she was stuck in here, and that she could only open the door with an unforgivable curse. She didn’t have anyone else in here with her, so she was unable to escape.”

You walked up to the now shaking boy, his hands grasping at his opposite elbows to ground himself. You gently moved your hand to his shoulder, stroking the joint with your thumb. He roughly shrugged your hand away, returning to his pacing; his face morphed into a look of pain. His hands ran through his hair in anguish, mussying it up into a wild mane.

“She died stuck in here, and we will suffer the same fate. We will be stuck down here forever— the next person to enter will find our bodies like we found hers.”

Sebastian bent down to pick up the note you dropped, studying it closely again. He quickly paced towards you both, anxious nervousness rubbing off of him in waves.

“Don’t give up quite yet. She says that she couldn’t leave because she was alone and had no one to cast the spell on. There’s three of us— we can get out! We just have to cast the unforgivable.”

Ominis threw his hands down in agitation, spitting at the other boy, “That’s dark magic, Sebastian! Unforgivables are unforgivable for a reason. You can’t just cast one, you need to mean it, and I don’t particularly want to hurt either of you. Do you?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows knitted together in irritation, “If it means getting out of here alive and finding a cure for Anne, I’ll do anything I have to.”

You stepped between the two squabbling boys, holding your hands aloft to keep their distance from the other. This argument was getting heated fast, a darker, more dangerous aura rested under the surface than the argument in the prior room. You spoke to the brunette to your left, “Sebastian, which spell is it? What do we need to do?”

He scanned the note for a third time, eyes alight in a combination of rage and panic. His expression grew grave, and he felt something lodge itself in his throat. He forced the words out from around it, slightly choked with emotion, “We need to cast the cruciatus curse.”

Ominis’ wrath was palpable in the air, filling the room like a thick fog. “Absolutely not! There must be another way out. There is no way in Merlin’s name that I’m letting either of you cast that spell!”

The taller Slytherin growled, throwing the note down on the ground and pacing back to the horrifying door. He ran his hand along the faces, each twisted in pain. He sighed, pushing his anger back down into his chest. It would do them no good to argue with each other.

“I understand that you’re scared, Ominis, but there isn’t another spell. This is the only way out.” He took a deep, steadying breath, before finishing his thought. “You’re the only one here who knows the spell. It should be you who casts—”

“Are you soft in the head!? I would rather die than cast that spell again. I question our friendship just at the fact that you would ask that of me.”

Sebastian pressed his forefinger and thumb against the bridge of his nose, pinching it in exasperation. He turned on the balls of his feet towards where you were, silently watching the fight with fright in your eyes. He walked towards you, placing both of his palms on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes.

“It’s up to us, then.” He paused, searching your face for something. His eyebrows creased in concentration and something else that you couldn’t name. Fear? Anger? Assurance? You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. He quickly spun away from you, beginning to pace the length of the room while muttering to himself, tapping his wand against his leg in a sporadic rhythm. You watched from your spot next to the door. It seemed to glow with evil energy, spreading its wicked tendrils around the room like a well-fed devils snare. You could almost feel it crawling its way into your nose and mouth, wrapping around your throat and squeezing the air from your lungs. Rapid breaths escaped from your lips, your heart pulsing rapidly in your chest. Your wide eyes, absolutely swimming in terror, refused to leave the daunting door. You open your mouth to speak, before a resolute voice cuts you off from your thoughts.

“Cast it on me.”

Your breath caught in your chest, freezing in your veins as your blood ran cold. Surely you didn’t hear him correctly? He wasn’t asking you to—

“Cast it on me, it’s the only way.”

You slowly turned in his direction, meeting Sebastian’s beautiful brown eyes, normally filled with warmth but now cold and hard. He stood directly across from you, the glow of the door casting a striking shadow on his youthful face. His demeanor was all straight lines; tight and unmoving in discernment. There was no changing his mind, he had made his choice— his figurative bed. He would rather take the curse himself than have to cast it on either of his closest friends. You saw the determination in his eyes, in the thin line of his lips and jagged edges of his clenched jaw. He was an immovable force, and who were you to try and bend physics to your will? You closed your eyes, gathering your resolve, before meeting his eyes once again. The fire behind your irises burned brightly, a blazing inferno ready to take the entire world into its flames.

“Alright, if you’re sure. Do you know the spell?”

He looked at the door again in trepidation before meeting your gaze, something unknown still swirling in his irises. “In theory. I can teach it to you.”

The both of you moved through the motions of the spell, repeating it a few times to make sure you knew what you were doing. The movements in itself felt dirty— wrong, even. Like you weren’t supposed to be privy to this kind of knowledge. Your wand arm felt numb, like the cold was seeping into your very bones and inducing hypothermia. You swallowed thickly, before raising your wand to Sebastian’s chest. You stared into the other’s eyes, both filled with intense worry and fright.

“Are you ready?”

The brunette took a deep breath through his nose, clearing his mind and attempting to calm his rapid heartbeat. He nodded his head, not trusting his voice, eyes squeezing shut in preparation for the unimaginable pain he was about to experience.

Your shaking voice spoke, mouth feeling weird around the accursed word.

“Crucio.”

A slight red spark shot from the tip of your wand, but no pain came to the Sallow boy. His eyes shot open, looking at you across from him. You were shaking like a leaf, staring confused at your wand and then at him. He knitted his brows in angered confusion.

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Ominis spoke from the back corner where he had sat himself, head leaning heavily on the wall behind him and his arms resting on the tops of his knees. His face was riddled with resignation. “I told you, you have to mean it. You have to want to inflict pain on the other person.”

Sebastian growled loudly, his teeth clashing together harshly as he clenched his jaw in anger. “If you’re not going to offer anything helpful, just be quiet.”

You stood in stunned silence at the boy's ferocity. He quickly rounded back towards you, teeth clenched in a near snarl. He pointed at you accusingly,

“Why aren’t you angry? You need to be furious! Yell at me— tell me this is all my fault! Let me have it!”

You stuttered at the boy, hands shaking even more forcefully now. You knew what he was doing; he was trying to make you hate him. He wanted you to be so angry at him that you could easily cast the curse. Unfortunately, the tactic seemed to have the opposite effect on you. Your heart ached for the boy, listening to each word he said and knowing somewhere in your heart that he thought this of himself. Apologies filled your mouth and spilled out like a waterfall of dismay. They splashed against the ground and the droplets sprayed everywhere, bouncing harshly against the echo chamber walls.

Sebastian continued yelling, rage pouring from his being, “Stop apologizing! I brought us down here, it’s my fault we’re in this situation to begin with! I’m the reason you have to cast this spell! You didn’t want to come here at all before I basically forced you and Ominis. Look at him, he’s petrified! I did this, cast it on me!”

Tears gathered in your eyes, horrified terror coursed through your body because of the boy across from you. He was breathing heavily, eyes ablaze and nostrils flaring like a bull. You had never seen him like this before. The anger poured from him and swirled around the air like a dense cloud, permeating every inch of the desolate cavern. Ominis hesitantly stood from the corner, intense worry spreading across his face. He slowly approached the two, steps soft and slow, hands outstretched in front of him like he was dealing with a raging animal. He could smell the tension, feel the red hot heat of fury and agitation.

He hesitantly spoke, his voice shaking with a soft timber, “Sebastian, take a step back. You’re scaring them.”

The frenzied boy rounded at his friend, snarling and gnashing his teeth, “No, they have to do this!”

You continued to spew apologies, the words getting swallowed by the thick, maroon fog and evaporating into vapor. Tears cascaded down your frightened face, staring unblinking at your rampaging friend. He was nearly foaming at the mouth in outrage, his eyes wild and hardened. He didn’t look like himself, a complete stranger in his own body. All Sebastian could feel was anger, extremely hot and branding his very soul with a wave of wrath. He could hear your pitiful cries, Ominis’ begging for him to stop. He wouldn’t let you both stand in the way of curing his sister.

“Crucio!”

Your screams filled the small room, ricocheting off the walls and burying inside the duo's ears. Ominis slapped his arms around his head, bending over in pain, his sensitive ears amplifying the violent outburst tenfold. His heart shattered in his chest at the sound of your pain, crushing his soul in its devastating grasp. The sound snapped Sebastian out of his trance, his face morphing into one of absolute horror and revoltion at what he had just done. He dropped his wand in shock, stumbling backwards into the nearest wall and sliding down it. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched you writhe on the floor in never-ending pain. He brought his hands up to his mouth, covering it in distress, and whispered curses and pleading apologies against his skin.

“Oh Merlin, what have I done? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”

Pain— that’s all you knew. Your blood was boiling under your skin, the veins feeling like they were going to burst out of you in a shower of blood at any moment. You clutched your abdomen in agony, nails biting into your arms in desperation. Blood ran down from your hands, coating your sleeves and staining them red. Each organ felt like it was dying slowly, decay seeping deep into your body and coating every surface. Your heart pounded harder than ever before, threatening to combust right through your ribs and out of your chest. Every nerve ending fired off in rapid succession, blazing through your body like a wild inferno and leaving intense burns in its wake. Your head was the worst. It felt like someone stabbed a freezing ice pick through your eye socket, retracting it and pushing back in with each pound of your heart against your skull. Bile rose into your throat, evaporating around the force of your wails of pain. You were curled on the ground, arms tight against yourself in protection. It felt like you would never be happy, be well, again. The torment went on for what felt like years, centuries even, wracking your body with heaving sobs and otherworldly screams.

In an instant it was over. Sparks of residual magic shot against your skin, shaking your body to its core. The world around you was dark and silent, your senses absolutely fried. A heavy weight was resting against your back, pressing against you with a relieving, grounding pressure. Your hearing returned first, flooding in like you had just rinsed the water from them.

“Come back to us! Are you alright? Damn it, please say something!” The panicked voice of Ominis filled your electrified brain, the sound grating against your ears. He pressed his palms against your cheeks and raised your head from its spot on the cold ground, wiping the tears from your face. He rested his forehead against yours, listening closely to your shuddering breaths. “Please, give me a sign that you’re still in there.”

A groan eased its way out of your tight throat, pushing past the damage your screams had done and croaking through like a toad. Ominis sighed in relief, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gathering you gently in his arms. He stroked your hair, letting the last of the tremors make their way out of your body. Your consciousness faded in and out, lids fluttering open and closed around the blackness resting just behind your eyes.

“Shush now, don’t push yourself. Everything’s going to be okay.” Ominis gently coaxed your head to rest against his collarbone, his cheek pressing against the roof of your head. He continued his movements along your hair absentmindedly, lulling you into a soft sense of security.

The blond spoke to the distraught boy behind him, voice devoid of any emotion. “We need to get them to the infirmary.”

Sebastian broke out of his morose stupor, panic rising in his voice, “We can’t! She’ll know that we’ve used an unforgivable! Not to mention, we’re out past curfew. We’ll likely get expelled, or worse!”

Ominis sighed inwardly, his head leaning back and smacking against the wall behind him with a dull thunk. He knew that Sebastian was right, no matter how much he wanted to throw the boy to the wolves at that very moment. If they were to bring you to the hospital wing the nurse would ask all three of them questions, and none of them were prepared for that. There wasn’t a single lie in the world that would be that convincing. With a final growl of agitation, he made a decision.

“Fine, the Undercroft, then.” He leveled the taller boy with a harsh glare. “Go get whatever you’re looking for and meet us down there. I hope this trip was worth it, Sallow.”

The clock tower sounded three times, signaling the beginning of the witching hour. Two students rested against the chaise lounge conjured up out of an old shipping crate. Your shoulder had been dressed, the bandage peeking out from under your ripped blouse. The same was done for the indentations on your arms, half moons lining your biceps in a circle from your sharp nails digging into your skin. Ominis gently stroked your hair from where your head rested on his lap. You had fallen asleep not long ago, your quiet whines of pain tempered out and gave way to startling silence. Anger festered under the boy’s skin, warming him to an uncomfortable degree. It burned in the back of his mind, boiling against the memory of your screams and whimpers of immense pain. He had half a mind to curse Sebastian where he had stood in the Scriptorium. Ominis heard his panicked breaths and whispered apologies after he brought you to your knees, truly realizing the damage that he had done and the dangers of dark magic. Good, he thought. Maybe he’d finally stop moving down the dark path that he was so set on. He deserved to beg for your forgiveness.

The metal gate of the Undercroft squeaked open, the sound of heavy footfalls following after. Ominis gently picked up your sleeping head, standing from the chaise and lowering you onto one of the many pillows lining the cushions. He quickly paced towards the brunette, eyes blazing with barely concealed fury. Sebastian paid no mind, flipping through the large tomb he had collected from Salazar’s Scriptorium. He looked up and saw the approaching boy, not noticing the very prevalent anger on his face.

“Ominis, you’re not going to believe what I found—”

The smaller boy slammed into him, pressing his forearm against his neck and shoving him harshly into the nearest wall. His wand was pressed against his chin, glowing menacingly in the candlelight of the hideaway. The blond’s mouth was twisted into a gruesome snarl, teeth looking like fangs in the dim lighting. Sebastian gulped against the arm pressed against his larynx. He dropped the book in surprise, a cloud of dust puffing up from the ground at its harsh landing. Even though Sebastian knew that Ominis couldn’t truly see him, the boy’s heated glare seemed to set fire to his very soul.

Ominis growled at the taller boy in a gravely low voice, his teeth gnashing around each word. “If you ever hurt them again, you will be dead where you stand. This is the last I want to hear of dark magic, Sebastian. You’ve gone too far; people have gotten hurt. Promise me that you’ll stop— you’ll find some other way to heal Anne, or this friendship will continue no longer.”

Sebastian nodded as much as he could around his friend’s arm, squeezing the words out of his crushed throat, “Yes, I understand, I’m sorry!”

The anger seemed to evaporate from the smaller boy in mere seconds, his arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders slumping. He grasped the front of the freckled boy’s shirt, leaning his forehead against his chest with a heavy sigh.

“I almost lost you both today. I can’t do that, don’t make me live through that again. Please, I can’t lose anyone else, I can’t bear the thought.”

His shoulders began to shake, tremors rocking his entire body and sending the tears gathering in his eyes down his pale cheeks. He softly cries into the shirt of his friend, grasping harder at the cotton between his fingers and burying his face even deeper. The freckled boy stands still for a moment, startled by the sudden emotional whiplash. He hesitantly raises his arms and circles them around the shoulders of the crying boy, looking over to your sleeping form with guilt swirling in his eyes.

He had hurt both of his friends today over something he thought was so trivial, so insignificant. He just wanted to find a cure for his sister, not cause undeniable pain to those he loved. He truly was turning into a monster; the dark magic he was so fascinated by had begun to circle around his heart, squeezing it with its thick tentacles. Sebastian buried his head into Ominis’ neck, deeply breathing in his scent. The mildew of the cellar was thick against his skin, but reminisce of his expensive cologne and natural scent, something musky and rich, still lingered there. He focused on it, the familiar smell warming his insides and bringing his heartbeat to a slight increase.

He hadn’t promised the boy that he’d stop exploring the dark arts, instead twisting his words into something that sounded like agreement. Sebastian knew that he would come to regret that decision, but he couldn’t give up on Anne. She was his flesh and blood, his twin sister. She was everything to him. He knew that he would hurt his two closest friends more than words can express with his decisions, but deep in his heart he believed that he was doing the right thing.

With a heavy heart, Sebastian basked in the comfort of the Undercroft and the arms wrapped around his waist, praying to anyone who would listen that this wouldn’t be the last time he felt this safe.

AN: Did I make an "Ominis gets pegged" joke? Yes, yes I did.

***

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thepastisalreadywritten · 1 year

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Oldest Bronze Doors (115 AD) still in use in Pantheon, Rome, Italy.

These doors cast in bronze for Emperor Hadrian (76-138 AD) rebuilding, dated about 115 AD.

These large bronze doors serve as an entrance to the cella, measuring 4.45m wide by 7.53m high, yet so well balanced they can be pushed or pulled open easily by one person.

Each half of the double door weighs 8.5 tonnes. It rotates on pins set into floor and architrave above.

—

The bronze doors in the Pantheon of Rome are indeed a remarkable testament to the engineering and craftsmanship of the Roman Empire during the reign of Emperor Hadrian.

Here are some fascinating details about these historic doors:

1. Age and Origin:

The bronze doors in the Pantheon are estimated to date back to around 115 AD, making them over 1,900 years old.

They were commissioned and cast during the reign of Emperor Hadrian, who is renowned for his architectural contributions to Rome.

2. Purpose:

These doors serve as the entrance to the cella, the inner sanctuary or main chamber of the Pantheon.

The Pantheon itself is a well-preserved ancient Roman temple dedicated to all the gods (hence the name "Pantheon").

3. Size and Dimensions:

The bronze doors are sizable, measuring approximately 4.45 meters (14.6 feet) in width and 7.53 meters (24.7 feet) in height.

What is particularly impressive is that despite their substantial size, they are perfectly balanced and can be effortlessly opened or closed by a single person.

4. Weight:

Each half of the double door weighs a staggering 8.5 tonnes, adding up to a total weight of 17 tonnes for the entire set.

This speaks to the advanced metallurgy and engineering skills of the Romans in handling and crafting large bronze structures.

5. Rotating Mechanism:

The doors are mounted on pins that are set into the floor and the architrave (the lintel or horizontal beam) above the entrance.

This ingenious design allows for the doors to pivot smoothly, enabling them to be moved with relative ease despite their immense weight.

6. Historical Significance:

The Pantheon, with its iconic dome and these bronze doors, is an enduring symbol of Roman architectural innovation and grandeur.

The fact that these doors are still in use after nearly two millennia is a testament to the durability and quality of their construction.

The Pantheon's bronze doors are not only a functional part of this historic structure but also a tangible link to the past, offering a glimpse into the architectural and engineering achievements of ancient Rome.

They continue to awe and inspire visitors from around the world with their sheer size and remarkable craftsmanship.

Credit: Statistics (X)

#The Pantheon #bronze doors #Emperor Hadrian #Roman Empire #ancient Roman temple #temple #Roman architectural innovation #Roman engineering skills #Ancient Rome #doors #ancient civilizations #Rome #Italy

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histoireettralala · 1 year

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Victor Hugo on Talleyrand's death

For @empirearchives who was interested, here's a translation of Victor Hugo's text about Talleyrand's death. My thanks to @microcosme11 for her help <33

Choses Vues, Victor Hugo

1838

Talleyrand

19th of May

In the Rue St-Florentin, there is a palace and a sewer.

The palace, with its noble, rich, and dull architecture, was long called "Hôtel de l'Infuntado"; today, we read on its front door: Hôtel Talleyrand. During the fourty years he lived on this street, the last host of this palace might never have set eyes on this sewer.

He was a stranged, feared, and considerable character: his name was Charles-Maurice de Périgord; he was noble as Machiavel, a priest like Gondi, defrocked like Fouché, witty as Voltaire, and lame as the devil. One could say that everything limped with him: the nobility which he had put to the service of the republic, the priesthood he had dragged on the Champ-de-Mars then threw down the drain, the marriage he had broken by twenty scandals and by a voluntary separation, the wit he dishonoured through vileness. This man, nevertheless, had grandeur.

The splendours of both regimes were mixed together inside of him: he was prince of the old kingdom of France, and prince of the French Empire.

For thirty years, from the depth of his palace, from the depth of his mind, he had just about led Europe. He had let the revolution call him "tu", and had smiled at it, ironically of course; but it had not noticed. He had approached, known, observed, pierced, stirred, upturned, delved into, mocked, intellectually fertilized all the men of his era, all the ideas of his century, and there had been a few minutes in his life when, holding in his hand the four or five fearsome threads that moved the civilized universe, he had had for a puppet Napoleon the First, Emperor of the French, King of Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Mediator of the Swiss Confederation. Such was the game this man played.

After the Revolution of July, that old race, whose grand chambellan he was, having fallen, he found himself standing on one foot and told the people of 1830, sitting, bare-armed, on a pile of cobbles: Make me your ambassador.

He had received Mirabeau's last confession and Thiers' first confidence. He had said himself he was a great poet and had made a trilogy in three dynasties: Act I, Buonaparte's Empire; Act 2, The House of Bourbon; Act 3, The House of Orleans.

He had done all of this in his palace, and, in this palace, like a spider in its web, he had attracted into it and taken successively heroes, thinkers, great men, conquerors, kings, princes, emperors, Bonaparte, Sieyès, Mme de Staël, Chateaubriand, Benjamin Constant, Alexander of Russia, Wilhelm of Prussia, Francis of Austria, Louis XVIII, Louis-Philippe, all the golden, shiny flies who buzzed in the history of those last fourty years. The whole sparkling swarm, fascinated by this man's deep eye, had successively passed under the dark door that bore, written on its architrave: Hôtel Talleyrand.

Well, the day before yesterday, 17 March, 1838, that man died. Doctors came and embalmed the corpse. For this, like the Egyptians, they first withdrew the bowels from the belly and the brain from the skull. Once done, after they had transformed the prince de Talleyrand into a mummy, and nailed this mummy in a white satin-lined coffin, they withdrew, leaving upon a table the brain, that brain which thought so many things, inspired so many men, built so many edifices, led two revolutions, fooled twenty kings, contained the world.

Once the doctors were gone, a valet entered, he saw what they had left. Hold on! they forgot this. What to do ? He remembered that there was a sewer in the street, he went there, and threw that brain into this sewer.

Finis rerum.

#xix #victor hugo #choses vues #charles maurice de talleyrand périgord #magnificent bastard

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drewcas68 · 6 months

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You know how sometimes you feel down and - depending on what works for you - you might comfort shop, or eat, get a new haircut, try a new hobby.

Ok, so this happened...

Had a sudden burst of DIY. Ripped out old, very over fussy architraves and skirting boards at top of stairs.

Cut & installed new plain architrave. New skirting cut & ready to go in (it's late & they have a baby next door so no more noise for now).

Is there such a thing as comfort joinery? I should point out I've never done this before. Those ⬆️ are my very first mitres.

Edit: in response to suggestion I might have put mirrors on bedroom ceiling (see notes). Here you go @titconao3 😁

#personal #should be writing #diy

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heavensdoorways · 4 months

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Monastery of Saint Mary of Iranzu, Navarre, Spain,

It was founded in the late 12th century. The cloister is partly Cistercian (12th century) and partly Gothic (13-14th centuries).

#art #design #doorway #architecture #heavensdoorways #entrance door #arches #architraves #monastery #spain #navarre #12th century #gothic #cistercian

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x-ceirios-x · 3 months

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City of Lost Souls, Chapter 6: No Weapon In This World

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

The redbrick warehouse Magnus lived in rose above them. Jocelyn pushed open the glass doors to the entryway, and they crowded inside, Clary trying to breathe through her mouth as her mother pushed the buzzer for Magnus one, two, and three times. At last the doors opened and they hurried up the stairs. The door to Magnus’s apartment was open, and the warlock was leaning against the architrave, waiting for them. He was wearing canary-yellow pajamas, and on his feet were green slippers with alien faces, complete with sproingy antennae. His hair was a tangled, curly, spiky mass of black, and his gold-green eyes blinked tiredly at them.

“Saint Magnus’s Home for Wayward Shadowhunters,” he said in a deep voice. “Welcome.” He threw an arm wide. “Spare rooms are that way. Wipe your boots on the mat. I’m glad to say for one night, and one night only, I have wonderful company for you, biscuit.” He spoke monotonously, yet stepped back into the apartment, allowing Clary to wonder what he meant by that. They passed through in front of him and shut the door. Today, the place was done up in a sort of faux-Victorian decor, with high-backed sofas and large gilt mirrors everywhere. The pillars were strung with flowers.

“What was that about one night only?” said a second, equally sleepy voice, as someone emerged from the hall where Magnus indicated the spare rooms. Clary’s face melted as they saw Rowan, clad in much-too-big sweatpants tied tight around their waist and a plain undershirt, wiping their eyes from behind a pair of glasses she’d never seen before. When they pulled their hands away from their face, they sat crooked on their nose, just like Simon’s always did. It was cute. Their eyes, looking gray instead of blue in the shadowy apartment, widened at the sight of her. “Clary? By the Angel, are you okay?”

Clary stammered. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m okay—” she looked down at her shirt and realized just how much blood had dried on; she grimaced. “It’s not…mine?”

Rowan looked at her for a moment and they glanced at Jocelyn uncertainly, before rushing forward and grabbing their arm. They drug her away, towards a bedroom down the hall. She heard them mutter something about Aric Ashfair’s daughter? and Magnus chuckle, no doubt silently correcting her.

“You want to tell me what happened or do you just want patched up?” they asked, sitting her down on the bed. Standing over her for the split second, she realized just how tall they were compared to her—not quite as tall as Jace, but around Isabelle’s height. They didn’t look thin and slender like Isabelle, but they had broader shoulders and a stronger build, more like Jace or maybe Simon. As they turned away and began flipping through things on the desk, she watched the muscles in their shoulders and arms contract and stretch, and very quickly found the carpet below her feet more interesting. She’d never seen Rowan in something so…revealing, it felt wrong, despite the fact it was only a tanktop.

“I’m not really injured,” she said, rifling through her bag in an attempt to find her clothes. “I wanna get out there and see what happened to Luke?”

They strode towards her, having found what they were looking for—a stele. “What did happen to Luke?”

“We got attacked,” she said quickly. She stood and yanked her sweater off violently. It was covered in blood—Luke’s blood—and her worry for him made her nauseous. She couldn’t stand to think that he was hurt because of her.

Rowan quickly turned away from her, busying themself with Chairman Meow, who was sitting on the chair in front of the desk. She swore they were blushing. From her backpack, she took a clean pair of jeans and a black V-necked thermal shirt and changed into them. “You’re like…the cat whisperer,” she said in an attempt to distract herself. “Animals hate Simon since he’s become a vampire. He’s super mad about it.”

They chuckled, and when she glanced their way, she noticed them holding the quite large, fluffy cat in their arms, lazily swinging back and forth. “I know. He’s told me about that. Not even the Chairman likes him.”

“What’s going on with you two, anyway? Simon, I mean.”

They paused for a moment, then grumbled, “why does everyone think I have something going on with Simon?”

Clary huffed. “He only has, like…a super obvious crush on you.”

“Says the girl that didn’t know he was in love with you for literally years.”

She glanced at herself in the window, which showed her a pale, but warm reflection. The table lamp next to her glowed a warm, orangey hue, but she looked ghostly in the image. Her hair hung limply, hamp with snow, and her freckles stood out like paint splotches. Not that it mattered what she looked like. She thought of Jace kissing her—it felt like days ago instead of hours—and her stomach hurt as if she'd swallowed tiny knives. She reached for the edge of the bed and held it in a white-knuckled grip until the pain subsided.

“Too soon?” they asked, glancing over their shoulder to see if she was done. In an instant, they were by her side, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of her. Clearly, they’d dropped Chairman Meow, because he gave a disgruntled yeow! and went to pout in the corner. “Clary? Clary, are you alright?” they asked.

She nodded her head quickly, though held her hand out for them in an attempt to balance herself. “Yeah,” she said, a little breathless, swallowing down the terrible feeling in her chest. “Sorry.”

Their face softened for a brief moment, though the crease between their eyebrows never went away. They laid their hand on top of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t apologize.”

She took a deep breath and walked out to the living room, Rowan in stride next to her.

Her mother was seated on one of the gilt-backed chairs, her long artist’s fingers wrapped around a mug of hot water with lemon. Magnus was slumped on a hot-pink sofa, his green slippers up on the coffee table. “The pack stabilized him,” Jocelyn was saying in an exhausted voice. “They don’t know for how long, though. They thought there might have been silver powder on the blade, but it appears to be something else. The tip of the knife—” She glanced up, saw Clary, and fell silent.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m old enough to hear what’s wrong with Luke.”

She stared for a moment, and she realized it was past her and at Rowan. Rowan had rarely come to visit Luke’s house, and out of all of her friends, she probably knew her the least. Before she had a chance to say something, Magnus spoke up. “Jocelyn, if both your daughter and I trust this one,” he said, gesturing vaguely to them, “then you’re in good company. Rowan’s quite the bright child, they might be able to help figure this out.”

She nodded. Rowan shrugged and sat next to Magnus, casually shoving his shoulder over to make room for them on the sofa. “No hard feelings,” they said. Clary was sure they understood how vital information to stay secret was, especially lately.

“Well, they don’t know exactly what it is,” Jocelyn said softly. “The top of the blade Sebastian used broke off against one of his robs and lodged in the bone. But they can’t retrieve it. It…moves.”

Rowan sat up a little straighter. “It what now?”

“When they tried to dig it out, it burrowed into the bone and nearly snapped it,” Jocelyn said. “He’s a werewolf, he heals fast, but it’s in there gashing up his internal organs, keeping the wound from closing.”

“Demon metal,” said Magnus. “Not silver.”

Jocelyn leaned forward. “Do you think you can help him? Whatever it costs, I’ll pay—”

Magnus stood up. His alien slippers and rumpled bed-head seemed extremely incongruous given the gravity of the situation. “I don’t know.”

“But you healed Alec,” said Clary. “And Rowan, right? When the Greater Demon attacked?”

“I would have been fine, he just spend up the process,” they muttered.

Magnus had begun to pace. “I knew what was wrong with him. I don’t know what kind of demon metal this is. I could experiment, try different healing spells, but that still wouldn’t be the fastest way.”

“What’s the fastest way?” Jocelyn asked.

“You could call your friends,” Rowan said, which to Clary, sounded incredibly questionable, and she wondered what kind of friends these were.

He shook his head. “I’ve used up all my IOUs with the Riges, and they might not even know, anyway. But…” He thought for a moment. “The Praetor. The Wolf Guard. I knew the man who founded it—Woolsey Scott. Because of certain…incidents, he was fascinated with minutiae about the way demon metals and demon drugs act on lycanthropes, the same way the Silent Brothers keep records of the ways Nephilim can be healed. Over the years the Praetor have become very closed-off and secretive, unfortunately. But a member of the Praetor could access their information.”

“Luke’s not a member,” Jocelyn said. “And their roster is secret—”

Rowan, who had been staring at the floor in front of them, lost in thought as Magnus spoke, had an idea. “Jordan,” they said. “I have his number, I could call him—”

“I’ll call him,” said Magnus. “I can’t get into Praetor headquarters, but I can pass on a message that ought to hold some extra weight. I’ll be back.” He padded off to the kitchen, the antennae on his slippers waving gently like seaweed in a current.

“You were attacked by Sebastian?” Rowan asked, looking between the two of them. For the first time in two weeks, they looked fragile about the topic, and she knew what they were looking for.

“Your brother wasn’t there,” Jocelyn said. Clary felt a pit grow in her stomach as she heard the words and turned away from them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rowan shuffle out of the room. She looked at her mother, who was staring at her mug of hot water. It was one of her favorite restoritaves, though Clary could never figure out why someone would want to drink warm sour water. The snow had soaked her other’s hair, and now that it was drying, it was beginning to curl, like Clary’s did in humid weather.

“Mom,” Clary said carefully, and her mother looked up. “That knife you threw—back at Luke’s—was it at Jace?”

“It was at Johnathan.” She would never call him Sebastian, Clary knew.

“It’s just…” Clary took a deep breath. “It’s almost the same thing. You saw. When you stabbed Sebastian, Jace started to bleed. It’s like theyre—mirrored in someway. Cut Sebastian, Jace bleeds. Kill him, and Jace dies.”

“Clary.” Her mother rubbed her tired eyes. “Can we not discuss this now?”

“But you said you think he’ll come back for me. Jace, I mean. I need to know that you won’t hurt him—”

“Well, you can’t know that. Because I won’t promise it, Clary. I can’t.” Her mother looked at her with unflinching eyes. “I saw the two of you come out of your bedroom.”

Clary flushed. “I don’t want to—”

“To what? Talk about it? Well, too bad. You brought it up. You’re lucky I’m not in the Clave anymore, you know. How long have you known where Jace was?”

“I don’t know where he is. Tonight is the first time i’ve talked ot him since he disappeared. I saw him in the Institute with Seb—Johnathan, yesterday. I told Alec and Isabelle and Simon, and he told Rowan, but I couldn’t tell anyone else. If the Clave got hold of him—I can’t let that happen.”

Jocelyn raised her green eyes. “And why not?”

“Because he’s Jace. Because I love him.”

“He’s not Jace. That’s just it, Clary. He’s not who he was. Can’t you see that—”

“Of course I can see it. I’m not stupid. But I have faith. I saw him possessed before, and I saw him break free of it. I think Jace is still inside there somewhere. I think there’s a way to save him.”

“What if there isn’t?”

“Prove it.”

“You can’t prove a negative Clarissa. I understand that you love him. You always have loved him, too much. You think I didn’t love your father? You think id idn’t give him every chance? And look what came of that. Jonathan. If I hadn’t stayed with your father, he wouldn’t exist—”

“Neither would I,” said Clary. “In case you forgot, I came after my brother, not before.” She looked at her mother, hard. “Are you saying it would have been with it never to have had me if you could get rid of Johnathan?”

“No, I—”

There was the grating sound of keys in a lock, and the apartment door swung open. It was Alec. He wore a long leather duster open over a blue sweater, and there were white flakes of snow in his black hair. His cheeks were candy-apple red from the cold, but his face was otherwise pale.

“Where’s Magnus?” he said. As he looked toward the kitchen, Clary saw a bruise on his jaw, below his ear, about the size of a thumbprint.

“Alec!” Magnus came skidding into the living room and blew a kiss to his boyfriend across the room. His cat’s eyes shone as he looked at Alec. Rowan, who was half-hidden by the doorway behind him, wrinkled their nose in performative disgust at him, then looked at her, waiting to see if she would laugh.

She offered a half-smile instead. Clary knew that look; that was herself looking at Jace. Alec didn’t return the gaze, though. He was shucking off his coat and hanging it on a hook on the wall. He was visibly upset. His hands were trembling, his broad shoulders tightly set.

“You got my text?” Magnus asked.

“Yeah. I was only a few blocks away anyway.” Alec looked at Rowan, then Clary, and then at her mother, anxiety and uncertainty warring in his expression. Though Alec had been invited to Jocelyn’s reception party, and had met her several times besides that, they did not by any means know each other well. He and Rowan shared that sentiment. “It’s true, what Magnus said? You saw Jace again?”

“And Sebastian,” said Clary.

“But Jace,” Alec said. “How was—I mean, how did he seem?”

Clary knew exactly what he was asking; for once she and Alec understood each other better than anyone else in the room. “He’s not playing a trick on Sebastian,” she replied softly. “He really has changed. He isn’t like himself at all.”

“How?” Alec demanded, with an odd blend of anger and vulnerability. “How is he different?”

There was a hole in the knee of Clary’s jeans; she picked at it, scraping the skin underneath. “The way he talks—he believes in Sebastian. Believes in what he’s doing, whatever that is. I reminded him that Sebastian killed Max, even asked about Jensen, and he didn’t seem to care.” Her voice cracked. “He said Sebastian was just as much his brother as much as Max was.”

Alec whitened, the rest sports on his cheeks standing out like bloodstains. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rowan disappear back into the kitchen, followed by the sound of a few cabinet doors slamming. “Did he say anything about me?” he asked. “Or any of us?”

Clary shook her head, hardly able to stand the look on Alec’s face. In the far corner, she could see Magnus watching Alec too, his face almost blank with sadness. She wondered if he was jealous of Jace still, or just hurt on Alec’s behalf.

“Why did he come to your house?” Alec shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“He wanted me to come with him. To join him and Sebastian. I guess he wants their evil little duo to be an evil little trio.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’s lonely. Sebastian can’t be the greatest company.”

“We don’t know that. He could be absolutely fantastic at Scrabble,” said Magnus.

“He's a murdering psychopath,” said Alec flatly. “And Jace knows it.”

“But Jace isn’t Jace right now—,” Magnus began, but broke off as a shattering sound, followed by a loud stream of curse words came from the kitchen. Clary, sometimes, forgot that Rowan’s mouth would put a sailor to shame. Then, the phone started ringing, and they called for him, sounding like they were in pain. “I’m going to take care of that,” he said. “Who knows who else might be on the run from the Clave and need a place to stay? It’s not like there are hotels in this city. And maybe that was my favorite mug. What a day!” He padded off toward the kitchen.

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tinkabelle24 · 6 months

Text

Remains

Chapter 2: Go

Help finally arrives, but is it too late?

A/N: MASSIVE trigger warning for this chapter. Please read before proceeding.

TW! CHILD DEATH, Murder-suicide, Blood/Gore.

Chapter 1

---

Bandana wound around her nose and mouth, Addie tentatively opened the only non-transparent door in the building, to the storeroom. Despite her precautions this time, the horrific smell hit her just as severely as the first.

"Schijt!"

She clamped a hand over the fabric, tears pricking her baby blues as she swallowed the bile that threatened to spill forth. She's smelt some... smells, in her career and as a parent - nothing like this.

Finally composing herself, the blonde stepped forward, chancing a glance downward. On the floor of the cramped space, defiling the vinyl with its biofluids, lay the dissected body of their 'donor' walker - dead dead.

His name was Hank Green; born May 7th, 1958. He was a local. He had three grandchildren...

Shake it off, Addie. You can do this.

You MUST do this.

She reached for a fresh sheet and gloves... and a peg.

Four over here, six over there...

I think I'd rather take my chances with the former.

Addie lowered her gaze from the window to her pistol, noting the half-empty magazine before returning it to the chamber; releasing the slide, then stuffing it inside her leg holster. She took extra care in avoiding the semi-dried gore now hanging from her torso.

A gun was the 'absolute last resort' option. As sight was compromised, their other senses (hearing especially) were heightened to compensate. Should one go off, expect all undead within a mile radius to come running.

Luckily, Addie's only needed to shoot thrice: twice, in the initial outbreak, when she and Lucas became cornered; once, to prevent a carjacking. Had Matt not jumped the fucker when he did (getting pistol-whipped in the process), the opportunity she took to take him out likely wouldn't have presented itself.

The what ifs of that day still haunt her, four months later.

Reaching round her back, beneath the canvas satchel and sheet-smock, Addie tugged her dagger from its sheath. She carefully ran a thumb along the blade, checking its sharpness.

Finally satisfied, she slotted it back in; gaze lingering over her (still sleeping) child as she fetched the keys from her pocket, snatched up the bloodstained machete propped against the wall, then beelined for the rear exit.

As carefully as her trembling fingers would allow, Addie turned the key in the mechanism; simultaneously monitoring the position of the four walkers wandering about this side of the building.

The lock clicked louder than expected. Heart leaping into her throat, the blonde immediately retreated behind the blanket (top half still nailed to the architrave) as the walker closest to the fence snapped her way, groaning inquisitively. She could feel its milky gaze burning through the polyester, into her very soul.

"Schijt!"

Peeking round the blanket, Addie watched as the once impeccably dressed woman, now in decomposing rags, stalked along the fence-line; sniffing the air for her next meal. This behaviour had, unfortunately, drawn the attention of the other three, who were now shuffling their way over.

"Schijt, schijt, schijt...!"

If she doesn’t act now, more will come; then, they’ll be well and truly screwed.

Gripping the hilt of her dagger, Addie squeezed her eyes shut and breathed, steeling herself. After one last long and tremulous exhale, she rushed forward.

For the first time in over a month, she was out.

The walkers hissed wildly as Addie closed in on them, brandishing her blade. With one swift movement, she impaled the woman’s eye socket through the fence; shoving the body away before moving on to the man in the tattered polo and jeans, the elderly woman in night clothes... then the boy, who couldn’t have been any older than eight.

She couldn’t bring herself to look, when she finally cut him down...

As her last kill thudded to the ground, Addie caught the ‘front’ group approaching in her periphery; again, sniffing about. Panicked, the blonde impulsively swiped a hand over the bloodied ricasso, smearing red all over her face; earlobes, lips, eyelids – anywhere that wasn't already covered.

She froze. Waiting, watching; not even daring to breathe as the six gradually lost interest, then finally disbanded.

If she could become a puddle, she would have.

Snapping out of her stupor, Addie proceeded stiffly sidestepping toward the access gate; pocketing the dagger, then retrieving her machete from its sheath. She carefully lifted the latch and slipped through, pulling it closed behind her.

There was nothing standing between them and her now. Despite their alleged disinterest, she still expected them to turn and swarm her, but they didn't. The closest one, a mere few feet away, twitched when the gate clicked closed; other than that - nothing. It was as though she no longer existed...

Matthew, you ingenious bastard!

Please, please, please, be okay...

Stealing one last glance at the centre, Addie turned on her heel then hurried forward; away from the loitering walkers, across the road (littered with abandoned cars; one containing mummified remains, draped over the deflated driver's seat airbag), through the overgrown field (passing two more oblivious walkers) to the nearest residential area.

She decided on the light-coloured duplex at the end of the cul-de-sac. The left-hand front door was wide open - no good. Chances were the place had already been cleared out, either by the residents or scavengers. Onto the right side...

This door was closed. Addie tried the knob - locked. The blonde hummed thoughtfully, adjusting her satchel strap as she knelt; frown shifting from the wilted Hosta in the corner of the patio, to the leaf-covered welcome mat. She had a hunch...

Yes! Addie snatched the spare key hidden beneath the mat, bracing against the door as she slowly hauled herself upright.

The blood still dropped to her feet.

She'd gladly take dried dog shit at this point; she was that hungry...

You can do this, Addie. Not long now...

She inserted the key; ear pressed against the door as she turned it, to check whether the sound drew the attention of anyone (or thing) possibly wandering about on the other side.

...Nothing.

She nudged the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind her.

The house was quiet; too quiet to be holding walkers, but there was an eerie coldness to the air. She hoped this was only due to it being closed off to the outside for half a year...

She could see the kitchen from the entryway. Her stomach groaned at the sight, but she had one more job to do - secure the area.

Second floor first.

Slowly, Addie ascended the carpeted stairway; dagger at the ready. As she reached the landing, she noted three doors - all ajar.

She poked her head inside the first – the master bedroom. Aside from the mussed bedsheets, the room appeared untouched. No walkers.

The bathroom (second door) was empty also.

Goosebumps prickled Addie's skin as she approached the final door. 'Luna' in painted wooden letters hung from it; somehow, her dread intensified.

She froze when she spotted feet, talus facing the floor.

The blonde swallowed hard, bracing herself. Finally, she pushed forward; following up the man's body until she reached his head. Blood pooled around it, among other stains. A pistol laid beneath his skeletal fingers.

Proceeding him was a bed. Atop the mattress, under a rainbow quilt, hid a child-sized body. A bloodstained pillow covered their head.

A hand flew to Addie's mouth as she averted her gaze, choking back a despaired whimper. Knees buckling, she grasped at the doorframe for support; she collapsed anyway, sobbing and dry heaving.

For several agonising moments, her body refused to relent. Her insides burned from the contractions; her bloodied tears stained her teeth. She spat then swiped at her lips with her sleeve, washing out any remnants with water from her bottle.

She’s seen many undead children in this new, cruel world; enough to desensitise her somewhat. They are but a shell of their former selves – a literal walking corpse. Dead children, however...

This was her first.

Finally prying herself from the floor, Addie shuffled her way into the master bedroom; tugging off the patterned quilt and top sheet, then dragging them back to Luna’s bedroom. Nudging the pistol aside, she carefully laid the quilt over the father’s remains; then moved on to the child, before tearfully stepping away.

“I’m so sorry...” The woman sniffled, after a moment’s silence. Gaze drifting to the gun at her feet, she quietly added: “...and I’m sorry, for this...”

Shame flooded Addie as she snatched it up, scurrying out the door with her metaphorical tail between her legs. Looting dead bodies: incredibly disrespectful but, as the saying goes: desperate times...

Empty magazine. She checked the chamber – also empty.

She rifled through the drawers and closet in the master bedroom – nothing.

Fuck.

She pocketed it anyway; along with two pairs of thick socks, pocketknife, and the Corduroy jacket hanging over the bedpost. Perhaps he kept his stash downstairs...

Addie’s stomach screamed as she ransacked the kitchen; tugging open every cupboard and drawer, for items they could either use or eat. The moment her eyes laid upon a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli, she pounced; ripping it open then shovelling its contents into her mouth with her fingers.

She’d obliterated it in record time; the closest thing she’d had to a meal in days.

It was euphoric.

Addie set the now empty can in the sink; licking the remnants from her fingers as she turned back to the opened pantry. Nonperishables abound – she'd hit the jackpot!

Let’s start with the canned meals, UHT milk, and dried fruit, then come back another day for the rest.

She began stuffing her satchel.

Why you decided not to come this way, Matthew, I’ll never know...

A distant thudding sound, rapidly increasing in both volume and frequency, finally attracted Addie’s attention. She paused, whipping her head every which way to determine its origin.

When she realised, a chill shot up the blonde’s spine. The can she dropped clattered to the ground as she barrelled out the front door, leaving her satchel behind.

"Whoa. This place sure went to the dogs, didn't it... Where's the party??"

"Don't you hear the horn?? Follow them, Donnie..."

"OVER HERE, YOU FUCKERS!"

Addie hurled a brick through the window of the nearest car, triggering its alarm system. She yipped, yelled and rapped against the metal in a desperate bid to draw the now twenty-odd ravenous walkers away from the front door - away from her son.

"That's it! I'm all yours - come get me!"

They encroached on her from all angles; gangly fingers outstretched, hankering for a tasty morsel. She readied her machete, bracing herself for the impending assault.

"A little closer...!"

The moment one was within swinging range, she swung.

"There, I see it! This is it, right - KinderCare? Wait... oh shit! She's fucking surrounded! Raph, Mikey - with me-"

"I ain't leavin' April!"

"Raph- for God's sake! Donnie, let's go!"

The horde quickly overwhelmed Addie; corralling the woman up onto the car roof, with little more than an inch of leeway on either side.

One misstep and she was chow.

She was largely successful in diverting their attention. However, one appeared determined to get inside; incessantly striking the double-paned glass with a rock. She'd already wasted three bullets trying to stop this seemingly unstoppable meat bag...

Addie shrieked in horror when they finally smashed through. Faced with no other option, she braced herself to jump; right before being unceremoniously ripped from her feet, losing her machete in the process.

"No, no, no, no, NO!" The woman desperately kicked at the walkers grabbing at her legs; the other side clawed at her smock, strangling her.

Ahead of her, the wayward walker was halfway through the second of three doors standing between them and Lucas.

Get up, Addie.

Get the FUCK up!!!

Balancing her weight with one hand, Addie shakily lifted the other; lining up the chamber with the walker about to bury their flesh-rittled teeth in her shin.

She pressed-

Something whizzed past her ear, impaling the walker's temple and thrusting them sideways. It created a Domino effect, of sorts; one stumbling walker quickly became two, then three, then four...

Addie's legs were now free. As she scrambled to her feet, a mass of green crashed into view; slicing through the crowd like butter.

A shrill whistle pierced her eardrums, followed immediately by equally deafening techno music. She whipped around, finding a heavily modified sanitation vehicle with the logo: 'Tartaruga Bros.', screeching to a halt before her.

"Let's go, you ugly fucks!" A masculine voice hollered as an enormous, green, three-fingered hand sprang from the driver's seat window; slamming repeatedly against the side panel. "Turtle soup - get it while it's hot!"

Addie watched, transfixed, as the remaining horde (and those sprinkling in from the street; picked off by two more hulking, green beings) gradually turned away from her; lurching toward the truck rolling around the parking lot.

"Adrie?!"

She recognised this voice; it belonged to one of the two men she'd spoken with over the radio. He called himself Leo.

Whirling toward the centre, Addie was confronted by a pair of the clearest, bluest eyes she'd ever seen. A deeper blue, tattered cloth encircled them; surrounding that: brilliant green, scaled skin.

Strapped to his plated chest: the string part of a giant wooden bow; as well as a thicker leather strap, extending round what appeared to be a shell, at his back. In his three-fingered hands, he held twin swords; dripping with blood.

He resembled a man, but there were too many peculiarities at play to confirm.

The skin, the plating, the shell...

What are these... people?

Addie's gaze returned to Leo's disconcerted one. His lips were moving; he appeared to be shouting, but she couldn't hear a thing. The now empty entryway behind him had snagged her attention.

The wayward walker had made it through the second door.

She jumped.

"Adrie-!" Leo flinched at the blood curdling scream; proceeded immediately by shattering glass. The woman ignored him; snatching up her fallen machete as she bolted inside.

She'd answered his question, without saying a thing.

He followed her. "Cover the door!!!"

"On it!"

"Leo, more are coming - a lot more!"

In the truck, the dark-haired woman gazed despairingly down the road; toward the town centre. It teemed with oncoming walkers. "I haven't seen this many, since..."

"I know, I know..." The red-masked driver rubbed her shoulder comfortingly; glaring out his own window, watching his comrade disappear. "Whattaya doin', Leo?!" He shouted into the intercom. "Get'er outta there; they'll be on top of us in minutes!"

Glass crunched under Addie's boots as she bounded through the centre. Lucas was screaming for her now.

"MOMMY!!!" Over, and over. It was like knives in her heart.

"LUCAS!!!"

Finally rounding the corner, what she found boiled her blood.

The walker had indeed made it through the last door. They were now dangling over its centre beam, caught on the protruding shards; clawing at the terrified child curled up in the corner.

Addie charged.

She gripped the scruff of their jacket and yanked, gutting them as she thrust them onto the linoleum; knocking their cap off in the process. Their growls were summarily cut short by the downward swing of her machete, into their face. She pried it out, then swung again...

...and again... and again... and again, until their head was nothing more than a bloodied puddle.

Breathless, Addie finally straightened up; grip faltering around her sullied blade. She found Leo standing near the entrance; a conflicting mix of horror and remorse on his scarred features. She couldn't help the distain she slung in return.

Had you gotten here when you said you'd be, likely none of this would have happened...

"Mommy!"

Addie whipped around, dropping her weapon as she scooped her whimpering son into her arms; gripping his body as tightly as he did hers. "Baby... I'm so, so sorry! ... Shhh, it's okay. I'm here, now... I'm here."

Leo averted his gaze, attempting to give mother and son some semblance of privacy whilst they held each other. Meanwhile, his radio was blowing up.

"Adrie, I really hate to interrupt, but-"

"It's daddy, mommy..." Lucas sniffled. Unbeknownst to Addie, he was pointing.

"No..." Leo breathed.

"Daddy isn't here, sweetheart," the woman sighed shakily. "I don't know where daddy is..."

"Daddy hurt me."

Addie's heart stopped.

No. Please, don't let it be...

Slowly, she turned; covering Lucas' eyes as the mess re-entered her field of vision.

She didn't need their face - the sheet and cap gave him away.

"M-Matt...?"

Their decade together flashed before her eyes. Their ‘meet-cute’, when he accidently socked her in the face with a football; their first date, watching Scary Movie at the cinema; their first kiss, that same night; first “I love you’; first time; first fight; first house; first ultrasound; their shotgun wedding; Lucas’ birth; Matt’s months-long emotional affair...

They’d been contemplating divorce when all this started. Being forced to rely on only each other, for absolutely everything, helped them reconcile.

The night before he left, they slept together; the first time in over a year...

"Whoa- hey!" Leo caught Addie before she hit the floor; bracing her elbows, lest Lucas slip from her grasp. "I've got you-"

The blonde gasped as she shrugged him off. “Don’t... t-touch-!”

"Leo, please!" A panicked cry echoed down the hallway; accompanied by grunts and frenzied growls.

Wasting no more time, Leo chanced more physical contact to urge Addie forward. "C'mon, let's go- leave it!” He tugged her upright when she knelt for her machete. “I'll get it - go!"

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Chapter 3

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