#nightmare Hospital au

[greenkirbkid456u]

The little arm eater themselves

There name is comper(sorry for no background again)

[sp00pypumpkins]

Got busy this weekend and couldnt draw much so today I did this silly thing :3

Something sweet about the Prototype qwq I find it endearing those two would get so happy when the prototype is near while other toys would feel intimidated by them XD I will make more silly doodles about why Zero thinks so high of the Prototype in the future :D

Au by @asamary You should check their stuff :D!

Also Zero chirps when they are very happy (The only one who got to hear them is 1006 till now, Zero is a bit embarrased because he cannot control it but with 1006 he lowers his guard but also acts childish around him too HAHA)

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 13

Rain and the others are exhausted, but the ghouls have finally reached the Abbey. Will his recovery continue to go smoothly? Also: the ghouls meet the ghoulettes.

Longer chapter this week, because I couldn't find a better split! Please don't hate me for this one...

Rating: M Content: hospitals, sickness, quintosis for medical reasons, panic attacks, nightmares Words: 7576

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3!

Dew took a deep breath and raised his hand to the bell pull. As his fingers hung poised to curl around it, the large doors suddenly swung inwards.

“Dewdrop!” Shrieked a high voice, echoing Dew’s arrival the week before. “I saw you coming, I’m so happy you came back!”

She threw her arms around him in a hug, almost suffocating him with her mass of white hair. Looking up, she spotted the four ghouls stood awkwardly behind Dew watching the reunion.

“This must be your pack!” She exclaimed in delight, releasing him. “I hope you’ve been taking care of our Dewy.”

Dewy hid his head in his hands in exaggerated embarrassment.

“Everyone, this is Cumulus. She's more like a hurricane than a ghoul, but don't let her scare you.”

“Pshhh, come in, come in,” grabbing Dew by the hand she pulled him through the open doors, beckoning the others to follow, “Riri’s rounding up the others, we can do introductions then!”

“Lus wait,” Dew pulled back, hesitant, “we’ve had a hard journey, and I think half my pack are about to fall asleep standing up. Could it wait until the morning?”

She stopped in her tracks, looking back at them all.

“Why didn’t I see that?” She looked appalled that she had overlooked this. “Of course you’re tired after that long journey.”

Dew didn’t like to see her look so crestfallen, but with his packmates already being anxious about the new environment, he couldn’t foist several exuberant ghoulettes on them all at once.

“Give your horse to Bell, then let’s get you some supper.”

Dew looked behind him to check the pack were following and led them behind Cumulus into the courtyard. Sidling up on unnaturally silent hooved feet, Cowbell materialised next to them to take her reins.

Turning to look at Rain, Dew reached up a hand to help him down. He seemed to struggle to swing his leg over the saddle, and as his feet eventually landed on the ground, his knees buckled beneath him.

"Rain!” he gasped, struggling to support him as he went limp in a dead faint. Swiss was beside him in a second, helping take the weight of his tall body before he could collapse to the ground.

“What's wrong with him?” Fretted Aether, also swooping in to press his fingers to his temples and bring him round with his quintessence.

“I don't know, he's in a bad way again like before!” Dew cried in a panic. “We need to get him to the infirmary; they'll know what to do.”

“He was fine this morning, better than he's been all week, how has he gone downhill so fast?” said Mountain worriedly, taking Rain's weight from Dew and Swiss and scooping him up in his arms as though he weighed little more than the rucksack still on his back. Rain's eyelids flickered open as the quintessence took hold, but his eyes remained unfocussed and glassy.

Watching in alarm, Cumulus quickly ushered the ghouls into the building and towards the infirmary wing. Dew chased alongside Mountain as he strode down the corridor, his eyes never leaving Rain for a second. They burst through the doors, alarming a young quintessence ghoul stood on the other side of them. He swiftly regained his composure and directed Mountain to an empty bed he could lay Rain on, calling out for backup from the other ghouls stood around.

“What happened to him?” he asked, leaping into action without even questioning who this gaggle of unfamiliar ghouls were.

“We don't know, he was sleepy this afternoon and then fainted out of nowhere!” Dew said, frantic. “He's been weak, but he seemed to be getting better!”

“He looks like he's taken quite a beating,” hummed an older ghoulette, “but these are healing bruises not fresh.”

“Two weeks ago,” interjected Swiss, “he was attacked two weeks ago, then locked in a human jail for a week and beaten again. He's been on the mend but started getting tired again in the last few hours.”

The ghouls nodded, looking confused as they pressed fingers to him checking his vitals, both those of his vessel and his soul.

“His heart rate is slow, but not especially slow for a water ghoul.”

“His energy feels very weak, like it's been strained.”

“He'd dreadfully malnourished,” the ghoulette looked up at the panicked travellers, “you said he was locked up for a week?” She was answered by an assortment of nods. “If you hadn't said, I'd have thought it was closer to a month. One week of imprisonment, no matter how poor the conditions, shouldn't have sapped him of this much strength.”

“Will he be okay?” Dew could hear his voice come out uncomfortably high, a note of hysteria modulating his words.

“He should be, but I’d like to keep a close eye on him,” The senior ghoulette looked at them sagely, “we need to make sure there's no underlying problem making him weaker.”

She turned to look at Aether, “You’re quintessence.”

He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Aether.”

“Astra. Have you noticed any change in his energy over the last few weeks? Anything that could indicate this was brewing?”

“His elemental connection only fully clicked two weeks ago,” Aether explained, “he could wield water powers before but never that strongly. They came in rather unexpectedly and a bit too strong, that’s what landed him in trouble with the humans we lived alongside.”

Well that was putting it mildly, thought Dew.

“Is there anything else that could have affected him?”

They all thought for a moment. In the lead-up to Rain’s catastrophic actions, everything had seemed normal.

“Your Calamus leaf potions couldn’t have done this?” Asked Swiss, clutching at straws.

“They should have strengthened his magic, not weakened it,” Aether mused, “they’ve never had any adverse effects before.”

“Oh!” Burst out a much younger ghoulette with cropped, indigo hair. “Are you the ghouls who wrote that incredible book Copia keeps raving about? I'd never heard of Calamus until I read that!”

Aether and Mountain stared at her, open mouthed, before turning their gaze on Dew.

“Would you happen to know anything about that, Dewdrop?” growled Mountain. Dew had the grace to look sheepish at that, but tried to defend himself regardless,

“I had to! You don’t understand how it works here, I had to bring something with a large value of knowledge so they’d help us!”

“I don’t care; you should’ve asked us, and explained yourself! You don’t just steal.”

“If I’d asked,” snarled Dew, “you wouldn’t have let me come here and then Rain would be–”

“Enough,” Aether bellowed directly into their minds. The pair clutched at their heads in pain. “We will talk about this later,” he continued, out loud now, “Dew, you will explain yourself. For now though, Rain is our priority.”

“Yes Aether.” Dew muttered, chastised. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have stolen it without asking, but I promise I had a reason. You’ll get it back, I swear.”

With a harumph, Aether turned back to the quintessence ghouls as though nothing had happened.

“Rain’s recovery hasn’t been linear. From what I understand, after his power came in he was beaten unconscious. A few hours later he was conscious but unresponsive, but by the next day with some food and medicinal herbs he seemed to be doing better?”

Swiss nodded in assent.

“He wasn’t talking but he was communicating,” the multi ghoul added, “he had his magic still then, I saw it.”

Astra nodded, frantically scribbling notes.

“Then he was attacked again, and totally unresponsive for days. He only started reacting and talking again a few days after we pulled him out of there.”

“He was doing so well this morning though,” said Dew, stood clutching Rain's hand after grabbing it instinctively once he was on the bed, “his magic was the strongest it's ever been!”

“He was exhausted by midday though,” pointed out Aether, “I thought he was just sleepy.”

Dew shook his head thoughtfully. “He's been sleeping really well, since that awful nightmare a few days ago.” Leaning over the water ghoul, he saw his eyes flicker sightly in recognition, but remain unfocused and unseeing. His normally bright blue irises were so pale they were almost grey.

“What's wrong, Rainy?” He whispered, so low only Rain could have heard him. “How do I help you get better?”

The four ghouls continued watching their sick packmate in concern as the quintessence ghouls began bustling around, making sure he was comfortable and making various notes on him.

“You should get some rest,” Astra advised them, laying a reassuring hand on Dew's shoulder, “we can take care of your mate from here. You all look exhausted yourselves, and you'll be no help if you pass out on my floor. I'm sure we'll have him right-as-rain in no time!”

Dew was too stunned by her assumption that they were mates to notice her terrible joke.

“We're not– I'm not –” by the time he had finished spluttering indignantly, face cherry-red, she had already walked off with a serene smile.

Cumulus materialised next to them.

“I can take you to our wing, where Dew's old room is, for tonight? There're some spare rooms made up already in case you came. I can bring you some food and make sure you're not overwhelmed with new faces if you'd like?”

Dew was so relieved by the suggestion of quiet that he could have hugged her, regardless of the suffocation risk her hair posed. He looked at his pack for confirmation, getting a mixture of nods and shrugs, before accepting her offer.

“Thanks Lus, that sounds perfect.”

With a final concerned look back at Rain's prone form on the bed, they solemnly followed Cumulus down the corridor and up a small flight of stone stairs.

“We're very close to the infirmary here,” she remarked, leading them through a large door into a corridor unlike the rest of the building so far. The walls were covered with small pictures and decorations, the doors each engraved with elemental symbols, names, and more. It felt homely.

“The room at the end is our common room, there's snacks and water in there so feel free to explore, but I can't promise it will be empty. This is mine and Cirrus’ room if you need me,” she gestured to a door, painted sky-blue with small engravings of clouds lining the panelling, “and this is Dew's room.” The door was plainer, impersonal, with no real sign that Dew had ever lived behind it.

Entering, they found their saddlebags in a neat pile in the corner of the room. The bag containing Swiss’ beat-up guitar was carefully laid on its side next to them, presumably by a careful Cowbell. No one had been in the mood for it during their trip, and none of them felt so now either. They were all still wearing their own knapsacks, Dew realised as he suddenly felt the weight of the straps pressing heavily on his shoulders. He tossed his into a corner, the others following suit. In the centre of the room was Dew's large bed, a towering pile of blankets for a proper nest stacked high on top. A fire roared in the grate, making the room pleasantly warm.

“I can show you to the spare rooms?” Cumulus hovered in the doorway. That was a force of habit, Dew thought: he had always been wary of others entering his space uninvited. The other ghouls looked uneasy at the suggestion, and Swiss spoke for them all,

“I think we'd prefer to stay together for now, with one of our own sick.”

His competing visions all agreed on one thing: regardless of where they started the night, their sleeping positions would all converge into one pile. Camping together over the last week they had gotten used to each other's proximity and being apart right now, especially with Rain being unwell, felt scary. Besides, the bed was easily bigger than the combined bedrolls they had been sleeping on for the past two weeks.

Cumulus nodded. “I'll run to the kitchens and find you some supper.” Spinning on her heel, she darted away. She was an enthusiastic host, Dew thought, and clearly felt awkward given the strange situation they had found themselves in.

The pack kicked off their shoes and silently slumped to the floor, loath to make the clean bed dirty with their dusty traveling clothes.

“He'll be alright,” Swiss said after a while, “with all those quintessence ghouls looking after him, they're bound to work out what's wrong.”

The mood was sober, all of them trying not to think about what could happen if they didn't figure it out.

“Right Dew, tell us what the situation is with the book,” sighed Aether, “then we can put it behind us.”

Dew looked guiltily into his lap where he was sat with his legs crossed as he explained the situation.

“I mentioned it before, but the way things work here help isn't completely free. They don't ask for payment in gold though, it's in knowledge or time.” The others nodded, remembering vaguely.

“Well, when I was leaving to come and ask if they had any ideas about rescuing Rain, I wasn't sure they'd help for free. It's been a long time since I left, and I did so without telling anyone. I wasn't even here that long, but I got close with the ghoulettes very fast, only to abandon everyone.”

The similarity to his flight northward a few weeks prior wasn't lost on any of them.

“So I grabbed your encyclopaedia before I left, thinking that if they demanded payment, I would have something to give them and could get back to Rain sooner. Then I left it here for them to transcribe, because I figured we were likely to all come back here, but I knew you might not want to stay for long enough to pay it back. Now our debts are cleared, and they can help Rain and we're free to leave as soon as he's better and I'm sorry I didn't ask first but I didn't have time to explain all this, I'm sorry!”

Dew was rambling now; he could tell as he caught his breath. He looked imploringly at his packmates, hoping they would at least understand, if not forgive him. Aether's face softened.

“Oh Dew,” he gave him a small and encouraging smile, “I'm not mad at you, I can see why you took it. You should have told us though! If not at the time, you could have mentioned it sooner, okay?”

Hanging his head, Dew nodded.

“We forgive you, right Mount?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he grumbled, “we'll get it back soon, right?”

“I’ll ask Mist when we see her, she's the head ghoul in the library here, she'll know.” promised Dew.

“Great!” Swiss chirped with forced cheerfulness, glad that conversation was over. The alternative of worrying about Rain was still worse though. “We're all good now, right? No more secrets?”

Dew thought for a second. His whole life was full of secrets, but he thought that was the last of the ones he owed his pack.

“That's everything.” he confirmed.

With that, there was a knock on the door,

“Room service!” came the musical voice from the other side.

“Come in!” Answered Dew, scrambling to his feet.

Cumulus opened the door, and pushed a small cart laden with trays of food through.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I grabbed a bit of everything!”

Their mouths watered at the smell; a jumbled mix of cooked meats, melted cheese, a thousand competing spices, and “fresh bread!” Swiss cried in delight.

“I won’t keep you waiting,” laughed Cumulus, seeing the wide eyes of the hungry ghouls, “Riri sends her love, she was wondering if you’d be up for some introductions tomorrow?”

Dew glanced back at the others and saw no objections.

“That sounds good, I’d like to visit Rain first though. See how he’s doing.”

“Of course!” She smiled, her warm breezy smile bringing Dew the same comfort it had all those years ago. “Good night, boys!”

A chorus of “g’night” came from the others, and Cumulus fluttered her perfectly manicured claws in a wave before disappearing back down the hall to the common room.

Dew pushed the cart to the middle of the room, and began unloading covered trays onto the floor between them. They could eat one more meal like this, before returning to the land of tables and chairs. No one spoke as they filled their plates, the only sounds for a while were the quiet moas of appreciation they made, sinking their fangs into proper, varied food. By coincidence, there was not a fish in sight, and none of them were able to feel too sorry about that.

Once they had taken the edge of their hunger, conversation began to flow again. Chiefly of interest were the myriad new faces they had either met, or were soon to meet.

“Cumulus seems nice,” started Swiss, ripping the meat of a steak from the bone as juices ran down his chin, “a lot, but nice.”

“She is,” Dew smiled, “she’s a total sweetheart, but I’m certain she’d delight in tearing any of us limb from limb if we hurt her, or her mate Cirrus.”

“Another air ghoulette?” asked Aether through a mouthful of potato.

“Same clan even. They arrived here together, apparently. Cirrus was the first ghoulette I met, she took me in when I was starving on their doorstep.” Dew paused to shovel more bread into his mouth. “I’m sure you can trade stories of my general incompetence at looking after myself.”

That got a snicker from Aether and Mountain, to Dew’s delight.

“We’re you really that bad?” Swiss asked incredulously.

“Rain with almost no magic was better at surviving in the woods than me,” Dew rolled his eyes good-humouredly at his ineptitude, “at least he could catch his own food. I could start a fire and make myself sick by eating the wrong plants.”

There was another lull while Dew set about stripping every morsel of flesh from a chicken leg; the warm spices nourishing his soul as much as his stomach.

“The ghoul we briefly met earlier, who took our horse to the stables, was Cowbell. No one really knows what element they are, and they don’t talk much, but they've been here forever and they’re loyal to a fault. I like them.”

“You mentioned another multi ghoul before?” Swiss had never met any ghouls of his kind outside of his birth clan before. Multi ghouls were rare and unique, their clans few and far between. The thought of meeting another filled him with excitement.

“Yeah, she’s joined since I left,” Dew smiled at the brief memory of her, a whirlwind of positive energy, “you’ll like her, I’m sure. She’s probably going to become Mist’s mate sooner or later.”

“The librarian?” asked Mountain.

Dew nodded. “You can ask her how the transcription is going tomorrow.”

“And the human?” Aether was curious to meet the mysterious man, who seemed vastly outnumbered in this house of ghouls.

“Papa Emeritus the Fourth, Copia, he’s in charge officially,” Dew confirmed, “he mostly leaves the ghouls to their own devices providing they pull their weight, and he manages the few humans who work and worship here. He’s a busy man, but he’ll want to see you, he always makes time for us ghouls.”

“It’s going to be a busy day for us too,” Aether yawned widely. The food was almost gone, and their exhaustion was starting to hit, “time for bed soon?”

A rumble of harmonising purrs declared that a good idea.

With the plates and trays stashed on the trolley and rolled back into the corridor, the ghouls took turns washing the grime of the road from their bodies. The magically heated water was blissful, but none of them wanted to waste too much time in the bathroom when a plush nest awaited them. There would be ample time to bathe properly tomorrow. Drying off with cloud-soft towels, they grabbed – rather tight for most of them – shirts and underwear from the pile Dew had found still in the dresser and crawled onto the soft mattress. It seemed his room had remained untouched since he left. That was strange given the short time he had lived here; had Cumulus always seen him returning one day?

Dew was the last to leave the bathroom, having changed inside into a shirt and a pair of sleep trousers that could only fit him. He emerged to find Aether and Swiss beckoning him to squeeze in-between them, trapping him in the centre of his old nest. Mountain was behind Swiss, the multi ghoul wearing him like a backpack as they pretended they weren’t clearly cuddling in the flickering firelight.

Before long, he could hear their relaxed snores echoing around the room. Despite his own tiredness, Dew could not sleep. He was worried about Rain: worried about the sudden deterioration of his health; worried that the quintessence ghouls might not work out what had caused it; worried that he may have another nightmare all alone in the infirmary. Aether’s arms felt too firm around his shoulders; Swiss’ too warm. Rain should be here, Rain should be the one he was cuddled with. Even after only a few nights in each other’s arms, Dew felt addicted. What if Rain felt the same? What if he wasn’t able to sleep – he needed to sleep to get better! What if he had another nightmare and Dew wasn’t there to comfort him.

Mind made up, Dew wriggled free of the heavy arms around him and padded for the door. He opened it as quietly as he could, ears pricked for any stray ghoulettes wandering the halls. Judging from the quiet murmur of noise and the light coming from under the common room door, they were still up and talking. On socked feet, he tiptoed out of the dormitory wing and down to the infirmary.

‘I’m coming, Rain.’

Dew rounded the final corner of the stone corridor, slinking into the welcoming, dim glow of the infirmary. Almost everyone was asleep, but the large ghoul stationed at the desk on night duty shot him a smile. Dew thought he recognised him from his time before. He tried to return the greeting, but feared it came out as more of a grimace.

Sneaking behind the curtain around Rain’s bed, Dew was at first hopeful that he was sleeping. He was lying quiet and still, but on closer inspection Dew saw that his eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. Only his extra set of cat-like inner eyelids were closed, keeping his eyes moist but giving him a creepy blank gaze.

The curtain drew back again.

“He’s tired, but not sleeping.” Said the ghoul, entering and pressing two fingers to Rain’s forehead to check on him. He made a note on a chart at the foot of Rain’s bed. “We still don’t know what’s wrong, if anything he seems to be getting less and less responsive.”

Omega, that was his name remembered Dew, pressed a damp flannel to Rain’s dry and chapped lips. He returned it to a bowl on the table beside the bed.

“He shouldn’t get too dehydrated, it’s not good for water ghouls, but he isn’t lucid enough to drink.” Omega explained. “I’ll be popping in periodically to check on him, but feel free to stay as long as you want.”

Dew nodded, hovering awkwardly with the tall ghoul still watching him. Once the curtain closed and he drifted off to his next patient, Dew was able to take a proper look at Rain. His normally pale skin was translucent, almost waxy, and his usually shiny hair fell in limp tendrils around his face. He picked up the flannel, wringing out the excess water and did as Omega had done, carefully wetting Rain’s lips. They twitched slightly, grateful for the hydration, but still Rain made no move to either respond, or drift any closer towards sleep.

With no one around to see, Dew did what his instincts had been screaming at him to do since he was in the ghoul pile in his bedroom: he carefully scrambled up into Rain’s bed, slotting himself behind the icy water ghoul and propping him up against his chest. Dew wrapped his arms around him to begin warming him up, combing his fingers through the ends of Rain’s hair and teasing out the tangles. The water ghoul stirred, leaning softly into his touch, and Dew took that as a signal to continue. He glamoured his claws away and reached up to rake his blunt nails across his scalp and through his hair. Rain's eyes slipped closed and he sank further into his embrace, until Dew had to shift his position to keep supporting the weight of him.

Once his hair was smooth again, although still dry and dull, Dew began braiding it with nimble fingers as Cirrus had once done for him. He revelled in the silky feel of the dark strands passing through his hands; Rain's hair was so pretty, even in its current state. Dew hoped Rain would let him play with it again when he was better, so he could experience the ebony waves in their full beauty. All too soon, Dew had finished weaving Rain's dark strands into two perfect braids that curled from his temples to behind his ears. He hoped it would be enough to protect it from tangling further against the cotton of the infirmary pillowcases.

Dew helped Rain settle back down into the bed, manoeuvring his long limbs into a comfortable sleeping position. He was no quintessence ghoul, but he seemed calmer now and Dew hoped that he would be able to get some much-needed rest. With Rain back under the blankets, Dew wriggled down until he could press his warm nose in-between Rain's shoulder blades and hold him tightly. He waited until Rain's breathing slowed as he fell soundly asleep, before allowing himself to follow.

That was where the others found him the next morning. Swiss had woken first, the sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains hitting him square in the face. He twisted his head away from it, and let himself luxuriate in the warmth he had awoken to a little longer. Ghoul piles like this were sacred affairs; shared between only the closest of packs. He could probably count on one hand the number he’d had with his pack, never the most affectionate ghouls even at the best of times. They had mostly been on cold winter nights, when no amount of coaxing could make the fire burn hot enough and Dew’s intrinsic warmth was their only respite.

Their piles had never been this close before, however. Swiss found himself almost entirely trapped in the cage of Mountain’s arms, the earth ghoul clinging to him like a lifeline. They were so close, Swiss could feel his heartbeat thudding against his back.  It had been so long since he’d woken up like this; so long since he’d been held. He wished he could freeze the moment and stay here forever, safe in Mountain’s arms, in this limbo where he could dream that the giant ghoul was his.

Dew had seemed so certain Mountain felt the same way about him, yet Swiss couldn’t help but think that was too good to be true. He’d never heard Mountain express any desire to find a mate, but then again, Swiss hadn’t exactly talked about such things either. It wasn’t until the traumatic events of the last few weeks that he’d realised his own feelings even. Lying here feeling loved and wanted, Swiss was scared that by voicing his desires, they could risk losing what friendship they did have.

After his conversation with Dew, Swiss had given in to the temptation to see if any of his visions would outline a change in their relationship: be it good or bad. He hadn’t seen anything however; the Void stubbornly refusing to offer him even a hint. Swiss had wondered if he was subconsciously blocking it out again like he had done with Dew during the week he was away, too afraid of a negative outcome. Maybe he’d skirt around the topic and see what Mountain’s reaction was, rather than jumping straight into the big question? This was all a matter for later-Swiss however. For now, he was content to lay where he was and simply imagine.

Eventually, Swiss had to come back to reality. The warm breath on the back of his neck stuttered as Mountain woke, releasing him to stretch strong arms above his head, warm and bare legs pressing against his own. Swiss tried to avoid thinking about that, given their proximity. He feigned sleep for a bit longer, to see what Mountain’s reaction to him world be. To his delight, the earth ghoul recaptured him and snuffled his face into the back of Swiss’ hair.

“You awake, Snapdragon?” he murmured quietly. Swiss pretended to wake, stretching out before pressing back against Mountain’s chest.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed back, as nonchalantly as he could manage, “g’ mornin’.”

Swiss grinned to himself as Mountain showed no signs of releasing him. Even when Aether yawned and muttered his own sleepy good mornings, the earth ghoul kept him in his grip. He was so comfy, and the bed was warm but not too warm… wait.

“Where’s Dew?” asked Swiss, opening his eyes fully to check for signs of the fire ghoul. He made no move to leave the nest however.

“Wha–” Aether struggled upright, looking around, “he was here last night?”

“He’ll be with Rain,” Mountain spoke as thought it was obvious, his voice muffled by Swiss’s pile of dreadlocks that he refused to move his face from, “they’ll be fine.”

“Should we go and find him?” Aether stumbled out of bed, bare legs almost buckling as he stood up too fast.

The answering groans from the comfortable ghouls still under the blankets rumbled in perfect harmony.

Eventually, the fully-dressed ghouls slumped sleepily into the infirmary, once Aether had successfully guilt-tripped Swiss and Mountain into getting out of bed. They found Dew as he had fallen asleep last night; curled protectively around Rain. A tall quintessence ghoul, clearly on his way out after a shift, nodded at them in greeting as he passed.

Approaching the bed, they saw Rain looking even rougher than he had the night before. They shared a concerned glance, and as they did Dew finally noticed them.

“He’s really cold,” whispered Dew as though to explain their position, while making no move to change it, “but he’s sleeping, which is apparently a good sign.” He didn’t look so sure.

The ghouls kept their silent vigil by Rain's bedside until Cumulus came looking for them.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she smiled warmly, “we’re in the Den having breakfast, if you’d like to join us and make some introductions? Mist is already back in the library with Copia but we can go and bother them afterwards!”

The pack exchanged glances, and Aether spoke for them all,

“That sounds nice. It’s not like we can help Rain by just sitting here.”

“Great!” Cumulus chirped, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Cirrus and Sunny can’t wait to meet you!”

Dew was reluctant to leave Rain, but knew he had to be there too. Carefully, he released Rain and wriggled free of the bed.

“I still need to get dressed.” He muttered, but followed them back to the dormitories with only one glance back to check Rain was still asleep. Dew hated the thought of leaving him alone in a strange new place; he would be terrified to wake up in such a situation and he imagined Rain would feel the same, so he hoped they could be back before Rain awoke.

Cumulus almost skipped down the hallway ahead of them, the pack travelling with more trepidation. She flung open the door to the common room in their wing, and the ghouls almost didn’t notice the two ghoulettes inside past the loud contents of the room. The walls were the same grey stone as the hallway, only it was barely visible behind the swathes of colourful fabric that had been draped across them. The furniture was a mismatch of colours and fabrics, yet all looked delightfully soft. Trinkets covered every available surface, reminding Dew of Rain’s bedroom back at their farmhouse, with all its pretty rocks and shells. The room lead towards two large windows on the back wall, inset with a myriad colours of stained glass that cast rainbows  around the room. One was half-open, leading to a balcony beyond. It screamed home, often a faraway concept to ghouls not living with their birth clans.

Swiss was immediately enraptured; a joyful energy radiated from every corner of the room, fed by the love and thought that went into every part of its contents. He dreamed of living somewhere like this, somewhere he could make his own and fill with happiness and devotion. Their attention landed finally on the two ghoulettes, half-buried in their respective seats. They waved at the newcomers; one restrained and cautious in her actions, the other fizzing with exuberance. On a coffee table in front of them rested mugs of hot tea and piles of more baked goods than they could possibly manage to eat.

Cumulus flopped down into the loveseat next to the ash blonde ghoulette, who reached an arm out around her.

“Welcome back Dew,” she smiled warmly, “and welcome to your pack, too!”

“Hi Cir.” Dew offered her a small smile, before curling into the corner of the old and battered sofa and gesturing for his pack to find seats of their own. Swiss sank into the centre of the sofa, with Mountain beside him while Aether perched on the edge of a deceptively soft armchair that threatened to swallow him whole.

“This is Cirrus,” he figured he should do the introductions, “she’s the first ghoulette I met here.”

“Sunshine,” Dew gestured to the redheaded ghoulette sat cross-legged in a hideous orange velvet rocking chair, “is who you can thank for the plan to get Rain out.”

Sunshine mimed taking a bow, setting the chair oscillating back and forth wildly.

“Everyone, these are my packmates,” Dew looked at them; the ragtag band still slightly dishevelled from their journey, and looking awkwardly out of place in the ghoulettes’ colourful sitting room. He couldn’t have been prouder to call them his pack, “Aether, Mountain and Swiss.”

Conversation flowed slowly but smoothly, as the still-ravenous ghouls devoured the mountain of food in front of them. If they had thought Cumulus was a lot to handle, Sunshine was even more outgoing. Aether found himself warming quickly to Cirrus; two kind and steady personalities drawn together. Dew watched in wonder as his packmates seamlessly interacted with the ghoulettes; even Mountain seemed interested in Sunshine and her work at the Abbey, adapting the greenhouse to grow plants from warmer climates.

“Do you want to meet Mist and Copia too?” asked Cirrus, during a lull in the conversation. After a brief pause for Swiss to snaffle the last fruit bun, they followed her and the other ghoulettes down yet more stone hallways all the way to the other end of the Abbey.

“Dew’s probably told you, but the library is one of the most important rooms here after the Chapel,” Cirrus explained as they walked, “we have the largest collection of books detailing His work here on Earth and in the pit, as well as all manner of literature on the natural world.”

“That’s why Mist is so busy right now,” Sunshine interjected, “she’s leading the transcription of that book the two of you wrote. I haven’t seen Copia so excited by anything in years!”

Aether and Mountain exchanged glances that could only be read as ‘who is this guy?’

Turning another corner, Cirrus stopped in front of a pair of ornately carved oak doors.

“The library.”

She threw open the doors, revealing a large, high-ceilinged room lined with shelves upon shelves of books. In the centre were a cluster of desks, and cosy armchairs seemed to have been dotted wherever there was space. Long and narrow windows tossed columns of morning light across the room, supplemented by many candles that burned with an enchanted, heatless flame. Sat at the desks were half a dozen ghouls, all studiously scribbling on sheets of linen paper. None of them looked up at the disturbance, too engrossed in their work.

Sunshine wriggled past the ghouls blocking the door and skipped over to a ghoulette with cropped white hair, throwing her arms around her from behind while her quill was raised in contemplation.

“Hello Baby,” she cooed in her ear, “we brought you some guests.”

Even from the door, Dew could see the indigo blush reach the tips of Mist's ears. It was funny, he thought, seeing the normally unflappable ghoulette taken down like this. When she looked to the door, Dew wiggled his fingers in a small wave.

“Dew!” she cried, leaping to her feet and accidentally dislodging Sunshine, “I heard you’d come back!”

She swept to the door and pulled Dew, not a tall ghoul by anyone's standards, down to her height in a bone-crushing hug.

“With your pack, too,” she eyed them appraisingly, “your water ghoul is in the infirmary I heard. I’m not surprised, given what those humans put him through.”

Dew nodded, and chose not to explore why hearing Rain described as his water ghoul made his stomach feel strange and fluttery.

“Now,” Mist continued, pointing an accusatory finger at the others, “which of you is responsible for this absolute monster of a text we’ve been holed up in here copying for the last week?”

Swiss immediately pointed towards Mountain and Aether, intimidated by the small but fierce ghoulette. She turned her gaze on them; having to crane her neck to properly look Mountain in the eye.

“Who did the drawings?”

Mountain raised a cautious hand.

“Beautiful,” she stated, “ours aren’t half as good.”

She swivelled to face Aether.

“You.” Narrowing her eyes, she seemed almost ready to square up for a fight. “You wrote the text.”

Aether looked like he wanted to run away. He didn’t see what he could’ve done wrong.

“Why in Satan’s name is your handwriting so damn small!” Mist practically growled at him, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “It’s incredible work, but we can barely read it without a magnifying glass!”

Lost for words, Aether stumbled back slightly and looked to Dew for backup. Luckily, he was saved from Mist’s exaggerated wrath by Copia emerging from the far doors that led to his office.

“Good morning, dear ghouls!” he called, swishing towards them in his long cassock. “Dewdrop, I am delighted to have you back with us, I trust your young packmate is here safely too, no?”

“Hello Papa,” Dew bowed his head politely, “he is sick in the infirmary, but yes Rain is here. The plan worked perfectly.”

“Ah, I am sorry to hear he is unwell,” the warmth in his eyes was genuine, all the ghouls could see that, “but this must be the rest of your pack!”

The others watched him cautiously, wary of the human stood before them. Swiss was the first to step forward, extending a hand in the human greeting he was most familiar with. Copia clasped it graciously, shaking it twice before raising it and dipping his head to press his lips to Swiss’ dry and cracked knuckles.

“It is a pleasure to meet you…” he paused, waiting for Swiss to supply a name.

“Swiss.” If he was amused by the strange man’s behaviour, he didn’t show it. “Multi ghoul.”

“Then it is a pleasure to meet you, Swiss.” He turned to face the more wary Aether and Mountain,

“You must be the pair responsible for this incredible anthology of regional fauna we are all hard at work on!” He lifted his arms, as though praising them, like the dark Priest they figured he was. “My goodness, it has been many a moon since I saw a work this spectacular, this comprehensive.”

He looked like he was about to embrace them, before thinking better of it and instead going in for more handshakes and kisses.

 “Aether,” the quintessence ghoul spoke clearly and professionally, “we thank you for your hospitality.”

"Mountain.” Quieter, hesitant, he accepted the deferent greeting of the Abbey's leader.

“You must meet some of our Earth ghouls! Your knowledge of the southern environment especially will be of tremendous interest to them.”

“How many ghouls live here?” asked Aether, curious.

“It fluctuates, but several dozen ghouls at least call this place home. A few of my own kind too, although we are in the minority.”

“You say the number of ghouls changes,” Mountain spoke with caution in his tone, “does this mean if we chose to stay, we would be free to leave again as we choose?”

“Of course, of course! I would never want to hold any ghoul against their will.” Copia seemed appalled by the suggestion.

“And what payment would you expect if we do stay?”

“For now, nothing. The knowledge in your book that Dewdrop brought to us is more than valuable enough for you to stay here while your youngest recovers. However, if you choose to remain here long term you would be expected to help out in some small way, in the infirmary or the gardens or wherever you feel best suited.”

Dew couldn't blame them for confirming what he had told them. He hoped it would build their trust in the leader to have him acknowledge how life worked here.

“Sunshine here for example,” he patted her on her curly head as she vibrated nearby like an excited puppy, “is helping our Earth ghouls build a tropical climate greenhouse. It is a rare treat, to have a multi ghoul in our midst.” Copia looked at Swiss with a marvelling smile as he spoke.

“Also, I hear you have much experience in dealing with humankind. I understand you may not want to, given recent events,” he winced on their behalf, “but it is one of my goals to spread His message even further with the help of ghouls, His most magnificent creations. That is also a possibility for you to assist me with, if you choose.”

The ghouls shared a glance – none of them especially enamoured with humanity right now.

“Anyway! Come, come. Let me show you how our work is going. We are almost done!”

Copia bustled back over towards the cluster of desks.

“Why did he greet us like we're royalty?” muttered Swiss in Dew's ear as they followed, loud enough for Mountain and Aether to hear, but no one else.

“It's just his way,” Dew murmured back, “he thinks ghouls are the physical manifestation of His Unholiness, and it means we can get away with murder here, sometimes literally.”

They stopped behind an earth ghoul at one of the desks, carefully inking a leafy plant. It was a near-perfect copy of Mountain's own drawing but the lines lacked the organic fluidity and familiarity of the shape Mountain had so easily rendered. Two more ghouls had the book itself open between them, squinting at the tiny text, roughly scribbling it down onto separate sheets for yet other ghouls, Mist included, to write up neatly onto pages to be bound later.

“As you see, we have a very efficient system to ensure we can return original texts that fall into our hands to their rightful owners as soon as possible.” Copia explained. “I am creating the cover to bind it, imbuing it with prayers for longevity in the hope that it may last many generations beyond me.”

As Aether leaned forward over the vacant seat to see the page Mist had been working on, the library doors burst open again with a slam. The young quintessence ghoul they had seen the day before came running in, panting with exertion.

“It's Rain,” he gasped.

Dew took off running without waiting to hear more. Pushing past the quintessence ghoul, he paid no heed to if his packmates were following him or not. He tore along the corridor, the footfalls echoing in his ears blending with the pounding of his heartbeat. In front of the doors to the infirmary he skidded to a stop before throwing himself through them.

Rain was sat hunched over in bed, shaking and hyperventilating with eyes as wide as saucers. The acrid scent of panic filled the air as Dew raced to his side, recognising the signs of another nightmare instantly.

“Rain!” he cried, ignoring the hands that tried to stop him clambering onto the bed to hold the water ghoul. “Please wake up, none of it's real!”

Around him, the ghouls called instructions, Dew ignoring them all in favour of rocking Rain back and forth as his gasps turned into sobs when he woke. He pressed Rain's head to his chest, smothering him in comforting touches. Hands pulled at Dew, dragging him away from Rain so one of the attending ghouls could press their fingers to Rain's forehead, sedating him with a burst of quintosis.

[i-needserotonin]

villains series AU but it's just House M.D and they commit medical malpractice and crimes together <3

[unknownchoatic]

did some whiteboard art -its all high school au

the first drawing is Error, second is Dust and Killer, and the last one is also Killer

[shameboree]

could NOT stop thinking about THIS VID in relation to fallon. i draw her as a sex menace so often that i feel the need to reinforce that she has a very specific type of Professional Brain Damage

[crimeronan]

How does a "You look so much like your father" style comment plays out in the bad timeline in which Vee wasn't there to tell Camila about Belos?

i think it goes down pretty similarly to how it does in the main AU timeline, honestly. i guess the key differences here being that hunter isn't present and that luz is completely disoriented and out of her element.

camila murmurs it without thinking and luz flinches really bad and camila kicks herself & Immediately apologizes. she doesn't know luz has father-specific trauma now, but she Does know she's a strange lady that luz doesn't remember & that luz is having a godawful time & that it's not fair to dump any familial expectations on her. she's really careful not to say anything similar in the future.

[idkhowtoread-ink]

Idk if they have a b-day different from the OGs so here you go!

[skyedancer2006]

Group pic consisting only of myself/my kintypes bc the kintype drawing made last month isn’t accurate anymore XD

[t-tissue-3]

Undertale sans

[greenkirbkid456u]

Aww what's the matter vasillis? Scared of yourself!

Meet puppet! They're a vasillis clone i will tell you more about what the hell is a clone and what is this au later

[luetta]

idk if people on tumblr know about this but a cybersecurity software called crowdstrike just did what is probably the single biggest fuck up in any sector in the past 10 years. it's monumentally bad. literally the most horror-inducing nightmare scenario for a tech company.

some info, crowdstrike is essentially an antivirus software for enterprises. which means normal laypeople cant really get it, they're for businesses and organisations and important stuff.

so, on a friday evening (it of course wasnt friday everywhere but it was friday evening in oceania which is where it first started causing damage due to europe and na being asleep), crowdstrike pushed out an update to their windows users that caused a bug.

before i get into what the bug is, know that friday evening is the worst possible time to do this because people are going home. the weekend is starting. offices dont have people in them. this is just one of many perfectly placed failures in the rube goldburg machine of crowdstrike. there's a reason friday is called 'dont push to live friday' or more to the point 'dont fuck it up friday'

so, at 3pm at friday, an update comes rolling into crowdstrike users which is automatically implemented. this update immediately causes the computer to blue screen of death. very very bad. but it's not simply a 'you need to restart' crash, because the computer then gets stuck into a boot loop.

this is the worst possible thing because, in a boot loop state, a computer is never really able to get to a point where it can do anything. like download a fix. so there is nothing crowdstrike can do to remedy this death update anymore. it is now left to the end users.

it was pretty quickly identified what the problem was. you had to boot it in safe mode, and a very small file needed to be deleted. or you could just rename crowdstrike to something else so windows never attempts to use it.

it's a fairly easy fix in the grand scheme of things, but the issue is that it is effecting enterprises. which can have a looooot of computers. in many different locations. so an IT person would need to manually fix hundreds of computers, sometimes in whole other cities and perhaps even other countries if theyre big enough.

another fuck up crowdstrike did was they did not stagger the update, so they could catch any mistakes before they wrecked havoc. (and also how how HOW do you not catch this before deploying it. this isn't a code oopsie this is a complete failure of quality ensurance that probably permeates the whole company to not realise their update was an instant kill). they rolled it out to everyone of their clients in the world at the same time.

and this seems pretty hilarious on the surface. i was havin a good chuckle as eftpos went down in the store i was working at, chaos was definitely ensuring lmao. im in aus, and banking was literally down nationwide.

but then you start hearing about the entire country's planes being grounded because the airport's computers are bricked. and hospitals having no computers anymore. emergency call centres crashing. and you realised that, wow. crowdstrike just killed people probably. this is literally the worst thing possible for a company like this to do.

crowdstrike was kinda on the come up too, they were starting to become a big name in the tech world as a new face. but that has definitely vanished now. to fuck up at this many places, is almost extremely impressive. its hard to even think of a comparable fuckup.

a friday evening simultaneous rollout boot loop is a phrase that haunts IT people in their darkest hours. it's the monster that drags people down into the swamp. it's the big bag in the horror movie. it's the end of the road. and for crowdstrike, that reaper of souls just knocked on their doorstep.

[syoddeye]

something something possessed by a worm. you're soap's captive girlfriend who got the call that he was shot. i wrote this between the hours of 2-3 am, so let's be chill. ~1.3k words.

cw: italics, imprisonment/abduction, surveillance, medical inaccuracies we breeze right over, threats of violence, collaring, stalking, noncon blowjob.

on paper, it looks bad. it looks cruel. yet, you can’t bring yourself to care—johnny’s injury is a blessing.

it feels like you won the lottery, picking up the emergency phone. inbound calls only. you were so sure it was him, warning you of his imminent return.

playing the part of a devastated partner is easy. the englishman on the other end of the call sympathizes with your crocodile tears and helpfully tells you that someone will fetch you tomorrow morning. that you'll be brought, at no expense, to sit vigil at your boyfriend's side at the hospital. you hear the word ‘coma’, and launch out of bed. you only half listen to the rest of the conversation, hurriedly packing a bag as he drones. you can't end the call fast enough.

dismantling the flat comes first. you smash the cameras and flush the bugs. pry the tracker tag off your collar and bloody your fingers in the process. later, you’ll stick it on a bus.

you scour every nook and cranny, eventually finding the steel box you've seen john fiddling with. after trial and error, you pick the lock, and it’s a relief to see your id and passport again. it’s like a time capsule. past you offers a genuine, albeit shy smile, and you mutter an apology as you tuck her into a pocket. the last of the snacks he’d left go in with your clothes, as well as the few expensive-looking heirlooms he keeps around the flat. 

someone might call about the wide-eyed, crazed woman jumping off the balcony into the bushes. it’s a risk you take. the nearest pawnbroker, if you remember correctly, is only a ten-minute walk away. the cash you end up with isn’t much, but it's the first chunk of money that's yours in ages.

you hold your breath from glasgow to amsterdam and, by sheer luck, find your godmother’s place by memory alone. she’s surprised to find you on her doorstep, but she buys your story of an au pair job gone sour and lets you stay. truth and reality are too humiliating and too risky so long as you’re on european soil. you lay low, but nobody turns up. no one comes looking.

out of an abundance of caution, you cut and dye your hair anyway. you look up every variation of ‘john mactavish’ and scour obituaries and news articles. you don’t find a thing, but you know he’s special forces—they wouldn’t necessarily publish an announcement.

weeks pass. she doesn’t say a word, but guilt gnaws at you for living off your godmother’s kindness. after dodging their calls, you reach out to your parents and beg them to buy you a plane ticket home to chicago. although they welcome you stateside, they’re distressed and confused about your sudden departure and separation from ‘that nice scottish boy’ they’d met over facetime. they didn’t know about the knife just out of frame or the disturbing sketches he’d draw of your mother from memory. you lie through your teeth and blame his hectic work schedule because it’s easier to say that than admit your little journey of ‘self-discovery’ didn’t lead you into a ‘whirlwind romance’, but a fucking nightmare.

(it started as a dreamy evening of darts and drinks, where a cute soldier made you laugh all the way into his bed. a mirage that hid his true intentions. grand overtures designed to dazzle you until it was too late. until he got you fired and evicted. somehow arranged for your visa to be revoked. orchestrated your demoralization and subsequent breakdown. ushered you into his flat with open arms, cooing and rubbing your back as you hiccuped and sobbed. those days are a blur, a series of escalations. a slow boil you didn’t feel until it scalded, until he locked the collar around your neck. even then, you felt like a failure. that it was all your fault for believing the lies. he laid you out beneath him, whispering the things he’d do to your family if you ran. how the powers at be would let him, given his work. a slap on the wrist. that’s all i’d get, hen.)

months turn into a year. you still look up johnny's name on occasion. still stare when you see a mohawk. yet, little by little, you feel like yourself again. rejoin society. get a shit job. you refuse to touch the dating pool with a ten-foot pole, but you don't feel naked wearing short sleeves anymore. don't flinch at the sound of dog tags clinking together.

you pick up a night shift, determined to save extra money so you can find your own apartment and stop leeching off your parents. everything's fine and dandy. slightly creepy, given the hour, but nothing you can't handle. (after johnny, you handle anything.) you close, intending to take out the trash as you lock up. the alley smells like piss and beer.

tossing the bag into the dumpster, you freeze at the silhouette at the mouth of the passage. they face away, cigarette smoke wafting from their person. they probably don't see you, but just to be safe, you turn to head in the other direction to take the long way to the L—

at least, you would, if johnny wasn't looming over you, night terrors manifest. big, broad shoulders and a puffed-out chest. a grin as wide and sharp as you remember. and those bright blue eyes, the light in them flattening in real time as he drinks in your expression. he relishes the way your face drops. the instant terror. a horrific scar catches your eye, flaring in every direction on his temple like a furious sun.

did ye think i'd forgotten ye, bonnie? or hope the gunshot erased ye? did ye believe me dead?

when you start to cry, because why wouldn't you, he—

no, no. hush. this is a good thing. a happy day. we're reunited, and i'm meetin' my girl's parents. cap's gone ahead to break the ice.

and when you scream, because why wouldn't you, he clamps a hand over your mouth and pins you to the dumpster. doesn't care a whit when your head bounces off the metal. the light returns to his eyes as you squirm. his brows pitch, lips curling. he brandishes a knife and stammers through his reprimand, scolding you for all your struggling.

i see ye forgot the rules and your manners. forgot what'll happen if ye dinnae–din–fuckin' play nice.

johnny forces you into a car, muttering reminders of what happens when you run. assures you, even as he loads you bodily into the backseat, sandwiching you between him and some massive freak in a mask, that he is forgiving. when the car rejoins traffic, johnny works his fly open. it takes a minute, his hands a bit unsteady.

a near-death experience clarifies things. puts what's important into focus. john says he saw his future clear as crystal, then shoves your head down without warning. he barks at the man on your other side, and a hand comes to rest on your flank, causing you to whimper around his cock. he moans sinfully at that before violently fucking your throat.

by the time he comes, you're spent. the fight gone out of you. the mitt on your side migrates to your inner thigh, but you can't begin to care. you’re resigned to drooling on john's lap. you pray for a car crash.

johnny explains how, given his connections, it took only two months to find you. they let him do that because of his work, but he decided to wait and bide his time. he details all the therapy, rehab, and everything he did to get into shape, to get his head on straight, and to get to you himself. plus, there was the matter of tracking down his second quarry. naughty, how you pawned it for less than half its value.

his grandmother's ring fits you perfectly. fate, he calls it.

but you know another collar when you see one.

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. will prob get a pt.2. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[hedwig221b]

Hi could u pls suggest a pic where derek or Stiles gets injured and the other takes care of them?

Ah, yes, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, the top tier duo...

Holy Injuries, Batman! by LadyDrace

Stiles gets hurt. Badly. Getting better turns out to be more of a process than anyone expected, and there are a few surprises along the way.

Leave It All Behind by asarcasticwitch

A coil of panic tightens in his chest as, after just three short rings, Derek’s voice—raspy as if barely awake—echoes through the speaker. “Do you know what time it is?” he grumbles, and at any other time, Stiles would’ve made a joke or retorted with something so sarcastic it would’ve undoubtedly earned him a huff in return. But right now, he can’t think of anything to say.

Our Days Are Numbered by tylerfucklin

They didn't know, not until it was too late. The damage was done; the scars and broken bones made, and the nightmares endless. No amount of corrective surgeries and physical therapy would take away what had happened to Stiles that day.

Beltane by DevilDoll

"Watching Stiles heal someone has always been a little uncomfortable for Derek, like he's seeing something intimate and private that shouldn't have an audience. That's nothing compared to how it feels." This is an AU in which Stiles has magical healing powers.

The Bite by LeeHan

The first time Stiles was offered the bite, he said no, but the universe only gave him the courtesy of asking so many times. When the inevitability of the bite catches up with him, Stiles has to face his new nature. Luckily, he has Derek by his side every step of the way.

Surrounded and up against a wall, I’ll shred ‘em all (and go with you) by Gorgeousgreymatter

Stiles hates hospitals. He’s always hated hospitals. Well, not always (who likes them, anyway?), but since her. Since before -- and now just the thought of them makes him want to retch, gives him that crawling-out-his-skin feeling that makes him want to peel it all off with his fingernails. Which he should really stop biting, he muses, wincing as he tears a hangnail off with a rabid flash of teeth.

Although, technically this wasn’t exactly a hospital. Not for humans anyway. But whatever, Stiles thinks, veterinary hospitals still counted. At least as long as Derek was in that back room screaming like he’s dying, because maybe he is.

This is Ridiculous by zosofi

There's a unicorn in Beacon Hills. A fricken' unicorn. In fricken' Beacon Hills, California. And it turns out that unicorns aren't drawn towards virgins in a happy-go-lucky let-me-lay-my-not-at-all-metaphorical-horn-in-your-lap way. No. They kill them. And guess who's the only virgin idiotic enough to get sucked into the Beacon Hills supernatural scene? Stiles, that's who.

I will stand with you by Taigrin

John Stilinski comes home to find Stiles and Derek passed out on the couch pretty much after telling his son to stay away from the werewolf.

Or the one with family Stilinski feels mixed up with angst and a hurt alfa.

Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | mafia | magical!Stiles

[soullessdianthus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 | 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐔

❗ APOLOGIES for the tag list in the comments, Tumblr has an issue with tagging more than 5 people ❗

Summary: Victorian AU where you are hired by Lord Simon Riley as his housekeeper in the secluded countryside. Besides the gardener - Johnny, you barely sees anyone around the house and the strange things begin to happen around you. The manor, or rather its residents, hides a terryfing secret.

AO3 link ⟶ 𝕏

A/N: Huge thanks to @starsexplodeatnight who was so kind and sweet to help me with the fashion aspects of this fic. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Also, won't lie, @ohbo-ohno's works and Ghoap dynamics inspired me to go back to the roots and to write some darker, gothic romance with Ghoap and Reader. At least I tried. ╮(￣▽￣"")╭

Warnings: dark themes, religious themes, dubcon/noncon (full list on Ao3)

Word count: 7.6k

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄

Lord Riley’s house seemed to be alive at times. The wind sweeping through the draughty windows fills the lungs of the great manor. Old, wooden flooring creaks and the glass strain within its frames. 

You hated how untamed your imagination was especially after nightfall, when the darkness creeped in every hollow and corner of the manor. Since the first day, every night you would leave a single candle lit on the bedside table just to ease the vivid imaginations. When you were a child your mother scolded you about reading such profanities about ghosts and curses. 

And now you knew why. If the candle wasn't lit, strange figures danced in the shadows, their eyes imprinting into your skin and if were they real, would they try to hurt you or rather warn you?

But now, as a grown up woman, those nightmares of your childhood came back to haunt you once again. 

With all of your heart you were grateful for Sir Jonathan Price, a friend of your family, who helped you get into Lord Riley’s favour. It was him who wrote a letter of recommendation to make it easier for you to find a good, suitable job as a woman of your status. 

But he didn’t mention once that the manor was so far from civilization. 

Johnny quickly became your closest confidant around here. A Scottish gardener whose brown hair reached down to his broad shoulders and sparkly eyes in the colour of clear sky. He took care of the gardens as well as master’s horses and sometimes you could find him repairing a fence or something of sort. Johnny was a hardworking man, only a few years older than you, but he was also gentle, clever and jolly.

Such an opposite to Lord Simon who was everything but what Scot was – silent, harsh former lieutenant who would rather spend his time in the solitude of his chambers. Otherwise he would go on a ride or hunt into the forest on one of his favourite studs. Simon’s face was pale as a ghost’s and covered with shallow scars, remnants of his service in the army. 

Nonetheless, the tall, portly man seemed to enjoy your presence, if you dared to assume that, purely because you were quick to adapt. Lord liked his silence and you did not want to disturb your master’s peace, wouldn’t you? 

Within a week you have learned the following pattern – each day started with breakfast, which you ate alongside Lord, sporadically noticing the presence of busy cook, Kyle Garrick, who didn’t happen to talk much. Then, you would proceed with your everyday duties. Which did not include sneaking around to go and talk with the gardener, but nevertheless you did.  

And as the evening would finally come, you were sitting in the playroom of the manor embroidering while Mr. Riley was reading his book. Even Johnny was allowed to come sit with both of you, gnawing at the wooden pipe between his teeth. It all felt so domestic in such a short period of time. 

And how could you believe such gossip about Lord’s hospitality, or rather its lacking, hearsay in the city? 

Sundays were always a day of rest. You were sitting in your bedroom on the highest floor, reading one of the novels you brought from home. Too entertained with the story, you blindly reached for the cup of tea standing nearby. The noise of ceramic pot splattering across the floor caused you to tense immediately. 

It shattered to pieces. Such a waste, it was a pretty one. 

You closed the book with a sigh and set it aside, slowly walking towards a storage on this floor. With a small broom in your hand you returned to your room only to find it oddly… clean. The staining of spilled tea on the flooring was gone just as the bits of what was left of the floral cup. 

Almost like it never even happened. 

Your eyes wandered across the chamber, searching for the mess you just made. But every little trace of it was gone. You kneeled down and looked under each piece of furniture. Still, nothing was found, a broken teapot swallowed by the void.

Slowly you retracted from the room onto the long hallway, searching for the maids or signs of their presence. It must have been one of them, right?

— Hello? — You asked with hesitation in your voice, but there was no living soul to answer you back. Not nearby anyways. 

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈

Coos of the crows and rattle of their wings echoed through the old trees. And although the sky was grey and cloudy that day, no rain had yet fallen. Alongside Johnny, you went for an afternoon stroll down the borderline of the forest, enjoying a minute of break.

— How long have you been working for Lord Simon? 

— A couple of years now — the man reached down the wild grain growing on the field and plucked a single piece. He continued to play with it between his thick digits, brows narrowed as he reflected on his further answer. — He hired and gave me a roof over my head when I retired from service.

— You were a soldier too?

Johnny nodded with a simple “aye” and you smiled.

— What?

— Nothing. Didn’t think such a gentle gardener was once enlisted. 

— Yeah? Didn’t think a pretty lass like yourself would be so nosy. — He smacked the tip of your nose with the stalk he was holding. 

Your cheeks grew rosy and warm, when he paid you a compliment. Not that you were a prude! Actually far from that, but it was just that Johnny was so charming and he definitely knew how to sweet talk to a woman like you. 

— Not nosy, it’s considered rude — you explain to him, fidgeting with your fingers yet a smile is painted upon your face. — “Curious” I think suits me better. Those who spread gossip about others’ affairs and tragedies are the nosy ones. See, that’s the difference. 

Johnny stopped suddenly and took your hand into his palms. He held you gently, almost like you were made out of glass and he, with his admirable strength, could break you into pieces. What a great waste it would be to destroy such a pure soul. He leaned closer to your ear, warm breath tickling your sensitive skin and your heart almost jumped out of the ribcage. Should his closeness excite you so much? Should a grown woman be this rash?

— Only if we were seen by someone, here on the glade, alone. Scandalous — the man mocked such behaviours, while brushing a single strand of your hair behind the ear. — What would they think, hm? 

Before you took a step back, your gaze met his for a brief moment. There was a hint of curiosity and playfulness in his blue eyes. And perhaps something else, something much more obvious than you believed it was. 

Something that made men weak.

— Right, what would they say, Johnny? Who? — You asked him playfully, though your expression was full of sorrow. —  I barely see anyone around the house. I’m starting to believe those servants are some… ghouls living in the attic or they simply avert me so often. 

— Lord likes his peace, they work as if they weren’t there. Just as it needs to be. 

— It’s been some days now and I hadn’t met any of them. You’re the only person who actually talks to me. Don’t you get lonely there?

— Simon’s and your presence is enough for me. And well, it’s nice to talk to Mr. Garrick sometimes. 

— He talks to you? 

The cold breeze danced through your hair, causing you to shiver. Dry and brittle leaves crunched under your soles when the two of you continued to walk down the old pathway. 

— Autumn here is tough, lass, you should have worn a sweater. We should head back home, the nightfall is coming. 

You loathed the cold weather and how freezing the chambers got in the morning. Your first winter in England’s countryside might not be as pleasant as you thought it would be, with cold feet and no one in the manor to warm your spirit up. 

No peers, no guests, no neighbours. Just you, Johnny and Lord Riley.

You stood back in the middle of your quarter, looking at everything and anything at the same time. Each detail like a porcelain vase with flowers or lace tablecloth looked so neat, with no sign of dust it was almost impossible. Many questions were stacked inside of your head. 

Was your chamber cleaned every single day? If so, when did they do it? And why hadn't you even bumped into any of the servants of the manor? Yes, the building was large, but at some point you had to meet the staff, right? 

It has officially been two weeks since you moved to live and work here. Although using the word “work” was far-fetched. You hoped to become a governess to Lord Riley’s children, but that dream was quickly demolished as he had none. So then it was told that you were responsible for the house work, but there was no one to supervise as they were constantly hiding from you. So you were sitting there at the end of the day in a living room, chaperoning your Lord. This time without Johnny.

Fireplace was spitting long flames, popping ashes into the air. The interior was welcoming, when the wind behind the windows grew stronger. A storm was coming. 

— May I ask you a question, Sir? — You had put aside your embroidery set, before finally asking. The blonde man hummed, eyes still transfixed on the lecture he was reading. — How often do the maids come to my room?

— As often as needed. Why?

— I wanted to rearrange my quarters this morning, just to push the bed closer to the wall, but when I returned from the afternoon stroll, it was back in its primary place. 

— Then they fixed the furniture, didn’t they? 

You had a feeling that was not the case. You scratched the flooring during the first attempt, if the staff was to push the bed back to its origins, they would only do further damage. Yet, the wooden planks were brand as new. No signs of any scratches.

Were you hysterical? Was it all your vivid imagination?

— But it’s heavy, my Lord.

— And yet you managed to move it. So did they. 

Lord Riley was grumpy again, his voice hoarse and accent thick. 

You once again took the needle threaded with string into your fingers and returned to the unfinished piece, but the urge to continue pushing him was stronger. You might rather bite your tongue in the future. 

— Maybe I should talk with them and explain that I prefer it the other way. 

— I prefer when the rules of my household are followed. You wouldn’t have such an idea if you didn’t have so much free time.

Your hands dropped to your lap as you abruptly looked at him, slightly offended. And even though Lord tried to conceive this, you noticed how the edges of his lips twitched in a tiny smile. He was toying with you.

Simon was strict. Perhaps he never abandoned the military's rules and drills. He was an adamant man who valued his own comfort. That means, obeying his rules. 

— Come, I might have an idea how to keep you busy.

The Lord of the house rose from his seat. Each time you stood next to him, you were intimidated by his height and solid build. Despite being off duty, he kept his admirable physics of a Greek god. 

At least that is how the books you kept so dear to your heart described the brave warriors. 

You followed the master into his private library and patiently stood right behind him, when he was searching for a certain book. Finally he reached a thick tome in your direction – “A Mortal Immortal” by Mary Shelley. 

— Here, this may interest you — but when you stretched out to receive it, he moved the novel out of your reach. — Ah, ah. What do we say?

— Thank you. For borrowing me your book. 

— However, when I think about it, I’m worried this will only worsen your… troubled mind.

— My mind?

— Johnny told me you worry too much about some nonsense that should not be your priority in the first place. You’re letting this place and its solitude haunt you. Are you of a weak mind, girl? — You quickly understood what he was referring to, so to prove the point you denied the vile accusation. — So, I’d recommend you stop being childish and focus on your chores. Then everything will be alright, understood? 

— I’m not childish.

— Is that clear? — He repeated with much harsher tone.

You nodded slightly, barely visible, but enough to agree with the Lord.

— Now, go to your chamber, it’s getting late. 

His dark eyes carefully inspected your figure. You noticed him staring at your neckline for far too long than what was decent. His coarse hand swiped over yours when he was giving you the book. The cold metal of his signet felt like a thousand sharp stings. 

What kind of game was the Lord of Riley Manor playing with you? 

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈

The simmering sound of something powerful cracking snatched you from the peaceful dream. Every muscle in your body tensed and you sat up, holding the duvets tight when a thunder enlightened the black sky. Your heart beated fast within its cage of bones and breath shattered, anticipating.

Surely, thunderstorms can happen in late autumn, but you had never predicted it to happen this night. You felt uneasy, when another loud rumble made you scared. Then there was the banging window frame, somewhere in the long hallway and those horrible, horrible whistles of wind. They sound almost like human cries. 

At first you ducked down beneath the covers to shield yourself from the haunting sounds, thinking that the servants would take care of the open window. But minutes passed and they didn’t. 

With a lit candle on a metal holder you walked down the corridor, the flame being the only source of light. 

So when the wind coming through the window blew it off, you gasped loudly in panic – you barely saw your own hands in front of you!

— No, no, no…

You almost screamed when someone placed their hand upon your shoulder and then your mouth. A familiar figure was illuminated by another lighting. You could never mistake those blue eyes for another. 

— Shh, bonnie. It’s me — Johnny whispered, slowly uncovering your mouth. — I heard the fuss. You alright? 

— Actually, no… Did you hear those sounds?

Your hands squeezed the candle holder, when the gardener rushed to close the open window. You shivered, only a thin layer of nightgown covering your skin. You looked behind, checking if you were alone in the hallway. It certainly felt like you weren’t. It had to be the ghouls. 

— What sounds? 

— Howling, distressed cries? Wails? I-I heard them in my chamber. 

— You’re scared of the storms?

— No, that’s not-

— It’s okay to get spooked sometimes — he cut you off and grabbed your hand, slowly leading you back where you came from. — Come, let’s get you to your room.

— Oh, don’t belittle me. — You frowned upon him, yet you doubt he had seen it. You clung to his strong arm like a scared girl, not eager to get lost in the darkness again. 

— That was not my intention. Was just trying to comfort you.

When you finally reached your room, you couldn’t find the strength to let go of his hand. You interlocked your smooth and delicate fingers with his digits.

— Please, Johnny, don’t go. I’m… scared. 

— Of thunder? — He chuckled, petting the palm of your hand. 

— No, this place. Something is not right, please, I–

— It’s okay, you got scared a little, that’s all. You really want me to stay? 

You shuddered when taking a deep breath, calculating every possible consequence of this decision.

This was not right. 

— Yes.

When he stepped inside of the room, a rush of excitement flooded your veins and sank on the bottom of your stomach. Perhaps it was foolish and considered promiscuous inviting a man into your bedroom, but your body and heart desired otherwise. 

Johnny’s presence brought you comfort that you were longing for, his touch ascended your worries to the void and filled the troubled mind with pleasure. Nothing else.

Without a word spoken the two of you moved to the narrow, still warm bed and climbed under the sheets. Johnny captured your head between his hands and pulled in a gentle kiss on the lips. In his performance he was eager, sloppy yet charming. One of his palms gripped your hip through the crumpled material, just as you hooked one of your thighs over his hip. 

Foolish, foolish girl. 

— You’re so pretty — he whispered through the thick air as he pressed his forehead to yours. The curve of his nose filled your bridge as you looked at him from under your lashes. — The moment I first saw you getting out of the coach, that day you arrived, I knew I couldn’t ever let you go, bonnie.

Johnny swiftly moved on top of your lying form, holding that one thigh open. He continued the passionate assault on your lips, carefully rolling the hem of your nightgown up. 

Your body was on fire, everything inside of you screamed this was wrong, but somehow, the sinner inside of you called for him. For his touch, for his affection and his sweet, sweet nectar. 

Only when he started caressing your mound and its slit did you acknowledge where his hand wandered. And although his skin was rather tough  from all the years of hard work, his touch was gentle and surprisingly precise. You gasped lovely. It didn’t take that much of a hassle for him to make you wet and eager down there.

— Oh, Johnny… 

His name rolled off your tongue like honey, a music to his ears. It wasn’t long enough before he was grinding over your thigh with his excited and leaking length. 

— You are what we needed. A little warm sunshine, eh? 

Did you hear “we”?

But before you could ask him, he began stretching your cunt a little bit too carelessly to your liking. All his prudence was gone, as he got drunk on your scent and how you felt around him. Your hand gripped his bicep and your glossy eyes went wide like a scared doe. 

— Johnny, Johnny, slow — you breathed out through muffled whine and the man atop of you stilled. — Slow, please.

He could feel how your heart pumped within your veins. 

— I’m sorry, bonnie. Let me kiss it better — the gardener leaned down to pepper your face with kisses. And when he got to the sweet spot on your neck, you giggled — shh, we don’t want to wake him, don’t we? 

Obviously he meant Lord Simon. 

He set a steady yet bearable rhythm as his hips rolled into you in waves. His chest was close to yours, brushing sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of a nightgown. You were pushed into the cushioned pillow, hair splayed beneath like roots of the ancient tree. 

You felt so lightheaded yet so good at the same time. Sparkling, increasing sensation tickling the nerves and blinding the vision. Johnny was all you could experience in that moment. He was the only thing you could smell, touch and taste, when he was trying to steal the air from your lungs. You fell into the abyss of pleasure quickly, all the latest worries fading away.

And the horribly loud storm? Didn’t matter at that moment. All thunders quietened down and the entire world could be burning in flames and ashes, but you wouldn’t even notice. 

The man moaned deeply from his throat, when he got closer to his peak, hips frantically snapping against yours. You barely managed to entangle your shaking fingers within his brown hair, right above the nape of the lover’s neck. With one more final thrust both of you indulged sweet, sweet pleasure.

Johnny stayed until the morning came, just as he promised. With an expression of pure ecstasy and lust, you snuggled into his chest. He wrapped a pair of arms around you and for the first time since the arrival you felt at peace sleeping in the manor. The candle remained snuffed out. 

In the morning of the following day, you went to the city with Mrs. Garrick to receive the remaining letters and a few other errands. You and the cook split to settle matters quickly. 

The post office was a small place with barely anyone inside but a friendly looking old lady behind the counter. 

— Good morning, I’d like to receive the mail for Lord Riley.

You put on a polite smile, walking closer to the counter and removing the bonnet from your head.

— So you are the new housekeeper, I’ve heard about you. It’s been a while since someone got his letters, guess he still ain’t leaving the house?

— No, ma’am. Lord is rather… — you paused, searching for the right description of your employer — a private person. 

— Always had been, even before he went to war. But oh, that was years ago, I hope he softened at least a little. Such a sad and grumpy boy he was. 

There was something in the way she phrased it that made your body still. Blood got so heated up anyone that touched you could feel it on the outside. Did she mean the previous Lord, father of Simon Riley? But that couldn’t be the case, this title was newly found when he returned from the war. So what was this all about? 

— Forgive me, you said “years ago”? How long ago was it? You see, I’m not from here and the Lord doesn’t share much about himself.

— Of course he does not and do not expect otherwise — she waved with her wrinkled finger, before reaching for the bile of letters from the shelf behind her. — It was around twenty five years ago, Lord Riley was the same age as my son when he joined the Queen’s army.

— I see. 

You were confused, extremely confused. The blonde Lord with scarred face did not look a year past his thirties, how could this be that he enlisted quarter of century ago? At that moment you felt so horrified by this anomaly. 

Through the rest of the day and the day that followed, the old maiden aunt’s words echoed inside of your head:

— I am surprised anyone actually was willing to take that job. Lord Riley is a… forgive me for speaking so freely, but he’s a strange man who abandoned the word of God years ago. Why do you think he got pushed away from the post earlier? 

He was…? 

You didn’t look the same into the depths of the windows of the Manor, nor did you stare at the dark corner of the hall. Every sound of wood creaking sent shivers down your spine. They were coming. 

Oh God, have you gone mad?  

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

You stirred the porridge over and over again, watching as the gooey mush slipped from the spoon down to its den. Despite the tremendous amount of honey you added it still tasted rather bitter this morning. 

— Did you finish?

— Excuse me?

You tightened the hold over the silver spoon when Lord’s hoarse voice brought you back to the eerie reality. 

— The book. I asked if you finished the book? — Blonde man raised his thick brow in question, curiously looking at you from his own plate. 

— Oh, yes, yes. I enjoyed it, however I found Winzy’s life quite miserable to be honest. And tragic.

— Why so? 

— Well, he lost the woman he loved so dearly and then had to continue living eternally without her. Imagine how lonely his life had to be, when he must have outlived every single friend he had made. 

— If he was so miserable as you say, then why wouldn’t he just end his suffering and join the woman he claimed to love? Maybe he didn’t really care after all. — Simon leaned back in his chair, exhaling loudly. — I sometimes wonder what his life would look like if he had given the potion to Bertha. A pair of immortals walking this earth, would they become some sort of Gods?

— Doesn’t the thought of living so long… make you feel… I don’t know, unease , my Lord?

— No. I’ve seen worse things than an old man. Those who fear death might go to extremes just to avoid their end.  

— We were not made to live forever, don’t we? We should not play God.

— There is no God, sweet girl. Only sinners and fools. Those who play and those who lose. Are you a loser?

— No, Sir. 

His dark eyes glowed in a mysterious manner as the silence fell between you two. The man was bright and had seen right through you. 

— Good. If we speak of the matter of sinners, I’d like to make one thing clear.

The Lord stood up from his seat, putting the white napkin on the table. His figure loomed closer toward his housekeeper and finally leaned on one of his hands over you. You could feel his breath on your neck, his closeness made you shiver. 

— You’ve been living under my roof and by now you should know I despite disobedience and liars. 

— I am no liar, Sir. 

— Perhaps not, but you hide things from me. Captain Price spoke of you in high regard - a well behaved woman from a respected family, yet you’ve proven yourself to be rather promiscuous. You even ensnared poor Johnny, didn’t you? 

That… was straight forward. 

— I did no such thing!

Suddenly he wrapped one of his strong hands over the nape of your neck, causing you to tense and lean away from his touch. The man began drawing circles over your skin with his thumb, almost like he tried to soothe your shattered nerves. You gasped at the sudden force he had put you in place.

— Watch yourself and think twice about answering again. 

— It was mutual.

— Mutual? — He repeated mockingly. — Johnny boy would fuck anything that moves in ten miles radius. And it just happened to be you. 

— How dare you speak like this? — You turned your head to look him in the face. When you did, you saw the insolent smirk painted over his pale face. — He is at least decent towards me, he’s kind and caring. We did nothing wrong. Why do you care?

Simon leaned down right next to your face. He continued to stare you down, his brows narrowed in deep disappointment. 

— You’ve built a wall between us, sweet girl. Yeah, you did. If there was something you ever needed, you should have come directly to me, your Lord. And I can assure you, Johnny did not give what you craved and desired. 

Inconveniently your face changed its colour to vivid blush, when he suggested such things. Your stomach felt like one, big knot twisting its way to get stuck in your oesophagus. Was that it? Was this how he perceived you? Was he jealous of the fling between you and Johnny or was he simply cruel?

Lord Riley let go of your pretty neck and caressed your cheek with the knuckles of his fingers. Just like one would touch a lover and another – a pet. 

— You’re frightened. Are you scared of me, is that it? Be obedient and you won’t have to be. Or do you really want to be punished so badly?

You quickly denied by shaking your head to the sides to which he only hummed. His weight shifted behind your back and a trail of footsteps could be heard as the Lord of the house left the dining room.

A moment passed before you caught yourself staring at the bowl of now cold porridge, slowly digesting the conversation you just held with him, your Master. 

The burden upon your poor, poor mind has overwhelmed you and the realisation of a potential madness weighed heavily upon you. Nothing made sense. Not a single logical explanation has come to light to soothe your fears. 

After those couple of weeks the staff and maids stayed in the shadows, Lord’s age did not match the tales of his youth and those horrible sounds you continued to hear at night? Ugh, they kept you awake, causing dark bags to show under your pretty eyes. 

The manor itself seemed to have poisoned you. Was that it? The reason? You knew you had to leave the house as soon as possible. You had to…

Oh God, what have you gotten yourself into? 

That night was no different to those before it. Wind blowing through the crack in the window’s frame, wheezing and whistling. Your bedsheets are exceptionally cold this time, causing you to shiver and tremble. The candle is still burning, a metal holder standing on the table. 

When you finally manage to curl up under the sheets and doze away slightly, you hear this agonising, scary wails. 

Wait. No. 

Those are no wails.

I-Is someone moaning?

You raised up to a sitting position in a half asleep state. Loose strands of hair stick to the forehead as you continue to listen for more sounds. 

Those seem to be almost human-like. Maybe they are? 

You throw the sheets to the side and crawl out of the bed. You’re frustrated and moody, close to tears from the exhaustion of not being able to sleep. Before you left your chamber, you grabbed that damn candle light and took a deep breath. 

Your bare feet left no traces behind as you walked down the dark hallway. The heart in your chest was about to burst, obviously you were still scared of the dark and what possibly lurks within it. The hem of your nightgown sweeped the wooden flooring that cracked underneath your weight. 

Then, you heard those moans again, louder. You were getting closer. Following the awful sounds you finally get to its source. You knew where your feet happened to take you to and that you shouldn’t have dared to enter this chamber. Nonetheless, you did. The shroud of mystery had to be torn. 

You slowly creeped towards the half-opened, heavy doors and sneaked inside where the darkness swallowed almost everything. Single candles had been lit across the room, creating an ascended ambience. You should have turned around and left, you understood that perfectly well. However, you wanted answers to all the secrets of the manor and its habitants. 

Behind the wooden screen there was a large bed and two figures sitting on its edge. Gardener who was completely bare and whining into Lord’s shoulder, drool leaving the corner of his mouth. Thighs spread open and eyes closed tight. And there he was – Lord Simon dressed in trousers and loose, white chemise. His big hand was tightly wrapped around Johnny’s angry cock, pulling and twisting the sensitive skin. They seemed to be enjoying themselves as Johnny whined pitifully again at the sensation. 

At least now you finally knew what those sounds were exactly – that stormy night Johnny came to you, were they also together? You couldn’t move and kept standing close to the screen, eyes transfixed at the scene you witnessed. So many emotions washed over you – were you embarrassed, scared or even jealous? The dots and the facts slowly began connecting. You had to make haste and leave this room. This house. You knew you had to get away tonight, before things would escalate. Oh God, you couldn’t properly breathe, your face and lungs felt like they were on fire!

— Looks like we have company — the coarse voice of a blonde man made your skin cover in goosebumps. He stared directly at you. — Want to join us? 

Unknowingly you made a muffled whine of embarrassment as you swiftly turned around and started to walk away in a hurry. As if you were in some kind of trance, your body going automatically. You rolled up the long hem of your nightgown not to stumble upon it as you found yourself on the corridor again. 

Christ! You forgot to take the candle with you! 

The breathing became difficult as you had to navigate somehow in the complete darkness. A part of your heart felt betrayed by the erotic scenery you just witnessed, although you couldn’t completely understand why. You and Johnny were a one time thing, why would you feel sorry for him bedding someone else? 

Probably because this “someone else” was your mutual employer.

There were heavy footsteps behind you, they were getting closer and closer. He was right behind the nosy intruder. You tried to fasten your pace, blindly going forward, hoping to find a staircase. Then it would lead you downstairs and outside of the building. But before you even made it halfway to the stairs, you bumped into a slim table standing by the wall. The vase standing on it fell and broke as the painful impact of the table's corner digging into your abdomen sent you to the ground. 

When it was clear you were within his grasp, you tried to crawl further away from him, trying to escape somehow. But Simon was faster and he collected you from the floor. 

— Come, before you’re gonna hurt yourself. — Lord Riley said as he managed to lift up and throw you over his broad shoulder with little effort.

You tried to break free by kicking like a goat and punching him with your curled fist. But how could the strength of a city girl ever compare to the former soldier’s? You groaned, you kicked and you cursed. Nothing could have prepared you for the harsh slap that Simon planted on your bottom. It stung, causing you to go still over his shoulder. And when he spanked you again you bit your lower lip, trying to confide any pathetic whines. 

— Should have whipped you long ago. Maybe it would teach you some respect. 

— I didn't mean to interrupt, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, my Lord!

— Oh, you happened to join us just in time. 

Lord Riley took you back to his bedroom and tossed you down onto his remarkably large bed. This time, he locked the doors from the inside and removed the key from the lock. You were stuck there with them. You managed to back up a little, before Johnny reached you. He sat at your side and carefully extended his hand towards your petrified face, a curtain of hair covering your pretty features.

— It’s alright, bonnie. Calm down. 

— I don’t want to be a part of this. — You stated, kneeling on the bed sheets splayed beneath. Simon stood tall with his hands crossed in front of you and the gardener. Johnny gently began to caress your back in a soothing manner. 

You were caught red handed, busted the only chance to run away and now you were more than positive he would never let you go. You tried to conceal the fears and shame, because now was the time to uncover the truth. 

— What is this? — You asked with a shaking voice, eyes transfixed on the two figures of men, going from the blonde to the brunette. — What’s going on? Please, let’s forget about this. I’ll go back to bed. I–I…

— You already are in one — Lord took a step forward and caught your jaw. He yanked your head up, forcing you to look at him. — Have you finally figured it out? I directly gave you clues. Come on, you’re a smart one. Put the pieces together. 

How could you come up with a logical conclusion? Everything you gathered through the weeks could be interpreted as a mad woman’s nonsense. But you weren’t ill, you were aware of the games going around you.

— You’re much older than you look, that’s what I know. And that you’ve done horrifying, unforgivable things during your service. Lord– Simon — you corrected yourself — what have you done? 

— Think. Harder. 

His patience was running thin. Simon spoke through his bared teeth. 

— Oh, God. Are you a part of this? — You looked at Johnny, before the blonde man caught your throat and lifted you on your feet again. 

— Don’t be harsh on her! She doesn’t know better. She needs to learn. — The Scotsman said to your defence, narrowing his thick brows and scrambling the bridge of his nose. All this time he was sitting comfortably on the bed, absolutely not bothered with his nakedness.  

— There is no God here, sweet girl, I already told you. Only me, Johnny and well, you. I’ve been kind enough to share a piece of me with you and that’s how you repay your Lord? In such childish, pathetic disobedience? Fucking nosy, aren’t we? Or just eager? 

The tall, bulky man reached with his other hand and forcefully cupped your crotch through the thin material of the nightgown, causing you to wriggle in his hold. He prodded against your slit with his finger, toying with you, testing the limits and your responses. And you were very responsive. 

In that moment you thought about the choice of literature Simon had given you. The main plotline revolved around immortality and its consequences, which would somehow explain… some things. Yet what about God? Why did Simon detest him so much?

— God turns his back on people like me and once you sin for us, he will turn on you too — he mockingly snorted, before continuing your torment. — If he didn’t already. 

You tried to tear from his hold, shaking yourself and pushing his chest away. Lord Riley stood like a mountain, not moving an inch. In a quick movement he twirled you around and took a firm hold of the nightgown material at your back. Then you heard how loudly the stitches broke and the teared material slowly fell to the ground, exposing your much alive and young flesh.

Before you realised you were completely bare and managed to cover yourself somehow, Simon grabbed your arms behind your back so you couldn’t move further. 

— I think he sent you to us as a gift — the man leaned against your shoulder, whispering into your ear. — Yeah, that’s what you are – a sweet, innocent present. Isn’t she cute, Johnny? 

Brunette finally stood up from the bed and gently caressed your hip. He was standing so close, you could feel his pulsating cock and its leaking tip on your supple thigh.

— Aye, she is lovely. 

— Have you tasted her, boy? That night you sneaked under her covers? — To which the dark haired one denied. — Well, I think you should compensate the little lady, no? Help her calm down, you know how women can get… hysterical. 

— W-Wait, wait, no, n-no… 

Simon sat down on the edge of the bed and placed you between his massive legs. One of his hands wrapped around your fragile, swan like neck and the other cupped your left breast. Meanwhile, Johnny got down onto his knees and moved closer to the two of you and before he dived between your thighs he looked into the dark irises of his Lord. Not yours. 

— He eats like I starve him beforehand. You’re gonna find out, lovely. 

You tried to squeeze your legs shut, but the gardener kept them spread wide so he could lean closer to your cunt. And when you tried anything like moving or wriggling away, Simon would pull or twist one of your nipples causing you to yelp. 

— She’s really pretty — the Scot said, parting your lower lips apart. The shame washed over you, causing your head to turn into Simon’s shoulder. — Never could have pulled such one while in the army. 

Then he flatten his tongue over your most sensitive parts and started dragging it along the slit. You entangled one of your hands within his brown strands of hair, on top of his head pulling slightly. When his lips sucked at your clit you finally moaned, releasing some tension and anger within you.

— Bird’s already singing.

Simon purred into your ear, nuzzling his eyebrow ridge into your head. The feelings and sensations you were experiencing overflowed your system. The man you trusted as your lover was assaulting your cunt with his mouth and the Lord you were supposed to work for was enjoying the show. You pressed your eyes shut, trying not to cry. But you finally broke and the salty streams began to run down your rosy cheeks. 

— You think she deserves to cum, Johnny? — To which the kneeling men nodded vigorously. — Use your words, stupid mutt. 

— Please, Si, let her. Look how stressed she is. Poor thing, she might need a few more.

— A few- Ah! M-More?! — You squealed again, when someone rolled your nipples between their fingers. 

When your peak neared, you tried to turn your head away and hide. You didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing your face in pure bliss. Simon held your head against his sternum, pressing your forehead backwards. 

You felt like you were on fire, orange flames licking your fingers, your breasts, your inner thighs. 

— That’s it, good girl. 

And when the knot finally bursted, a wave of painful, white pleasure washed over you. The orgasm was so strong, it blinded your senses for a short moment in which the men flipped you around the bed. 

Johnny was supporting your shoulders and your head, while Lord was stirring in front of you. He threw your legs over his thighs and scooped closer to your still wet with saliva crotch. And not only with that…

The new wave of panic overwhelmed you when Simon began to undo his trousers. He was taller and bigger than the gardener in every aspect, you were scared. Taking two lovers, without marital vows? Does this make you a whore? But you didn’t want this!

— No, no, no… — You weeped sadly, trying to crawl away, before Johnny began to caress your head. His grip was tight and successfully held you in place. 

— After tonight, we’ll be joined as one, bonnie. Just us, here in this house, forever. 

— But I-I don’t want this, Johnny! Please, let me go. Let me go.

You repeated as Simon pulled you by the hips closer to him. His now exposed, thick cock stiffened over your soft abdomen, leaking some precum. 

— Shh, Simon knows what’s best for us. He knows. 

When the tip of his length caved his way inside of your warm, silky walls, he was at least decent enough to take it slow. If you felt full during that first night spent with Johnny, this time it seemed even fuller. With his flesh, Simon filled you to the brim, still not even moving. The man saw your struggle to relax, so he leaned down and sucked the thin and delicate skin below your jaw. 

Meanwhile Johnny brushed your hair backwards and with the other hand he caressed your ribs. Somehow they knew how to press each individual button to make you docile enough. 

They learned how to tame you. 

Only then, Simon began to move his hips, thrusting slowly and continuously fastening the pace. His movements made you sway along Johnny’s knees. Your breasts bounced within the rhythm and your eyes searched for them through the half absent haze. 

You got lost in the moment, every breath merged with another. Hands roaming over your body, whose owners you couldn’t really assign, the burning stretch in your cunt that began to lube itself to ease the friction. 

The pleasure that crushed over your sensible thinking, put you in an almost ascended state. You were still sobbing, when Simon fastened his pace and his cock penetrated you deeper, kissing your cervix. You were still trembling, when the two men started making out above you. Their lips crushed in a vulgar exposition of their affection.

— Can’t you see that you’re lost without us, lovely? — The Lord’s voice shaken as he was getting closer to his climax. He leaned down and kissed you, almost stealing your breath away. 

— Wouldn’t last without us, would you, lass? 

They continuously somewhat mocked you and each time after they did, they cooed at you or leaned down to “kiss it better”. By the time Simon finished inside of you, groaning loudly, he spilled the warm seed inside your walls to, as Lord claim, “make you theirs”. 

— Don’t worry, we got you now. We’re gonna take care of you. Just let us… get familiar first. — Johnny said calmly, when the blonde was massaging your tense things. You knew they weren’t yet sated. 

That night you happened to lay over one of Simon’s bulky arms like a pillow. He caged your body from behind, his chest pressing tightly against your spine and Johnny laid on his side in front of you. Through a half awakened state you managed to look through the window that faced the treeline. An edge of forest shrouded in thick, morning mist. 

Tonight you finally were able to put the pieces together. However it was too late anyways.

The house seemed to be stuck in time and space, so were its residents. The wind sweeping through the draughty windows fills the lungs of the great manor. Old, wooden flooring creaks and the glass strain within its frames. Every aspect of the building stays the same, untouched and reclusive for many years to come. 

You finally let the heavy eyelids close. The sun was rising.

Obviously very inspired by Ghost's music and Crimson Peak, here is Spotify playlist ⟶ 𝕏