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sapphire-writes · 7 months

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Chapter 2: Curiosity Killed The Cat

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summary ~ You begin to adapt to the unusual events of Harrenhal and your mysterious host. An unexpected guest arrives.

warnings below the cut for your convenience

warnings ~ spooky ghostly stuff, spiders

note: and so begins our spooky adventure! I hope you enjoy it!

banner made by the fantastic @ewanmitchellcrumbs, ilysm ange!

You lay in bed, tossing and turning for several hours waiting for another scream to inevitably pierce through the now silent halls of Harrenhal house.

Your eyes are too heavy, and you drift into a dreamless sleep. The belly full of tea must have helped soothe your nerves. Or perhaps it was more your time spent with the stoic head of the house.

It is Maelor’s cry that wakes you the following morning, rather than his mother’s, through the baby monitor on your nightstand. You hear his small gurgles as he wakes, hungry for his morning bottle. Grabbing the monitor, you jump out of bed to head toward the nursery.

As you walk down the hallway, the door opens and Jaehaera stands dressed in a pink dress, her hair done in two braids down the side of her head.

“Beat you!” she says, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“How’d you get ready so quickly?” you comment, smile slightly faltering, “And how did you do your h--”

“Come on Miss Gevie, breakfast is my favorite meal of the day!” she sings, brushing past you and towards the hallway.

“Jaeha--- um--- I have to get Maelor!” you call, as she disappears around the corner her braids swinging behind her, “Okay….you head down!”

The day starts with a simple breakfast of oatmeal and eggs--Jaehaera is first to inform you that the only way to eat eggs is sunny side up. Aemond joins you but only for a cup of coffee. You notice he prefers it black. He doesn’t speak to you, listening intently to Jaehaera as she chatters away. Then Jaehaera begins her morning lessons when her tutor arrives promptly at nine. A kind older woman who awards you a tight smile when she introduces herself.

You hold Maelor against your hip as he babbles, walking through the main foyer and toward the library. Several workers have arrived, and you’ve seen Aemond directing them to different areas of the house throughout the morning. He’s present in the library, sitting at the oak desk when you enter.

“Sleep well?” he asks, as he notices you enter the library. His eye flickers to Maelor in your arms.

Rising from his seat, he closes a folder of papers before rounding the side of the desk. He walks closer to you, lifting his hand toward Maelor. The baby grabs Aemond’s forefinger with his pudgy fist.

“As well as I could. I was nervous during the night,” you admit, cheeks warming, “Just in case anything happened again.”

Aemond hums, still watching Maelor who holds his finger hostage. The baby brings it to his mouth, gnawing on it with his gums.

“He’s teething,” Aemond comments, “Hopefully that won’t cause more late-night disturbances.”

“It’s alright. I know what I signed up for,” you assure him, as he pulls his hand away from Maelor, patting the baby on the head.

“I’m afraid you’ll get more than you bargained for,” he says, eyes meeting yours, “This is…a lot.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to decipher the emotions he hides. Trying to find some cracks in the armor he wears during the day. You saw some last night, in the kitchen. The walls came down, if only for a moment.

“You need help,” you tell him, “You can’t manage this all on your own. The kids, Helaena, the house…I’m here to help.”

“The children,” he clarifies, “You’re here to help the children.”

“And you,” you offer, “I mean…if I can be of help with anything I’m happy to do so.”

Let me help you, you silently beg. Someone has to.

Aemond hums once more, “You’re very kind, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Just doing my job,” you assure him, but your face continues to warm at his compliment.

You hold each other’s gaze for several moments before Aemond finally looks away.

“I have some work to do,” he tells you, and you take it as a sign to leave him be.

“Maelor is about ready for a nap,” you tell him, turning on your heel to go.

You shut the door behind you, neither speaking again.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” Aemond tells you later in the week during one of your late-night chats.

A cup of tea at midnight has become somewhat of a tradition for both of you. Helaena wakes nearly every night. It's always the same. Screaming for the son she lost. The green and purple cups are always waiting for you in the cabinet by the stove for your inevitable journey into the kitchen.

“Just tying up some loose ends in King’s Landing,” he assures you, “Helaena should be alright. I’ve spoken with her doctor about increasing her nighttime medication.”

“And if she isn’t?” you ask, unable to hide your nervousness at the thought of him leaving.

Aemond watches you for a moment, humming softly to himself. It does little to soothe your nerves.

Things go smoother than expected while Aemond is away. You fall into a gentle routine with Jaehaera and Maelor.

While Jaehaera is in her lessons you bring Maelor to Helaena. As Aemond had prepared you, Helaena refuses to hold him. She barely even looks at him. Her eyes instead are trained on your face, reading your microexpressions like the pages of a book. You and Helaena don’t talk much during these visits, though you attempt to engage her in conversation.

She always joins you for lunch, after you put Maelor down for his afternoon nap. Jaehaera comes fresh from High Valyrian and chats with her mother in their native tongue.

Then it’s time for Jaehaera’s afternoon lessons and you get some time for yourself as Helaena returns to her room like a bird returning to its cage.

Usually, you journey to the library, browsing through the collection of novels and trying not to snoop. Though you must admit, in an old house like this it's hard not to.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Advice you should probably heed. You glance at a desk in the library strewn with papers. Aemond has a private office, he’d told you as much when you arrived. Still, your fingers skim the papers, and you pick up a manila folder examining its contents.

Old documents, withered and yellowed nearly disintegrating from age. You can barely read the cursive ledger on the page. Squinting, you are able to make out the word Strong.

Satisfaction brought it back.

A loud thump causes you to drop the folder in surprise, sending pages scattering to the floor.

“Shit,” you curse to yourself, dropping to your knees and picking up the pages, putting them back where they belong.

You hurry over to the window, looking outside. A red Corvette is parked, its driver missing. The noise must have been the car door slamming shut. Dusting off your knees you hurry out of the library closing the door behind you. You quicken your pace down the hall and front steps as voices echo from the kitchen.

A man stands in front of the sink clad in a three-piece suit, holding his cell phone to his ear.

“Tell Corlys…dammit, I can’t hear you,” he snaps, holding his phone in front of him, “Hello?”

The call clearly drops and he sighs, “Bloody service.”

You clear your throat, alerting him of your presence. He turns slowly, still looking at his phone as though he couldn’t be bothered with you being there at all. A lock of silver hair falls into his eyes as he leans against the counter. A ring on his hand catches the light. Like you’d need to see the Targaryen sigil stamped on the back. You knew he was a relative the moment you saw him.

Targaryens don’t camouflage well.

“Just a moment,” he comments, glancing up at you from his phone. He does a double-take, straightening up and slipping his phone into his back pocket, “Hello.”

“Sorry…I wasn’t expecting anyone,” you tell him, watching the corner of his mouth tick upwards in a smirk.

Aemond does that too.

“And I wasn’t expecting a beautiful woman to greet me,” the stranger says, “So I suppose we’re both surprised.”

Warmth floods through you at his flirtatious tone. He’s older--much older-- and an air of confidence encircles him like a veil of smoke.

“Daemon,” he introduces, extending his hand for you to shake, “And you must be the au pair.”

You place your hand in his, and he grasps it firmly. His palm is rough and warm; much larger than your own. Your lips part, you’re sure you haven’t taken a breath since he’s looked at you.

“Mhmm,” you answer, telling him your name.

Daemon releases your hand, shaking his head slightly as he chuckles to himself. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

“Something funny?” you ask, trying to keep the annoyance from your tone.

“No, nothing. I’ve found au pairs to be particularly helpful,” he comments, laughing under his breath as though he’d told a joke, “It just surprises me, is all.”

“Why is it surprising?”

“Aemond’s not usually the sort,” Daemon says, not clarifying any further.

You understand what he is implying, your cheeks growing hotter.

“Aemond and I have a strictly professional relationship,” you tell him, causing him to chuckle more.

“I’m sure you do. Aemond does value his professional relationships, doesn’t he?” Daemon says with his smirk growing, “All this talk of my nephew and I’ve yet to see the man. Where is he?”

“He’s not here.”

Daemon’s eyebrows lift toward his hairline.

“Not here?”

“He’s away on business. Won’t be back for a few days.”

“And he left you, all alone?” Daemon asks, taking a step closer to you. He reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t suppress the shiver that rolls through you.

“I can take care of myself,” you insist. Daemon’s scent floods your senses; teakwood, smoke, cinnamon. Intoxicating; it makes your head spin.

“I’m sure you can. My nephew wouldn’t have hired you if he had any doubts,” Daemon murmurs, dropping his hand, “It’s not the harmless nanny he needs to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

Daemon watches you like a cat toying with a mouse. His lip curls slightly, enjoying your discomfort.

“Are you aware of the history of this house?” Daemon asks.

“Yes,” you tell him.

“Well, there you have it,” Daemon says, walking by you, “Have Aemond call me when he’s returned.”

You can hear his steps echoing down the hall, followed by the slamming of a car door. You stand in the kitchen for several moments, trying to catch your bearings when Jaehaera runs in.

“Who was that?” she asks, throwing her arms around your waist.

“Just…nothing,” you assure her, stroking her hair, “How were your lessons?”

As Jaehaera tells you about her day, you focus on calming your racing heartbeat. You can’t help but linger on what Daemon had said.

What exactly was he worried about?

Helaena Targaryen loves arachnids.

This becomes apparent when a spider scurries across the floral picnic blanket you’d laid out for Jaehaera.

Maelor sits with his thumb in his mouth rocking back and forth as though a gentle breeze may knock him onto his back. Sitting up is quite new to him. The afternoon had been going quite well before the eight-legged monster descended on the tea party.

“Miss Gevie! Miss Gevie!” Jaehaera screeches, launching herself off of the blanket and into your arms. Her girlish scream echoes through the backyard and she trembles against you.

The arachnid freezes at her movements, eight legs tensed and ready. Maelor stares at his sister, violet eyes wide before they drop to the blanket. Helaena is seated in a chair a few feet away, the large sun hat she wears partially obscuring her face.

“The fresh air does her good,” Aemond had told you before he left.

Helaena dives off of her chair, knees crashing into the grass beside the picnic blanket. You comfort Jaehaera as Helaena dips her torso lower against the blanket letting her hand dance above the spider. She presses her cheek into the blanket as the spider curiously lifts two legs up toward her dancing fingers.

“Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs, touching the tips of her fingers to the spider's outstretched legs. She stays like that for a moment, a small smile appearing on her face.

Maelor watches his mother, his thumb falling from his mouth.

“Kill it!” Jaehaera demands as her mother scoops the creature into her hand.

Helaena rolls onto her back, the rim of her hat getting crushed beneath her. Her knees are stained green. Maelor claps his pudgy hands together letting out a gleeful squawk.

“Why?” Helaena asked, looking at the creature in her palm with the fondness she no longer gives her children, “For simply being here?”

“He’s ugly and I hate him,” Jaehaera insists, “Make her kill it, please.”

Helaena only hums, letting the spider climb down her arm. She sounds like Aemond when she does that. Warmth bleeds down your cheeks and onto your neck. You’d been missing him. The nights have been rather empty without your late-night chats.

Helaena turns on her side, ignoring her daughter’s pleas and releasing the spider into the grass. Once free, it takes off lost from sight almost instantly.

“There,” Helaena says happily, “No need for violence, byka jorrāelagon.”

“Kepus would’ve killed it,” Jaehaera says, with her lower lip jutted outwards in a pout.

There is a shift in the energy between mother and daughter.

“Why don’t you ask him then?” Helaena says, rolling onto her back once more and closing her eyes.

“Kepus!” Jaehaera says, pushing away from your arms and running toward the house. You watch her run, following her gaze up the stone steps until you meet Aemond’s eyes.

He’s back.

She throws herself into Aemond’s arms much like she did your own, and he reaches down, scooping her up in his arms and holding her against his waist. There’s a swooping feeling in your stomach as he approaches, the heat returning to your cheeks.

“How are my girls?” Aemond asks as he moves closer.

You move to the other side of the blanket, scooping Maelor in your arms as he begins to bang his fists on Helaena’s hat.

“We’re having a tea party,” Jaehara tells him, “Muña saved a spider. I said she should kill it.”

Aemond chuckles softly at her pointed tone.

“Your mother would never,” he says, setting her down on the blanket, “And you?”

You glance up at him, surprised he addressed you, “Me?”

Aemond nods, holding your gaze, “How are you?”

You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he continues to stare, piercing gaze never leaving your face.

My girls.

“I’m well,” you answer.

Aemond joins you as you sit back on the blanket, the spider no longer disturbing your peace. Jaehaera dotes on him, she loves her uncle dearly you can tell. You return Maelor to the bassinet as his eyelids begin to droop, rocking it side to side with your hand as he begins to drift off to sleep.

Jaehaera places a saucer on Helaena’s stomach before balancing a teacup on top of it. Helaena barely raises a brow as Jaehaera wedges a lemon cake onto the plate as well. Though she doesn’t thank her daughter, she brings a hand to the corner of the cake, tearing off a piece and placing it in her mouth.

Aemond sits straight up, balancing a teacup on his knee as Jaehaera stands behind him, combing her fingers through his long, platinum hair and twisting small braids throughout. You hadn’t realized how long he kept it, it’s usually in a bun when you see him, but now silver waves cascade down his shoulders to the middle of his back.

“We should head inside,” Aemond mutters, “The clouds are gathering.”

“A storm is coming tomorrow,” Helaena murmurs.

“How’d you know?” you ask and Helaena’s mouth ticks upwards. All Targaryens seem to have the same smirk.

“She always knows,” Aemond says, smiling softly as his elder sister.

In sleep, someone speaks to you. Whispers in your ear, breath hot like flames licking against your flesh words you do not understand.

A scream pierces through the night and you awake with a start. An ache begins behind your eyes and you press the heel of your palm against your forehead. You catch your bearing, sitting up and blinking as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Realization washes over you.

Helaena.

She’d been taking a second dose of her sleeping medication ever since Aemond spoke with her psychiatrist. Had she missed a dose this evening? You quickly rise from your bed, not bothering to grab your robe and flinging open your door.

The hallway is dark, and no moonlight spilling through the windows tonight. You reach out, holding onto the wall as a guide as you move further down the hallway.

A shuffling noise behind you makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Your breath hitches and you turn around, staring into the dark behind you. You can’t see anything, just pitch black. You should’ve left a light on in your room, something to anchor you. Your hands begin to tingle as adrenaline speeds the beating of your heart.

There’s nothing but darkness, you assure yourself, the dark can’t hurt you.

But you can’t shake the feeling that as you look down the hallway, someone….or something…is looking back.

You release a shaky breath, turning back around. Something moves toward you, this time you’re certain. And suddenly a hand covers your mouth blocking the scream that rises in your throat and slamming you into the wall. It's not too hard, just enough for your shoulder blades to make a solid thump against the wood.

Aemond catches your fist in his opposite hand as you attempt to strike him, pushing your wrist back against the wall above your head. Your eyes widen when you realize it's him, cheeks blazing with rage and embarrassment, your body sagging with relief.

His hand remains on your mouth, though for a moment you’re sure it’s your scream tearing through the halls. Your stomach drops at the agonized wail and you squeeze your eyes shut. Aemond’s hand slides down until your chin rests in the space between his thumb and forefinger. His fingers are pressed so tightly against your throat you’re sure he must be able to feel your fluttering pulse.

“Hela--,” you begin to speak but are cut off by the return of his hand over your mouth.

“Shhh,” Aemond insists, as your eyebrows crease with confusion.

You mumble incoherently against his palm, lips pressing against the calloused flesh. Aemond presses closer, his tall slender frame towering over you. You cease trying to talk, your thoughts muddled as the warmth of his body presses against you. Aemond dips his head so his lips rest against the shell of your ear.

“That’s not Helaena.”

It would be intimate, sensual even, if it weren’t for the words he spoke in that low whisper. A feeling of dread washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

“Shh,” he says once more, his lips grazing your ear, “Close your eyes. Stay very, very still.”

You don’t dare move, you don’t dare speak; you simply do as you’re told, squeezing your eyes shut. Trembling against him your fingers dig into his arm while the other remains trapped in his grasp over your head. Fear burns in your belly, so hot it's as though someone is stoking a fire right in front of you.

Aemond presses closer, your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest, nipples hardening at the stimulation through the thin material of your tank top. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so frightened. Your heart is beating like a rabbit’s foot, and you try to listen to the sound of Aemond’s breathing in your ear as some way of grounding yourself.

A groan echoes from down the hall.

Your grip on him tightens.

“It’s alright,” Aemond murmurs, his voice barely audible, “We’ll just let them pass.”

Your breathing stops.

Let them? Let what? Let who?

The heat intensifies around you, colors bursting behind your eyelids as though someone is shining a light on the pair of you, though you don’t dare open your eyes. You cling to Aemond’s command like a life raft despite your morbid curiosity.

You don’t know how long you stay like that before the light begins to fade, the warmth leached from your skin as whatever passed you moved on. The hall is silent, your ears are ringing and all you can hear is each shaky inhalation of your breath. It’s not enough. It feels like all the air has been sucked from the hall like you’ll never breathe again.

“Y/N.”

What was that?

“Open your eyes.”

His voice. Aemond’s voice. The only thing that makes sense.

You open your eyes.

The hall is dark and you blink, adjusting. Aemond releases your hand and your arm falls, slightly sore and tingling with pins and needles from being held above your head for so long. He uncovers your mouth as well, taking a step back.

“Are you alright?” he asks, the concern evident in his voice.

You don’t answer, frozen. Aemond cups both of your cheeks in his hands, thumbs smoothing away tears that fall. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. Aemond’s brows knit together and you bring your hands to his wrists.

“What was that?” you whisper, voice hoarse.

Aemond’s expression is pained.

“There are things I haven’t told you about Harrenhal,” he says softly, releasing your face.

“What kind of things?”

“Unpleasant ones,” he continues.

You hold his gaze. If there was ever a chance to run from the manor screaming, this was it. Aemond watches you as though he expects you to run, his hands clenched into fists at his side. You know him already, know that if you chose to leave he wouldn’t follow you. He’s used to doing things on his own. It’s all he’s ever known.

It’s your choice.

Aemond lifts his eyes to meet yours as you reach for his hand. His fingers release automatically at your touch and you weave them through your own, holding tightly, anchoring yourself to him.

“Let’s get some tea then,” you tell him, “I want to know everything.”

note: hope you enjoyed this chapter! as always, comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected (though you will receive a forehead kiss from me if you do any of them).

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#aemond x reader #modern!aemond #modern!aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fic #halloween fic #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #modern au #halloween au #aemond targaryen #aemond series #hotd series #fanfic series #halloween fanfic #aemond fanfiction

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wardenparker · 7 months

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Vampire Waltz - ch 1

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships.* Abusive relationship, getting *out* of an abusive relationship, alcoholism, alcohol, mention of sleeping in a car. Summary: One of the worst days of your life takes a sharp right turn into the unexpected when you learn of the death of a long-lost relative. Notes: It's heeeere! Spooky season has officially arrived and with it comes our annual spooky-themed soulmate story! Bringing our two canonical vampires together is going to be endless shenanigans. 🧛‍♂️🧡 Since this story is mostly set inside one of the mansions that I work in, we're planning on using photos of the house as chapter headers some of the time. Visual reference fun!

"Hurry up and get your shit." The drunken bellow from downstairs is followed up by a loud crash, another curse and a thump as your boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – continues to throw the equivalent of a temper tantrum. It hadn't been the first time you've fought, or that the asshole had threatened to throw you out on your ass, but the fist sized hole in the wall that had only been an inch from your face was new, escalating violence.

"Lazy, good for nothing cunt! I work all goddamn day and you couldn't even fucking do what I asked!"

It's not that you don't work. Or that you didn't work. But after getting fired four days ago following yet another day calling out of work to clean up some mess caused by your boyfriend, your manager had said it was the final straw and sent you packing. Since then you had tried to clean up the house, get the back-log of laundry out of the way, and at least make a nice dinner while you applied for new jobs. It isn't your fault that the neighbor's dog got into your yard and ripped a hole in one of his shirts on the clothesline. There is absolutely no way you could have done anything about it. But it is the thing that sent him over the deep end this time and has him screaming at you yet again.

Running upstairs was the best thing you could do to get away from his fist, and now you're just praying that you have enough trash bags in the house to cram your stuff into before he decides to come after you again. You'll be sleeping in your car tonight, but at least all the locks on the doors work. You can manage a few nights in a securely locked car. It's just...that you're not quite sure where you'll go after that.

The sound of the top to a Natural Light beer being cracked open sounds from the base of the stairwell and he takes several loud gulps. Belching from drinking too fast and hitting the wall with the flat of his hand. "Come on, bitch!" He calls out. "I ain't got all night!"

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you pace back to the top of the stairwell and lean down so you can actually see him. Ten goddamn years with this man and this is how it ends. "I'll be gone by the time you get home," you promise him, the resignation obvious in your voice. He'll go to the bar to see his friends like he does after he eats dinner almost every night. You've never been the kind of girlfriend to stop him from seeing his friends, so they have had a routine for almost as many years as you've been together.

"Good." He glares up at you and points a finger. "You better not take any of my shit either." He warns you. "Tired of taking care of your stupid ass. You're in for a rude wake up call. Shit's not easy out there." He burps again and turns around to stumble down the hall. "You are such a disappointment." He yells out before opening the front door and letting it slam behind him, rattling the windows.

"Yeah." You sigh, shaking your head with one of those cheap fleece throw blankets in your hand. It has ballet slippers on it, a relic of a childhood long dream long forgotten. "I know I am." Holding up the blanket to look at it more closely, you debate throwing the damn thing out entirely, but it will keep you warm in the car tonight. It will go into a trash bag along with everything else.

As soon as the blanket is shoved in with your two miniature throw pillows, your phone goes off in your pocket. Expecting it to be Derek, ready to yell at you some more, you're surprised to see Private splashed across the screen instead. If you don't answer it and it is him for any reason, there will be hell to pay. "Hello?"

The smooth, cultured voice on the other end of the line is slightly raspy. As if the person has spent a lifetime swallowing brandy and smoking cigars, or had spent all day talking. In actuality, both of those things are true. Your name is spoken in the form of a question. Asking if he had reached the right person.

"Speaking." The automatic answer doesn't make you feel any less confused, but at least they aren't yelling at you. "Can I ask who's calling, please?"

"Antonio Colette," He tells you quickly. "With Colette and Dupree. I am calling about your late, great aunt, Etienne Brown." He shuffles through the papers to bring up the will that had been laid out, along with the investigators report on you. It was how he had found your current number. "I am executing her estate and quite frankly, it has been a search to find you."

"I'm sorry," you shake your head against the phone as though the man could possibly see you. "I don't know anyone by that name. My, um...I don't know a lot of my family. But that isn't a name I recognize. Maybe you have the wrong person?" There is no reason that any family member you've never heard of would have left you anything in a will, so he must have the wrong number. That's the only explanation you can think of.

"No, ma'am." He tells you. "I don't think I have the wrong person. Is this not a good time to talk?" He can hear something in your voice, and while most were always happy to inherit something, you might have pressing matters to attend to.

Hesitating for a reason you can't quite put your finger on, you glance out the window in the corner of your now former bedroom, the one that overlooks the driveway. Derek's truck is gone, and your shoulders slump a little. You have hours until he comes home now. Usually it's not until after last call. "No...no it's okay. I'm just...not having a great day. What did you want to speak to me about?"

"Ms. Brown was very particular about her will. As executor of the estate, it is my duty to make sure that her last wishes are carried out. As there is no other living relative on your mother's side, she decided that you would be the sole heir of her estate." He explains. "This includes the eight-bedroom mansion and the trust that has been established to pay for the manor. Her private accounts. The total combined monetary worth of twelve point two million dollars."

The crash that he hears from your side of the phone call is you falling over – a product of your legs giving out the second he said the word mansion and then losing your balance all over again at the sum total of the estate. "Wh—what?" You manage to breathe, barely managing not to break down in tears all over again. For an entirely different reason, this time.

"Of course, there is one issue that you must be made aware of." He's used to people being surprised, so he doesn't try to explain. You will soon be holding paperwork that you can read again and again if needed. "There are two tenants in the mansion. Ms. Brown has given them a lifetime estate on the rooms they occupy." He tells you. "Meaning they live there for as long as they wish."

"O—okay..." As fast as your mind can possibly turn, you still feel like you can't quite keep up with it, and you end up curled up at the foot of your bed hugging the throw blanket that was still in your hands when your phone rang. "So...I just...get a mansion? And twe—twelve million dollars? And the only caveat is that I have two tenants?" None of it makes any sense, but you'll be damned if it doesn't sound like the perfect way out of the hell that you've found yourself in.

“Pretty much.” Antonio agrees. “When would you be available to tour the property and sign some paperwork?” He asks, flipping over to his calendar to pencil you in.

"I—" Stumbling again, your forehead drops onto the pillow clutched against your chest before you tip your head back and stare up at the mottled ceiling. "I guess...as soon as I can get there?" It's not as though you have anything else to do at the moment. Or even anyone to tell where you're going. "But, can I ask? Um...where exactly is this house?"

“Newport, Rhode Island.” He supplies. “I must confess that I could not find a current address for you, just this phone number, so I am not quite sure where you are traveling from.

"Dandridge, Tennessee." Six years you've lived in this town and it never felt like home, but maybe now that's for the best. With a sigh, you try to think if you've ever even heard of Newport, Rhode Island and come up entirely blank other than knowing that Rhode Island is in New England. Which is a pretty decent drive away. "It might take me a few days to drive up there. Maybe two days? Depending on how late into the night I drive."

“That’s fine.” Colette agrees. “I will give you my number. If you find yourself here quicker than you anticipate, give me a call and I can meet you with the keys.”

"Okay." For a second the brief fear that your car might not even last a two-day drive flashes through your mind but you push it aside and let out a sigh in favor of sitting up to grab the pen off your nearby desk so you can take down the lawyer's phone number. "I...um...thank you, Mr. Colette. This is..." It's insane. It's completely insane and you can't even wrap your head around it. "It's life changing."

“I will see you in two days.” Mr. Colette responds and then ends the call before he sighs. Dropping his head into his hand, he rubs his temple. Whoever you are, he feels sorry for you. No way you know what the hell you are getting into.

******

The first night you're honestly exhausted, and you end up sleeping in your packed-full car behind the twenty-four-hour diner with the really nice waitresses that don't get upset that you need a safe place to park for one night. Telling them that you're moving had done the trick, and the extremely kind pair of women had gotten their line cook to whip you up a sandwich for dinner and one more to take with you when you left town in the morning.

The gps on your phone – thank god the bill is in your name – says that it will take thirteen hours and thirty-seven minutes of driving. Deciding to go, go, go as best you can, you leave town at sunrise and end up crossing the border into Rhode Island at almost eleven that same night. Stopping for bathroom breaks and to gas up the car – plus traffic, of course – has cost some time, but you made it. Now all you had to do was make the last leg of the journey out to Newport. Surprised to find that Newport is actually on an island (didn't you learn at one point that Rhode Island isn't an island?) you pull into a truck stop to finally sleep for the night. You'll do the last forty-five minutes of the drive in the morning.

******

Feeling and probably looking like shit the next morning is the price you pay for getting here quickly, but you call the lawyer at nine in the morning when his office's website says it opens and arrange to meet him at the address he gives you. Bellevue Avenue just sounds fancy, and when you get to the island you realize why. This entire town seems filled to the brim with mansions, expensive shops, and swanky restaurants.

Antonio had been surprised that you had driven through the night, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. He gives you the address to his offices and tells his secretary to make sure that there is a good selection of bagels and muffins out this morning in case you would like something while you go over the paperwork. You are a very important client, and he would like to keep you if possible.

Tired and more than a little ragged, you pull your car up to the office on Thames Street and cut the engine with a sigh. There’s a lot of touristy stuff around, especially on this part of the island, and that means you haven’t seen a single dingy diner or fast food drive-up since you got here. Everything is expensive cafes and fancy restaurants. The thought that you might have to skip breakfast is discouraging until you walk into the lawyer’s office tentatively and smell coffee.

"Good morning." Raquel stands from behind her desk and smooths her pencil skirt down before she walks around the desk. Antonio and his partner prefer that she personally greet each client and she doesn't let her facial expression change from one of welcome when she sees the tired, beaten down appearance of the woman who walked into the door. Her heart clenches at the sight and even if you are not the client that he had been expecting, she will invite you to have some coffee and pastries while she waits for someone to work you into their calendar. "May I help you?" She asks as she offers her manicured hand to shake.

“I—I’m here to see Mr. Colette.” You give her your name along with the handshake she obviously expects, and try to shake the feeling that that smile of hers is probably plastered on. Of course it is. It’s first thing in the morning and she works in a law office.

"Of course." You are the important client, so she immediately waves you to the glass doors. "Please follow me." She tells you. "Mr. Colette is getting all the necessary documents together, but we have tea, coffee, bagels, and some delicious pastries available while you wait?" She wants you to feel comfortable as she walks you down the short hall to the smaller conference room where she had set everything up for the meeting.

“Thank you.” It doesn’t make one single bit of sense to you that they’ve gone through all this trouble, but this long-lost great aunt of yours must have been an important client. Maybe they think you’re important too? Well – they’ll be disabused of that idea pretty soon.

"Please let me know if there is anything I can get you." She senses that you aren't comfortable and she doesn't want to crowd you or do anything to upset you. "I'll let Mr. Colette know you are here."

There are a few minutes to wait, sitting in that conference room surrounded by food that you don’t dare touch, and you end up staring blankly at a photograph on the wall of a yacht on the ocean. It’s almost trance-like, how you sit there and stare, and you end up nearly jumping out of your seat when the heavy wooden doors open again and an elegant looking, well-dressed man walks through flanked by the woman who greeted you.

“Good morning.” Antonio smiles as he assesses the woman who had inherited a fortune and more. He is aware of the details of the will and the history behind it, so he feels like this is personal. “We will have quite a few things to go through, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to make myself a plate.” He chuckles. “No breakfast yet and I’m hungry.”

“Of course.” It’s a little bit like permission, and you feel comfortable enough pouring a cup of black coffee and putting a croissant on a plate for yourself when Mr. Colette motions for you to join him. In a few mere moments the three of you are sitting down at the conference table and Raquel presents her boss with a thick folder of paperwork in a leather sleeve and takes out her own notebook in turn.

“Now.” Antonio looks down at the paperwork and then back up at you. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” He starts off with. “Hopefully this transition will be seamless for you and perhaps after this I can show you around your new home?”

“It still doesn’t feel very real,” you admit, carefully sipping your hot coffee and looking down at the papers in front of him. “And you said there’s two other people…already living there?”

“Yes.” He nods. “Family friends of Ms. Brown.” He tells you vaguely.

“Alright.” Already you’ve made up your mind not to bother them, these people who live in a house that you’re inheriting out of nowhere. Who are you to intrude in their lives? “I assume there’s a lot of paperwork? I’ve never owned a house before so this is all new to me.”

“The taxes and the maintenance for the home are paid out of the trust. So you do not need to worry about that. If anything happens, call and we will take care of getting the bill paid.” He explains. “I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering you debit cards and credit cards.” He pulls out an envelope and slides it over to you. “All of them are active and ready to use.”

So people really live like this, huh? is all you can think to yourself as the lawyer’s secretary also sets a card down in front of you that has a man’s name and phone number with the title of caretaker listed on it. That along with the cards already has your head spinning, but then a set of keys is set down on the table as well. Front door. Kitchen door. Terrace doors. Each antique key is labeled carefully with a tag in elegant handwriting. Closets. Attic storage. Utility closet. It’s so much to take in — too much, arguably — and then a set of car keys is added to the pile. “What’s this?” You ask, already starting to feel your head spin a little.

“This is the car.” Antonio tells you. “The 1963 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray that Ms. Brown also willed to you.” He hums. “I have all the maintenance records for the car here as well. Her other cars were sold or given away before she died, but this one conveyed with her other belongings to you. I believe she said, ‘it goes with the house’.”

“I—um—wow…” Not that you know much about cars, but it sounds impressive and you’re momentarily thankful that you’ve been driving stick for the last few years, since your broken-down third-hand Volvo came into your life. “Are there any more surprises I should be aware of?”

“I’m not exactly sure what you will consider surprises.” The lawyer chuckles and slides a scrap of paper towards you. “The combination to the safe. It’s where the collection of Ms. Brown’s jewelry is.”

A safe full of jewels, a presumably fancy vintage car, a mansion, and a literal fortune? Frankly, it’s all a surprise. “If this house comes with servants I might black out,” you warn jokingly, staring at the slip of paper with the safe combination like it’s a foreign language.

“Well, the staff is paid from the trust.” He tells you seriously. “If you wish to make changes, please let me know. Right now….” He shuffles some papers. “There is the housekeeper and her assistant, the gardener, the pool company, and the window washer.” He looks up. “The pool company and window washer come by once a week. The gardener, the housekeeper and her assistant are all full time employees.”

The dead pan stare you have for the man is completely slack, and it takes far longer than you’re proud of to shake off the embarrassment of staring at him like an imbecile. “You’re serious?” You ask in equal parts confusion and awe. “I was kidding.”

“I assure you, the help is needed.” He tells you seriously. “A house of this size could not possibly be managed by one person alone.”

“Right.” The best you can do is nod vaguely and try not to have a panic attack over the responsibility landing in your lap, and you look between the lawyer and his clerk again. “You said it’s…eight bedrooms?” That place must be a palace…

“That is…the main bedrooms.” Antonio admits. “That doesn’t include the old servants’ quarters, although they are not occupied now.”

“Fuuuuck…” Even mumbling under your breath is obvious, and the paper that is slid in front of you is a clearly labeled blueprint of the house. Four floors, distinctly marked 38,000 square feet, and with more doorways, closets, and stairwells than you can shake a stick at.

“I can understand that it is overwhelming, but the staff is prepared for your arrival.” You look panicked and he doesn’t think that’s a good thing. It’s almost as if you feel…guilty.

“Can I ask…?” Swallowing down the dear at how daunting all of this feels, you abandon your small breakfast and sit back in the uncomfortable padded chair you’re seated in. “Anything about Ms. Brown? What did she do? How did she pass?” Where did all her money come from? The fact is, you had never even heard of her, but she left you an entire life.

“Ms. Brown died at 91.” He’s a little surprised that you are curious, but you don’t seem to be the type of person that is overly greedy. “Complications of old age.”

“I see.” Jittery fingers curl the edge of one page and you bite your lip, trying to see if anything doesn’t fit. But it all seems to knit together properly, in a way that just accidentally benefits you in the craziest way possible. “And she was just…independently wealthy?” It seems unlikely considering your family has so little, but who knows? Anything is possible.

“Some of it was leftover from her wealthy soulmate.” He admits. “They never had children. Some of it was from investments. She was a smart lady.”

“She must have been.” It’s easy to just waste money, you’ve seen that firsthand too many times. “Well…I assume I need to sign things? Make the ownership…official?”

“Absolutely.” He cracks a small smile. “Sign your life away, is the saying.”

Raquel slides a stack of papers over towards you. “All the places for you to sigh are indicated with a tab.”

A dozen different signatures and initials go by like lightning and before you know it, Raquel is excusing herself with the stack of papers to make copies and file things away. “Is there…anything else?” You ask, tentative about what else there could even be.

“Nothing that I can think of.” Mr. Colette hums. “I had the housekeeper stock the pantry and kitchen with basic items.” He tells you.

“That was very kind of you.” Since you aren’t really sure what else to say, you take a determined look at the pile of keys in front of you and muster a smile. “Would you mind showing me the house? The drive was long and it would be nice to settle in.” The further you get from Derek and his reach, the better off you know you will be. Even if you had loved him as best as you could — it had never been enough. Maybe these next people won’t be too disappointed in you. Not the way he was, at least.

“Of course.” He would make sure that you are comfortable before he turns you loose on the house. Or perhaps abandoning you to it would be a more apt phrasing. “Whenever you wish to leave here. I’ve cleared my schedule for the morning.”

“There’s no time like the present, I guess? I can follow you in my car.” You have half a mind to ask if the other occupants will be there, but you can’t see how he would possibly know that so you put the question aside in your mind.

“Of course.” He can’t think of anything else that needs to be address. “We will file all of the paperwork with the probate court and you will be receiving new registration for the car and a title to the house in four to six weeks. Sometimes it does take a few months.” He warns.

“I can’t imagine I’ll need them with any kind of speed.” After all, you have no plans to do anything of importance. In fact, if you never do anything besides sit in your little corner of this town for the rest of your life and remain unnoticed by everyone, you’ll be happier for it.

“Well.” He hands off the papers to the assistant and stands. “Shall we?” He asks, motioning towards the door.

******

Even with the heavy traffic of downtown Newport, the drive from the Law Offices of Colette & Dupree over to Bellevue Avenue takes under ten minutes. You drive by a grocery store and a drug store on the way – both good things to know the location of – as well as numerous high end shops, restaurants, and cafes. There is a bustling town here and it looks like students, too. Young adults with stuffed-full backpacks wearing all manner of paraphernalia that reads Salve Regina University seem to dominate certain areas.

After what seems like dozens of affluent homes, Mr. Colette’s blinker turns on before one of many stone walls and turns left into a driveway. When you follow suit and drive through the front gate, you’re glad to be alone because the gasp you let out is audible. Chateau-sur-Mer rises up and peeks out from behind trees like a monument. More massive than you ever would have dreamed of, the stone-faced house points north with a beautiful, multifaceted landscape surrounding it in every direction. Three stories, with a beautiful back porch, and spires and a tower to boot, the house is offset by a gigantic weeping tree that you don’t recognize and an otherwise reasonably sized house in one corner of the property that seems utterly dwarfed by the mansion it otherwise guards. Caretaker, you remember after a second. There is a caretaker…and presumably that is where he lives? It’s just…you had already had trouble wrapping your head around it. But now that you see it? It’s just…beautiful.

The sleek Jaguar comes to a stop and Antonio steps out and turns towards the older, slightly perilous looking Volvo. He hopes that you will get rid of it, or replace it now that you have the means. He had watched it seemingly buck several times while stopped at traffic lights.

“This is it?” If your question sounds dubious, it isn’t meant to. Honestly you’re almost too flabbergasted to really wrap your head around everything. There are a few cars parked under a structure to the left of the house that you assume used to be stables, from the look of it. Now the small windows that show you inside give a peak at bumpers and break lights instead of manes and carriages. There are a half dozen cars inside that you assume must belong to the other occupants and the staff, with more empty spaces standing open before the gorgeous black and chrome sports car that you now hold the keys to. “I mean it’s…it’s so much room. I’m almost glad there’s other people who will be around a lot.”

“The property is safe.” He assures you. “There’s a surveillance system that you can access and a security system that nothing in the world can rival.” He chuckles at his own joke and motions towards the house. “Shall we go inside?”

“Sure.” Not that you understand why one little old lady would need such a hardcore security system, but you nod anyway and let the lawyer – your lawyer? – lead the way. The house looms, almost daring you to come inside, but you are faced with an ordinary carved wooden door when you actually get close.

"It was built in 1852. Or completed in that year." Mr. Colette tells you as he takes the large keyring from you to unlock the front door and hands the keys back to you with a small grin. "It was once considered a ‘cottage’." He scoffs. "Although I tend to think of something a little smaller as a cottage."

“This is about four cottages all stacked on top of each other.” Walking through the front door cloaks you in near-darkness immediately. When your eyes adjust you stumble up a half-dozen wide marble steps into a front hall that grows up and up and up into an atrium taller than any you’ve ever seen before. The staircase behind you looks like it belongs to the set of a BBC drama and the thick red velvet curtains hanging in the entryway feel more like an old proscenium theater than a house. But the warm carved wood everywhere and colorfully painted forest scenes on the walls are immediately cozy in their own right. “Oh wow…” Your eyes are wide as you look around. It’s…it’s stunning.”

“Any changes you want to make, you are perfectly able to.” The lawyer reminds you, although he couldn’t imagine wanting to change anything about this estate. The mixture of Victorian and Gilded age architecture is a perfect combination to make a gorgeous house.

“I really don’t think that will be necessary.” After all, people already live here. The last thing you want to do is intrude on other people’s lives. “So this is the Great Hall, I guess?” The floor plan that Raquel gave you at the lawyer’s office is going to end up being invaluable, you think, as you pull it out and inspect the drawing of the first floor.

“Yes.” While he’s happy you don’t want to change anything, your tone makes it sound like it would be rude to do so. “The kitchens have been completely remodeled, modern appliances, but they still kept the charm of the rest of the house.”

“And that’s…” You consult the floor plan when there isn’t an obvious appliance anywhere in sight. “In the basement?”

“It is on the lower level.” Guiding you into the house, he explains. “Heat caused by the kitchens was unwanted so after the kitchens being in a different building fell out of fashion, they decided to make sure the kitchen was in the basement to keep the rest of the house cooler during the summer months. There’s the elevator over here, if you wish to use that instead of taking the stairs?”

Mr. Colette motions to the left of the main stairwell, to a portion of the first floor with red and black patterned flooring, and down a hallway. Curious enough to be led around by the suggestion and also noting that the floor plan in your hands says Servants’ Hall for this portion of the house, you follow him tentatively and watch him open what appeared to be a regular closet door. Instead there is a metal grating behind it, which is also opened, and a carved dark wood elevator car stands waiting for you. The kind of thing that would absolutely get you killed in a horror movie, it’s surprisingly sturdy when you step into it and Colette closes the door and gate easily. He presses the ‘B’ button before you can even ask about stairs and the antique elevator jolts to life, headed downstairs.

“Don’t worry,” he sends you a reassuring smile. “The elevator is safe.” He listens to the clanking and feels the carriage start to slow down.

The basement of this house is not like any basement you’ve ever been in before. The enormously long hallway with red and black flooring identical to the hall upstairs seems to stretch and stretch, and there are more doors down here than you could ever fathom needing. But there are voices coming from a room just a few yards away and that is both comforting and nerve-wracking at once. Other people means you won’t be lonely, but it also means new needs, new demands, and potentially new people to disappoint.

“Mr. Colette?” A woman’s voice sounds, loud and clear with a thick Rhode Island accent, from the room and only half a second later a tall, slim woman with gray and silver peppered through her brown hair and glasses attached to a beaded chain appears in the hall. “We weren’t sure when to expect you,” she says with a thin smile. “And this must be the new owner.”

“Yes.” The lawyer who has spent many hours in this house smiles at the housekeeper and waves your forward. Introducing you by your first and last name. “This is Marjorie Taylor and Renee Green. They are the ones who keep the house sparkling and the linens fresh.” He explains. “Mrs. Taylor would also cook for you if you would like.”

“I insist on it,” Mrs. Taylor informs you, smiling in a sort of polite-but-curious way and she shakes your hand when you offer it. “It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.” When you falter and repeat your first name, thinking that maybe she had forgotten it or something, she shakes her head and gives you that same amused, thin-lipped smile. “There are a couple of things we stay old fashioned about here,” she tells you. But leaves out that the contract she signed with the rather suave gentleman who hired her specified it. “I’m Mrs. Taylor. This is Renee. The caretaker is Mr. Taylor, and the gardener is Mr. Finchley. The whole staff live in the caretaker’s cottage on the grounds and we are always reachable except for our day off each week. The schedule is written out for you. I left it on the desk in the library along with the necessary phone numbers and other important information.

“You’re very thorough, Mrs. Taylor.” It comes out with a note of surprise and you drop your eyes to the floor, embarrassed. “I mean — thank you. It is very much appreciated.”

“It is my pleasure.” She assures you with a soft smile. “It will be good to have people in the home again.” The others that were here kept to themselves and were often not around.

“I’m just one person,” you assure her, as if to say that you won’t cause trouble or get in the way. Those were things that Derek accused you of far too often. Even if it is the job that these people have taken on — the job not cleaning and cooking and taking care — you would never want to be a burden or a strain on them. “And…I tend to be fairly low key.”

“Well, I hope that you will let us take care of you.” Mrs. Taylor hums. “We have been delighted to hear that you had been located and were coming. I am sure that we will find a way to rub along together.”

“I’m sure.” You say, trying to smile and be reassuring. These people seem to be expecting a boss, not a wallflower, and that isn’t what you are. “I’m very glad to have gotten the call.” That, at least, is true.

“Would you like breakfast after the tour?” She asks. “I can have a tray brought up to whatever room you choose, and Mr. Taylor would be happy to bring up any luggage and boxes you have.”

Renee nods. “I would be happy to help you unpack.” She offers.

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” You protest immediately, but both women give you such placid, polite smiles that you swallow your anxiety about butting into the house and replace it with fear of being rude. “I—I mean…thank you. That actually sounds very nice.”

“Our pleasure.” The elder woman assures you. “Perhaps later on, once you have settled in, we can go over your preferences.” She tilts her head. “For now, do you have any food allergies I should make note of?”

“None.” Just as soon as you shake your head though, something in your gut churns and the smell of Derek’s cheap beer somehow overtakes you out of nowhere. It’s like a sense memory you never needed, and you stammer inelegantly. “But I—I, um…I don’t drink. Alcohol, I mean.” You did before. A long time ago. But seeing what it did to the man you thought you were going to spend your life with has ruined it for you. Soulmate or not, you had really thought Derek was the one. But his one comes in a can.

“Yes ma’am.” If it sounds odd to her, she doesn’t make it visible, just nodding politely. “I will make sure you have a nice tray sent up, I know you will be tired from travel.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor.” “I’ll show our new resident The call buttons after she chooses a bedroom, so you’ll know where to bring her tray.” Colette assures the housekeeper with a smile. “We’ll just head back upstairs.”

“Perfect.” She smiles at the lawyer. “Oh, Max and Eddie aren’t here right now, so if you show her their rooms, just go right in.”

You thank both women again and follow Mr. Colette back upstairs, where he motions to the left of the hallway where the elevator is hidden and you end up in a room that is wall-to-wall cabinets. There are beautiful serving pieces and sets of China in those cases, as well as stunning crystal and glassware. If you ever throw a Victorian themed dinner party, it looks like you’ll be all set for dishes.

“The preservation society on the island has been itching to get their hands on this estate.” Antonio muses as he slows down to let you take in the vastness of the collection. “Ms. Brown always enjoyed thumbing her nose at them.” He chuckles quietly. “I believe that you would have liked her. She was a firecracker.”

“She had great taste.” There is a set of China in the cases that you keep coming back to — the intricate gilding and beautifully painted flowers utterly mesmerizing you for a few moments. There seem to be three different full sets of China here and two full sets of glassware. Every different size dish or glass you can think of is here.

“Now it is yours to keep and use however you wish.” He reminds you as he moves towards the display of real silverware.

“I think it’s actually harder to wrap my head around that now that I’m in the house,” you admit, trying for a laugh and just sort of letting out a huffed breath instead. On the floor plan, the door to the left of you is marked Butler’s Pantry and that seems like someplace you shouldn’t go. To the right, though, the plan says Dining Room. “This way next?” You guess? The door looks innocuous enough — it’s just a dining room. It can’t be that crazy.

“Wherever you would like to go.” Antonio insists as he pushes open the swinging double doors silently. The large dining room table with the massive set of three chandeliers dominates the room.

The gasp from your lips has you pretty sure that you’re going to be saying “Wow” a hell of a lot in this house, and every room just makes the feeling grow. From the forest green walls of the dining room outfitted with ornate carvings in dark wood – to the silver painted walls of the ballroom with its six foot high mirrors and gilt relief work on every wall panel. A parlor room off one end of the ballroom is all decorated in green silk fabric – even the walls – with clean white accents. Beyond that is a hallway with a stained-glass ceiling and a white marble floor that is decked in red leather sofas and contains huge white marble statues and paintings on the walls that are nearly life sized. The library is the most ornate yet, with carvings on every single wooden surface, lush carpeting and sitting space, and even a hidden door built into one bookcase. “Where does that go?” You ask immediately, too tentative to open it yourself.

“This, I believe, goes to the morning room.” He tells you, cocking his head as he thinks. “It has been some time since I have completely gone through the house.” He admits.

“Is it okay to go through? I mean the house is old but it’s not so old that it’s unsafe, right?” The idea of a door in a book axe is too good for anyone to pass up, especially you.

“Absolutely.” Antonio pulls the leaver to open the door. “Ms. Brown and her soulmate would spend quite I bit of time in this room. I believe it was her favorite.”

The middle section of the bookcase pulls toward you smoothly, allowing you and Mr. Colette to pass into a large corner room with enormous picture windows on two sides and built in bookcases on every other wall. Like an extension of the library there are books everywhere, a red leather windows seat that matches the sofas in the marble hall, and even intricate wooden shutters that close over the windows in sections to regulate how much light is let in. One side of the room is dominated by a large fireplace with yet one more large mirror set in the wall above it, and there are small statues all along the mantle. A billiard table takes up most of the space in the middle of the room, but a table and chairs and a desk also fit neatly with plenty of room to move.

“This house goes on forever,” you observe with a laugh of disbelief.

“It is one of the larger cottages.” He agrees. “In fact, it was the largest house until the Vanderbilts built the Breakers.” He imparts that little fact with a smirk as he looks around the room. “But I’ve always been fond of this estate.”

“It’s beautiful.” Having seen it up close and personal, you can imagine that photos don’t do it justice. It must seem crowded or busy in pictures. But in person? It’s like the house is hugging you. After another minute looking around the morning room, you follow Colette back out to the entryway and head upstairs. There is fabric, not wallpaper, hanging on the walls around the master staircase and it is painted with a forest scene that seems reminiscent of folk tales. Like magic could be lurking behind any corner or a satyr just might come out from behind a bush. There is a tree painted on the underside of the enormous staircase, trunk and branches extending upward to sprout leaves and welcome birds, and it crawls all the way up the stairwell to extend out to the ceiling of the second-floor landing and atrium. Dozens of little painted songbirds light on branches everywhere to make you feel like you have climbed into the forest that is painted on the walls.

“Every room has its own theme.” He explains at the top of the stairwell looking down the hallway at the doors. “If you don’t mind. I will step away to make a call.”

"Of course." Far be it from you to stop him from attending to his business, and you follow along the railing in the hallway to make your way into a different hall. This one is just a rectangular room with the now familiar built-in cases along the walls, paintings and intricate light fixtures above the cases, and six doors to choose from. To open them one by one seems like a massive intrusion, but you can't figure out any other way to see what else is up here. The floor plan marks four bedrooms on this floor as well as a sitting room and a nursery, though you can't understand why there is a nursery if there were never any children living here. Maybe your great-aunt and her soulmate wanted children but just could never have them? That's a far sadder thought than you can muster at the moment.

Hoping that you're facing the right direction, you open the door on the opposite wall from where you are standing and – yes, you had it right – the sitting room is full of plush chairs and love seats with a petite fireplace that has a huge flatscreen television over it where you assume a mirror once stood. The fireplace has a small stand inside it that obviously prevents fires from ever being laid, but more importantly seems to be the storage rack for multiple video game systems. Whoever Max and Eddie are, these other occupants of the house seem to thoroughly enjoy video games.

To the right of that room is a beautifully laid bedroom with honey colored furniture and homey gray and white pinstripe wallpaper. A writing desk stands at the ready between a window trimmed in lace curtains and a white marble fireplace, and it feels like exactly the kind of room that you would love to be brought to if you were a guest in someone's house. As much as it is sweet, inviting, and unexpectedly friendly, it feels…spoken for somehow. It’s nothing you can describe fully, but it makes you think that you shouldn’t disturb the room. Like whoever had claimed it originally might still come back one day to curl up in that bed or sit down at that desk.

There are two more bedrooms – one with furniture made of a wood that is somehow remarkably the same shade as roasted butternut squash and the other with a luxurious, if slightly gothic, yellow velvet and dark walnut loveseat and red upholstered chairs in it that all beg to be read in – but both rooms very obviously are occupied. These must be the rooms that Max and Eddie claimed whenever it was that they arrived. The next door to the left of Max's room yields a large, airy bedroom decorated in all sorts of shades and textures of blue with dark wood furniture and soft pink silk and lace curtains over the windows. A painting of a smiling young woman hangs above the fireplace with two lamps in the shapes of cherubs holding the light source aloft. Two cream-colored chairs sit by a small table and two more blue velvet chairs flank another. You could have a whole party in this spick-and-span room without any effort whatsoever.

“This is the one, I see.” Antonio has returned. Lingering in the doorway as he watches you move from Knick knack to knick knack with an almost dreamy expression on your face. “Let me show you the call system.” He gives you an apologetic look. “I’m afraid that I am needed in court.”

A set of buttons by the door to what you very accidentally have apparently selected as your room will summon a member of the house's small staff, Mr. Colette tells you, and there is a similar button on a handle by your bed, almost like the call button for a nurse in the hospital. "Don't let me keep you," you murmur, waving off another apology from the man who has literally swept into your life and changed everything about it. The last thing you want is to stand in the way of anything he has to do. "I'll, um...I guess I'll unpack."

As if on a secret cue, the door to the elevator opens on the other side of the hall and an ornate rolling cart, much like the ones at the posh hotels, rolls out. Your trash bags are all neatly stacked with the few boxes and the one bag you had managed to take from your ex's house. The older, stately looking man pushing it does not judge, his sharp eyes looking for the room where the new owner has decided to take up residence so he can help in any way possible. Renee is behind him, a fully ladened tray on another rolling cart.

You can hear them rolling down the hallway before you see them, and Mr. Colette smiles in satisfaction. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, looking toward the doorway as the source of the noise comes into view. “If you need anything, you have your staff here, and my number. Please don’t hesitate.”

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Colette.” As soon as you say his name he disappears from view, and you’re left face-to-face with the embarrassing sight of your trash bags in this gorgeous home.

“I took the liberty of moving your car into the carriage house.” Mr. Taylor tells you. In addition to being the caretaker, he also maintains all the vehicles here. Your car is in sore need of some TLC and he is already itching to get to it.

“That’s very kind of you. You really don’t have to go through any extra trouble.” The sight of garbage bags just feels wrong in a house this old and grand, and it just makes you feel like apologizing for that, too. “As you can see it…it really shouldn’t take me too long to get settled in.”

“It just means you can rest.” Renee offers with a smile as she rolls the tray over to the couches and table. “Here, ma’am?” She asks politely.

"Hopefully it won't take too long to find a new job." The offhanded and automatic thought doesn't even phase you, although you don't enjoy the fact that you'll have to explain why your last place let you go. At least you can assure them that it won't happen anymore – since Derek isn't in your life there won't be any erratic or unexpected phone calls to have to respond to immediately. "Thank you, Renee. It...it all looks wonderful." Laden with a steaming silver coffeepot and fresh pastries with butter, jam, and fruit, the delicate China on the tray looks like it has been laid for a queen.

“My pleasure, ma’am.” Mr. Taylor quietly excuses himself, and Renee turns towards the cart with an eagerness to begin. “Do you have some specific organization for your things?” She asks, hoping to know how you would like things. “Or shall I organize them for you?”

Even if you had specific organization, it would no longer apply to this house. The feeling that everything should be in a specific place and that rooms have specific functions is very different from how you were living before. "I'm sure you'll know just where things are supposed to go," you tell her, with a definite air of 'because I don't have any clue'.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods and immediately whirls around to start wheeling the cart into the dressing room just off to the side of the bathroom.

"Renee?" Following her just a few steps and sticking your head into the dressing room, you have to swallow yet another sigh over how beautiful this house is and how grand everything seems at first blush. You shake it away, though, when her head pops up expectantly. "I don't suppose I could ask any of you to call me by my name, could I? Mrs. Taylor seemed rather set on using a title..."

“It— it’s not done.” Renee admits with a bashful smile. “Although Mrs. Taylor did call Ms. Brown by her nickname at Ms. Brown’s insistence.”

"She had a nickname?" For some reason that intrigues you, even though she had an unusual name to begin with. You've never heard of a woman named Etienne before.

“Cookie.” Renee smiles fondly. “She went by Cookie for as long as she could remember.”

"That's very sweet." And actually makes you smile too, though you can't quite figure out why it warms you through the way it does.

“Do you have a nickname, ma’am?” She asks curiously. “I am sure that Mrs. Taylor would have no issue using a nickname for you.”

"I—" About to protest that you really don't, or at least that you can't think of one, a long-lost memory gets dredged up from the bottom of your mind that you haven't given any thought to in a long time. "I used to like being called Dolly. Quite a lot."

“Yes Ms. Dolly.” The nickname is no more unusual than ‘Cookie’ and the smile that thinking of your nickname is soft and real as it makes you light up.

"Thank you, Renee." It actually relaxes you measurably just to have a little bit less formality, and you offer the girl another genuine, if small, smile.

"My pleasure." She turns back to the bag that is opened and starts to carefully remove all of the clothes to sort and organize into piles before she can fold or hang them. "I should have all of this sorted in just an hour or so."

"Please don't feel like you need to rush. It isn't like I have anywhere to go." The fact that someone else is doing your laundry makes you more than a little embarrassed but you try to remember that it's literally her job. "But...again...thank you."

She doesn't bother to remind you that it's her job, just humming quietly as she continues to make note of what you have that needs pressing.

"Renee?" Even after you've walked away, you double back to look into the dressing room where she is sorting through the things you brought from Tennessee. "Was, this...um...was this Ms. Brown's room?"

"It was, Dolly." She stands up and moves towards the door. "Does that upset you?"

"I...don't really know," you admit after a moment of thinking about it. "I think it's more that...I don't want to disturb it? Like if she had a favourite chair, or painting, or lamp or something, then I wouldn't ever want to move it." Saying it out loud makes you sigh, and you huff a laugh at yourself. "That probably sounds silly."

Her own laugh is slightly ironic. "Please don't worry about that." She assures you. "Ms. Brown loved to rearrange her furniture based off of how she was feeling that week." She tells you. "It drove Mrs. Taylor up the wall, but she would almost insist on moving most of it herself. Even up until a few years ago."

"Wasn't she in her 90s?" You ask, surprised to hear anything so active about the old woman who had lived here.

"She was spry." Renee can sense that you are eager for information about the older lady that had lived in this house. "She did love to pull the chaise in front of the windows and read." She tells you. "Especially on rainy days where the storm raged outside. She would sit with a pot of tea or hot chocolate for hours."

"God, that sounds so relaxing." And in a house full of books, who could blame her? You can't even imagine actually having the time to read every book you saw in the house while you were walking around. " I might have to follow suit for a little while. Just...until I find a new job."

Renee frowns slightly and tilts her head. "A job?" She asks. "Are you someone who likes to keep busy?"

"I guess—" It hadn't occurred to you that you could just not have a job, and that makes you frown far deeper than Renee is at the moment. "I guess so? I didn't really think...I've just always had a job. I didn't really think I'd ever be able to not have one..."

"Perhaps you have something you enjoy doing?" She asks. "Forgive me for being so forward, but you have the means to do whatever you wish now, Dolly."

"I guess I haven't really given it a lot of thought." That makes you frown again, this one considerably more confused, and you shrug your shoulders. "I won't bother you anymore. Thank you, Renee." It's a heady thought to chew over while you eat your breakfast, but it's something that you're going to have to think about. What did you dream about when you used to dream of growing up? You can barely remember anymore.

She doesn't want to pry, so she nods again and turns back towards the dressing room again. It's obvious that you are kind of lost and her heart goes out to you. Hopefully being here will make the sadness in your eyes disappear.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Max Phillips #Max Phillips x reader #Max Phillips x you #Max Phillips x female reader #Max Phillips x f!reader #Eddie BtVS #Bloodsucking Bastards #soulmate au #a mysterious inheritance

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ratatouillewastakendammit · 5 months

Note

Could you possibly do head canons or a fanfic of Ghostface! Keigo(Hawks) x reader?

You have free creative control to what would happen and stuff like that (I just think the idea would be interesting) but you don’t have to do it if your not comfortable.

(Also I love your work)

Thank you so much!! (I"M BACK BITCHES FR THIS TIME! Also this is my very late Kinktober contribution because college is kicking my ass rn)

He would wait until a day you knew he wouldn’t be home.

“Kei, I promise, it’s alright."

Your boyfriend whined into the receiver. “Yeah, but we had plans tonight."

“And sitting in front of the tv with a bowl of candy and some Jordan Peele movies tomorrow night will be just as lovely.” You reply. “Besides, you gotta protect us from all the toilet-papering teens terrorizing the city tonight.”

“Hardy-har. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Love you.”

“I love you back.”

Preferably at a time when your other emotions were likely to overwhelm any idea of his plans.

Setting the phone down, you allowed your body to slouch into a sigh, one final act of disappointment that you didn’t want your boyfriend to see.

While one could argue that you were technically used to his fluctuating schedule, it still didn’t make it any less disheartening when he was called in last minute on holidays. Of course, you didn’t let him know that.

Then he'd play with you just a bit, letting your sense of anxiety spike just the slightest by leaving the overhead skylight ajar.

Had he really left it open?

“Dumbass,” you muttered with a grin, quickly standing up to grab a ladder.

A chill rattled through your spine as you climbed, fall wind blowing through your hair and poking goosebumps in your skin as you pulled the window closed, making sure to lock it before wandering into the kitchen for an after-dinner snack.

A bowl of cereal was always an easy solution, especially when it was accompanied by a spooky flick and a comfortable bar seat at the counter.

Your phone would ring at exactly midnight, a voice he knew you'd find familiar, yet still unable to place, would answer.

Unknown Number.

"Hello?"

"Hey there," the voice was masculine and deep, like the sound had been covered with a sheet of gravel before being released.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Oh, come on, don't you recognize me?"

"Uh, no. I think you might have the wrong number."

"No, I don't." Silence followed for a few moments, just enough for a touch of unease to stir in your gut. "What's your favorite scary movie?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You gotta have a favorite. I know you like them."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because you're watching one right now."

He also knew how well you liked horror films, how easily you would recognize the reference and think of the surprise call as a prank. Then he'd make sure to get your heart beating once more.

"I also know your boyfriend left the window open on his way out. That's dangerous, dontcha think? Leaving a pretty thing like you all alone with the door locked?"

"What do you want?" Fear shook your vocal cords, the question coming out in a ridiculously less forceful manner than you would've liked.

"You."

Being the over-protective boyfriend he was, you had been taught how to react to a situation like this beforehand. That just meant he had to move quickly, sliding a hand over your mouth to smother a scream and prying the phone from your fingers before you could even think of calling for help.

"Calm down, sweetheart." The masked figure tossed the voice changer away, black fabric tickling the rim of your ear. "I've got ya."

Keigo was thoughtful. He'd give you a moment of realization, and another to stop struggling, before forcefully turning you around and lifting you on top of the counter, one hand encasing both of your wrists and the other toying with the end of your sleep-shorts.

Eyes widening in shook, you took in the white mask in front of you. Lifeless black eyes and a horrifyingly exaggerated mouth, one that left the expression into one of pure terror for eternity. The dark fabric surrounding it just exaggerated that pristine look, one of perfectly untouched cartilage.

Still, despite its velvety presence, you recognized the hands poking out from the robe. Bronze skin kissed by years in the sun, interrupted by the lines of scars that you had spent countless nights running your fingers over.

The hands were warm, just as they always were, as they slid over your thighs, forcing them open before sliding underneath the bottom hem of your pajamas.

He would watch you try not to moan as he brushed his thumb over your clit, caressing gentle circles over it before pushing a finger inside. The soft whimper he earned made his cock jump.

"That's right, gorgeous." The masked figure slid another digit in, undoubtedly smirking as he felt you clench around him.

"I wanna hear you scream."

#bnha #bnha imagines #hawks x reader #mha smut #mha #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #kinktober 2023 #ghostface #hawks bnha #hawks smut #bnha hawks #mha x reader #bhna smut

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avatar-anna · 7 months

Text

Happy Spooky Season!

i am harry in this, harry is me, y'all will never catch me watching a scary movie. also this feels very professor!yn coded

"Jesus—Fuck!"

Harry flinched at another jump scare, not even trying to be subtle about hiding his face in your shoulder at this point. You tried to stifle your laugh, finding it both cute and amusing that his bravado had lasted all of ten minutes once the plot of the horror movie actually dove into the scary stuff. You offered him your hand, which he took gratefully and held in a tight grip as your eyes stayed glued to the screen in front of you.

"You're doing great, bub."

"I hate it here."

This time you didn't try to hide your chuckle as it bubbled out of you. You kissed the top of his head and squeezed his hand. This was the first time you'd ever watched a horror movie with Harry, every time you happened to watch one during the month of October, he coincidentally made himself scarce, though now you knew it wasn't much of a coincidence. Had you known he hated horror films this much, you never would've made him watch it.

"I can turn it off, babe. It's no problem," you said when he jumped again.

Harry shook his head against your shoulder. "I just didn't realize you were the horror movie type."

You shrugged and paused the movie as you looked around the house. Harry had a point, you supposed. All of your Halloween decorations were more cute than scary, and you bought matching socks with dancing skeletons for you and Harry to wear. The house currently smelled of pumpkin spice from the muffins you made earlier, and you were currently debating on whether you and Harry should be Fred and Daphne from Scooby Doo or Antonio Banderas and Catherine Zeta Jones from Zorro.

"I'll watch a few every now and then to get me in the spirit," you said.

"The possessed, murderous spirit?" Harry griped.

Grinning, you switched to a different streaming service and fired up a different film. You could feel Harry visibly relax against you, but he didn't move, deciding to stay nestled against your side. He puckered his lips against your neck, murmuring his thanks before he turned his attention back to the TV.

"As if I could be anything of the sort," you teased.

"I don't know. Might be sleeping with one eye open tonight," Harry said gravely. "I feel like I've discovered a whole different side to you."

"What? No skeletons in your closet?" you asked, pinching his side.

Harry squirmed away from your grip and avoided eye contact, suddenly very interested in the TV now that the horror film was gone. You didn't mind his sudden lack of interest in the conversation, you knew there wasn't much he liked to hide from you. All his little quirks—that you knew of, anyway—were pretty much out in the open. Some people might've preferred a little mystery, but you liked laying your cards on the table. It meant there was a level of trust between you and Harry.

The opening credits of your favorite childhood Halloween movie rolled, and you couldn't help but grin as Harry stayed glued to your side. "Love you," you murmured, kissing the top of his head.

"Love you," he mumbled back. It was the last time the two of you said anything for a while as you remained cuddled up watching a cheesy Halloween movie.

#harry styles #boyfriendrry #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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mrsjellymunson · 6 months

Text

Happy Halloween, Love ❤️

Pairing: Joseph Quinn x fem!reader

Summary: Joe raids the costume department at work and conspires to make this Halloween your most memorable yet.

WC: ~4.4k

CW: 🔞MDNI!🔞, NSFW, RPF, PWP, smut, porn with a little bit of plot, established relationship, role play, dressing up, slightly dom!JQ, choking (referenced), oral (everyone’s a winner), fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex (always wrap it irl), tiny bit of mutual masturbation, squirting, maybe a touch of overstimulation, Eddie and demons are referenced, pet names (numerous, including references to reader as a pet, minion and servant), no y/n or descriptions of reader’s appearance, demon fucking (sort of). Please lemme know if I’ve missed anything, and don’t read this if you’re uncomfortable with real-person fics or any of this content.

A/N: Inspired by the anonymous comment, “It’s as close as we can get to having Joseph Quinn dress up in the Eddie wig and have demon horns”, a scenario which got stuck in my head and wouldn’t leave. This might well be the only RPF I’ll write (they still weird me out a little). I hope this doesn’t put anyone off checking out my Eddie and Steddie stuff 😬 I wrote this fairly quick and it’s not beta-d. It’s also my first time sharing smut, so (constructive) feedback is most welcome!

You knock on the bedroom door gently, having slipped into your new outfit in the bathroom. Halloween season was always fun with your boyfriend Joe, both of you loving to dress up and create spooky scenarios that would inevitably lead to sexy shenanigans. You’d thought you were the only one dressing up tonight, but you were wrong.

Unbeknownst to you, Joe had raided the prop store at the studio he was currently working at, claiming he needed something for a Halloween party, and he had plans...

“Come in, darling.”

You open the bedroom door, sleeping in slowly, wanting to tease Joe with a slow reveal of the short, ivory satin robe you had on, something innocent-looking belying what was underneath.

A deep, velvet-smooth voice greets you, slowly murmuring, “Happy Halloween, my love.”

It’s Joe. Your Joe. Your kind, generous, loving and silly Joe, but there’s something else about him tonight, something you can’t quite place just yet.

He’s surprised you - the bedroom is dark, lit only by a pair of spice-scented red candles and a small, warm lamp. It’s intimate, but also somewhat lair-like, and the ambiance goes really well with the red and black skull-patterned bed linens you’d bought especially for this time of year. You love it.

Your eyes rake over your man, drinking him in. Clothes-wise he’s wearing nothing but a pair of snug black jeans and a studded belt.

Fuck, he looks so hot.

He’s looking down at the floor, hands clasped loosely behind his back, putting his delectable torso on display for you.

In addition, he’s wearing The Wig. That wig.

You’ve role played with this before; he knows how much you love Eddie’s luscious, chestnut locks, and how when he puts on the voice it all combines to rile you up. One time you even got some fake blackwork tattoos and put them on his arms and chest. That was a very fun evening.

But this time there’s more…

Amongst the curls he’s also wearing a pair of long, spiralling, ridged, red and black horns. They’re beautifully detailed. They nestle amongst the soft kinks, and the curls hide the ends of the horns and however they’re attached, making the effect all the more realistic.

God, he looks amazing.

You’re not can’t determine why he’s been looking at the floor since you came in. Is he being bashful? You’re confused, that doesn’t seem to fit the narrative…

Your question is answered when he slowly looks up at you, with a menacing, Kubrick-like stare.

He’s wearing contacts. Not just any contacts, but full-sclera, black contacts, completely obscuring his natural eyes.

You swallow, hard. Your fingers toy with the sides of the slinky robe you’re wearing, and you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together, trying to provide just a little friction to the area between them. Joe notices.

“Fuck Joe, I mean Eddie, you look-“

He cuts you off.

“There is no Joe here. No Eddie either. Only… your Master.”

You gasp at his voice, how it’s even deeper than usual and slightly menacing. You’ve always been impressed by the way he can control his voice, the timbre, volume, pitch, cadence. You’re momentarily distracted by how you’re not surprised he’s always been in acting work.

“Tell me you’re mine, my loyal minion.”

You’re broken abruptly from your reverie by Joe’s commanding tone, and you willingly play along, knees weakening and a pool of wetness forming surprisingly quickly in your underwear.

“Yes, my Master, all yours-”

You gasp as his strong hand reaches forward towards your throat, wrapping loosely around it. Not squeezing (not tonight, anyway), just demonstrating who’s in charge of this scenario.

Joe your Master smiles in that familiar way you know and love, but he keeps the sinister stare, giving everything a much darker edge.

“Well done, my precious. Now, would you like to have some fun with your Master?”

You bring one hand up from your side and gently drag the the tips of your fingernails along the inside of his forearm, a place you know is sensitive.

He breathes in quickly through his nose, trying to stifle a gasp, though you hear it. His grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly, and he tilts his chin up, narrowing his eyes and looking down his nose at you.

You surprise yourself as you reply, “Yes Master, I’m yours to command.”

Ever the consummate professional, none of Joe’s excited internal monologue shows, and he simply looks at you and murmurs, stretching out the syllables,

“Good girl...”

That’s it, you’re gone. He could do almost literally anything to you right now and you most likely wouldn’t stop him. You let out a small whimper.

Even with the dim light and the darkness of his denim, you can see the bulge in your Master’s jeans.

Releasing your throat, he moves his hand to the back of your neck, gripping firmly but not harshly, bending towards you and pulling your face to his. He crashes his lips against yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth in a passionate, messy kiss, which you eagerly return.

Breaking the kiss, he grins at you again, before removing his hand from your neck and flicking the edge of your robe near your collarbone.

“Take this off.”

You obey, slowly undoing the robe and slipping it off your shoulders. As the fabric slips to the floor you’re left in nothing but the new set that you bought especially for tonight.

Joe’s eyes caress your form, taking in the sheer, red, rose-patterned lace decorated with tiny bows.

But what’s really catching his eye is the fact that your bra is peek-a-boo style, and the ribbon ties are already undone, your nipples on display.

He hisses an inhale, and runs a thumb pad gently over one of your hardening nipples.

“This all for me?”

“Yes, Master, only for you.”

He takes a step towards you and glances to your panties.

“Are these…?”

“Crotchless? Yes, Master.”

He lets out an involuntary growl and brings his other hand to your core, pushing one finger between your thighs and swiping its tip through your already-damp folds.

Feeling your wetness he can’t help but drop his head back and moan.

It gives you a perfect view of his gorgeous neck, and you want to lick it, like you have so many times before.

Seeing Joe dressed up like this and regarding you with such obvious hunger leaves your whole body tingling, and the anticipation of him touching you more makes you feel like tinder about to combust.

You need him to have fewer clothes on too.

Biting your lip, you slowly bring a hand up between you and trace your fingertips over his solid torso, tracing shapes on his skin, touching the fine, soft hair and moving down towards his happy trail, finishing at his belt line. As your fingers reach his belt buckle, you ask,

“Please, Master, may I..?”

Your Master drops his hands to his sides and, with a lascivious grin, tongue peeping out at one corner running over his teeth, he gives you a tiny nod.

You undo his belt and jeans, running your hands inside the fabric and around his abdomen until you get to his hips. He’s not wearing anything underneath, just how he knows you like it.

You push the fabric downwards, dropping to your knees as you go, just how you know he likes it.

His cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen, fully hard already, and you drool at the sight.

Stepping out of his clothing, he positions himself in front of you, abs tensed and legs slightly apart, looking down at you with those completely black eyes, a curtain of dark curls framing his face.

“What are you gonna do for me, my servant?”

“Whatever you want me to, Master.”

You stick out your tongue as far as you can and languorously lick a broad stripe from his balls up the base and shaft of his cock, past his frenulum and all the way to the tip, where you pause at his slit, swirling your tongue and collecting a bead of precum that’s collected there.

Glancing up again, you notice he’s pursed his lips and his breathing has become uneven, all signs you’ve learnt are indicative of him enjoying what you’re doing.

Lifting both hands you gently grasp his base with one, pulling his tip slightly towards you, and caress his balls with the other, as you open your mouth and slide slowly down his length. Pausing after a couple of inches you return the other way, repeating and going further each time until your lips are touching the fingers you have wrapped around him.

He’s fully panting now, lips parted and brows gently furrowed.

“Fuck, precious, you’re gonna fucking kill me one day.”

Taking this as an indication to continue, you hollow your cheeks and suck, earning you a deep moan from his chest.

You move up and down at a slightly faster pace, sucking and licking, enjoying having your face stuffed full of him, until he’s suddenly grasping your chin and pulling you up towards him. His cock leaves your mouth with a soft pop, and you’re soon standing in front of him, eyes locked. Gruffly, he mutters,

“That’s too good, sweetheart, and I’ve got plans for you. Get on the bed.”

You obey, sitting your bottom on the edge of the bed and shuffling backwards until you’re in the centre, leaning back on your elbows.

He climbs on behind you, and using his hands and his knees he roughly pushes your knees and thighs apart, slotting himself between them.

He bends low towards your thighs, inhaling deeply and pausing for a moment, humming and enjoying the scent of your arousal.

At any other time you might be embarrassed, but his behaviour fits so well with the whole demon vibe and you find yourself heating up even more at the action.

He exhales a long, hot breath, which fans over your core, tantalising you further.

Dropping his upper body between your legs, he lets out a series of low growls as he sucks wet, biting kisses up your inner thighs, pausing occasionally to suck hard on the soft flesh. You moan at the sensation, wondering if he’ll leave bruises, excited by the idea that he might.

You use the opportunity to touch the horns for the first time, feeling the details and ridges, enjoying the contrast with the soft, flowing curls.

He eventually reaches your centre, and marvels at the lingerie framing your delicate, glistening folds.

With a gruff, animalistic hum he licks a stripe from your shining hole all the way up to your begging clit. You cry out, the most sensitive part of you finally receiving the attention it’s been craving.

Wasting no more time, he sticks his tongue out as far as it will go and pushes it inside you, moving and licking and devouring you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You watch him with hooded eyes, trying to sear the image of this demon-god between your legs into your mind, before your arms give out and you flop backwards onto the bed, just about managing to vocalise,

“More, Master, want more of you.”

He takes the hint, bringing one hand up and pushing two fingers easily inside you, and moving his mouth to lick and suckle at your clit. You moan loudly, pushing your hips down the bed and grinding into his hand and face. He moans at this, and the vibrations start to drive you towards your peak.

He chooses this moment to curl his fingers towards your front wall, hitting that spot inside you perfectly, and you begin to see stars. He keeps up his ministrations, your moans eventually turning to wails as he gradually increases the pressure on your clit, and you can hold off no longer. Your vision turns black, your limbs lock, and for a moment you stop breathing, a bubble of euphoria bursting within you as you come undone with a scream.

He reduces the pressure on your clit but doesn’t stop, forcing you to ride out aftershock after aftershock on his face. Eventually he removes his fingers from your swollen cunt, replacing them momentarily with his tongue, before pulling off entirely. Looking down at you he lets out a feral growl. Licking his lips, he wipes his chin with the back of his hand before licking it clean, before muttering,

“Fuck, so fucking beautiful…”

As soon as he thinks you can manage, he’s pulling at one hip, assisting more than forcing, as he says, “Turn over, baby, stick that beautiful ass in the air for me.”

You do your best to manoeuvre onto your front, keeping your face and chest on the mattress and putting your knees on the bed, lifting your butt. He kneels behind you, parting your knees a little further, running his hands over the globes of your ass, fully exposed and framed prettily by your red thong.

He lets out another, “SO fucking beautiful”, before slapping one palm hard cross one cheek, making you whimper, immediately moving in to kiss the stinging flesh, laving it with his lips and tongue.

He notches his tip at your hole, and, remaining in character, murmurs, “I’ve gotta fucking have you, my beautiful little -uh- pet!”

On the last word he sheathes himself fully inside you, no consideration given for the usually slow and gradual way he’d enter you, animal passion taking over and both of you more than ready.

You groan loudly as he bottoms out, adoring the feeling of him filling you up and how he rearranges your insides every time he does.

He moans as he remains seated within you for a few moments, groaning gutturally and gripping your hips harshly.

You don’t have much of a respite, as after only a moment of acclimation he’s setting a brutal pace, pumping in and out of you with feral force and abandon, wet and breathy sounds filling the room, his cock jolting your cervix with every thrust.

He starts to mutter almost unintelligible phrases in his demonic voice, but you make out,

“So fucking perfect, so fucking good for me, taking me like the cockvessel you are, my good little minion, my pet, my beautiful, beautiful pet.”

It’s all so exquisitely overwhelming, and you start wailing into your pillow.

He chooses this moment to slip one hand around to your front, immediately finding your sensitive, sopping wet bud and pressing small, form circles into it.

This brings you almost immediately to another precipice, and you cry out, “Ohgodohgodohgod!”

You can feel yourself clench down on his length, and he growls out,

“Jeezus fucking christ, squeezing me so tight, fuck!”

Euphoria washes over you again, a tingling heat beginning in your pelvis and spreading through your entire body. You go limp, but your Master holds you to him with one strong forearm, fingers continuing to circle your clit until you move and twitch, body trying to deal with the dissonance of wanting to get away from the overstimulation but enjoying the aftershocks.

As he continues to help you ride out your second orgasm he’s desperately trying to stave off his own, and eventually pulls out abruptly, your sweat mingling as he rests his forehead on your ass, breathing deeply.

You whine at the sudden emptiness and loss of contact, but are grateful for the opportunity to slump onto your side, enjoying the potential for a short rest.

He comes to lie behind you (if you’re honest, one of your favourite positions in which to get railed), but you realise something.

“No Master, not from this angle. There’s no point in you looking like that if I don’t get to enjoy it.”

Growling again (and seeing your logic) he deftly flips you over onto your back, slotting himself between your plush thighs, tip nudging your entrance as he stares into your face.

He moves both of your arms above your head, running his hands up the soft skin of the undersides and holding them there, hands clasping your wrists and pushing them into the mattress.

He seems to consider something for a moment.

“Hmm, I haven’t given these lovely tits nearly enough attention, my love. Especially considering you decorated them so prettily for me.”

That lascivious smirk is back, and with his free hand he opens the slit in the lace on one side and hums as he licks the flat of his wet tongue over one nipple. As he moves away he lets out a sigh through his nose, cooling the flesh delightfully and causing your already hard nipple to peak even more.

He massages each breast with his free hand, but decides that’s not enough, so commands you to, “Keep those there for me, my pet”, letting go of your wrists and starting to use both of his hands on your soft mounds. He’s enjoying pushing his fingers under the holes in the lace, pushing it to the side to expose your soft flesh, squeezing and squashing, pinching your nipples and licking and sucking on your sensitive nubs. You arch your back and moan with delight at the sensations.

Eventually satisfied that he’s given your tits enough attention, he licks a wet stripe all the way from your sternum, up the side of your neck all the way to your jaw, making you shiver in delight and anticipation.

He hovers over you, tips of his curls tickling your forehead. He plunges his tongue inside your mouth again in another passionate kiss, and you can taste the musk and salt from your own skin combined with the unique taste of him.

He returns his focus to getting himself seated inside of you again. He leans forward, holding your wrists with one hand, with the other lining his member up with your hole as he moves his hips forwards.

He slowly slides into you, filling you up yet again. He fucks you slow but ever so deep, the languid pace a welcome change that allows you to feel every vein and ridge of him against your sensitive walls. You’re both trembling, all of your nerves alive with sensitivity.

“Like me fucking you like this, my pet? Want your Master to -mmm- make you cum again?”

Though you know without doubt that would be an absolutely delectable option, you decide you want to do something for him now.

“I want to be good for you, Master. I want to sit on you, wanna ride you so bad.”

His eyes widen and that signature grin spreads across his face.

“Well, what my pet wants, my pet gets, doesn’t she?”

He slowly pulls out of you and releases your wrists, and in an attempt to conceal his excitement, languidly moves up the bed to lounge on a pile of collected red and black, silk and fur pillows. Abs tensed, knees spread wide and slightly bent, cock in hand and giving every appearance of being cocky and arrogant, he’s the perfect vision of a commanding demon. He’s sitting like he’s on a throne, like he deserves this. It drives you wild.

He lazily tugs at himself as he watches you crawl up the bed towards him, though he furrows his brow slightly as you pause halfway to sit on your heels, knees wide apart, displaying yourself for him.

“What’re you doing, my pet?”

You start touching yourself, parting your folds and sinking a finger easily into your dripping cunt, your free hand coming to massage one nipple.

His eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly, and you see his grip on his dick get tighter. You know he loves to watch.

You mumble, as innocently as you can,

“I couldn’t wait, Master.”

He watches for a few moments, entranced, but then remembers what’s on offer and points to his lap, raising his voice a little, aggressively muttering,

“Get up here, minion. Obey your Master!”

His domineering tone sends tingles up your spine and to your core, and you instantly comply, clambering the rest of the way up the bed and straddling his hips.

He holds his cock steady underneath you, running it over your slit, the wet noises exciting you even more.

You place your hands onto his shoulders, stabilising yourself. You take another moment to admire his outfit and presence, holding his gaze before starting to sink down onto him.

As you seat yourself into him fully, that delicious stretch and feeling of fullness returns. You take a moment to enjoy it, before starting to move, lifting up, slowly at first and not too far, before lowering yourself back down. He’s at a fantastic angle, and feeling him so far inside you is intense. You whine out,

“Fuck, Master, you’re so deep…”

He bends his legs behind you and plants both feet on the bed, encouraging you to prop yourself against them. He knows you love to lean back, giving him not only a delicious new angle but also an exquisite view of your tits jiggling as you move, and it also gives him purchase to occasionally buck his hips and slam into you from below.

He’s full-on panting again, and, huffing, he breathes out,

“That’s my good little pet, fucking me so well. You gonna make us both cum, my sweet little thing?”

Wanting to do a good job, you use your thighs to bounce up and down on him, his cock hitting that spot inside you and rocketing you towards yet another high. He’s grabbing at your tits, your ass, your hips, anywhere he can reach, grumbling and growling and clearly desperate to feel every inch of you.

His pelvis is hitting your clit in just the right way, but you need more, and you grab one of his hands and bring it to your front. He immediately begins rubbing his thumb against your clit, and you start to whimper, already close. Before you lose the power of speech he asks,

“Do you trust your Master, baby? Gonna let me try something?”

You trust him implicitly and, although you have no idea what he has in mind, you nod. He moves one hand to your sacrum, stabilising you. The other thumb continues circling your clit, but he pushes the flat of that hand against your belly, like he sometimes does when he wants to feel himself inside of you, except this time there’s more pressure.

You’re rolling your hips against him now, all the different sensations combining to bring you closer to your release. You can hear him panting too, feel him tensing, and you know he’s not far off either. But there seems to be a different kind of pressure building in your abdomen.

You try to say something, but full sentences won’t come out. All you can manage is parts of words, like, “Wait-, no-, someth-, it’s diff-, oh fu-“

Unable to control anything anymore, your release washes over you in a searing wave, but there’s something else too - you feel a hot, wet gush coming from you and soaking his hand, wrist and abdomen.

Unable to process what’s just happened, you simply look at him, open-mouthed but still euphoric.

That’s it for him, he can’t hold off anymore and his release hits him, hard. He pulls your hips down onto him at the same time he slams up into you, face slack and breathing ragged, and you feel his hot, sweet release paint your insides, simultaneously letting out a long, low, broken groan.

Unable to process anything else, his eyes close and his head drops back against the headboard. You get another glimpse of that delicious neck, and run your hands over it and his collarbones as he comes down. He always looks so beautiful like this.

You both need a moment to let your heart rate and breathing come back to some semblance of normal. Evaporating sweat leaves you both with delicate goosebumps on some of your exposed skin, but the change in temperature is welcome.

You’re the first to speak as you look down at his wet belly and ask,

“Uh, Joe. What the fuck was that?”

His face turns slightly pink as, voice back to normal, he bashfully admits,

“I, um, just wanted to see if I could make you squirt, that’s all.”

He looks a little sheepish as he continues, slightly concerned,

“Was it ok? I mean, did you hate it?”

“God no, it felt… amazing! Just, y’know, maybe warn me next time?”

“Of course my sweet. Anything for my baby.”

He plants some wet kisses across your cheeks.

As if wanting to illustrate how much he enjoyed it, he brings his wet hand up to his mouth, sucks his fingers, and slowly shakes his head in delight as he adds,

“Mmm-mm, it was really fucking hot though!”

You slap his chest playfully, rolling off him to settle in the crook of his arm, your head against his chest, running a hand up and down it.

Ever the considerate lover, after a few moments he inquires,

“How was it overall, baby? Did you enjoy it?”

Full of endorphins and the love of your man, you gush,

“Fuck yes, Joe, it was incredible.” As you toy with some of the ends of the wig, you add, “Thank you so much for doing this for me. For us.”

He replies, “Oh love, it was, and I mean this quite literally, my absolute pleasure. I’m such a fucking lucky bastard.”

You both giggle a little at this. Joe delicately removes the horns and wig, laying them reverently on your bedside table so as not to tangle or damage them, another testament to his devotion to his craft, and you snuggle into each other, continuing to murmur sweet nothings and enjoying the afterglow.

After a few minutes Joe admits, “Sorry, I’ve got to take these bloody things out babe, they’re really sodding uncomfortable.”

You both laugh again, as he rises from your shared bed and makes his way to the bathroom to remove the contacts, returning with a warm washcloth, which you take gratefully. As you clean up he picks up the horns, examining them and twisting his fingers around what you now see is a sturdy headband.

He takes the washcloth from you, retuning it to the bathroom. As he comes to sit by you on the bed once more, you spy a small smirk on his lips. You know that look, devious yet playful. He’s got some kind of plan.

“What is it, my treasure?”, you goad, using your fingertips to gently tickle his happy trail and tease at his exposed belly.

He replies,

“I was just thinking, next time, maybe you could wear the horns…?”

Thanks so much for reading!

Comments and reblogs make my world spin, please let me know what you think!

#probs my only RPF #joseph quinn #Joseph Quinn smut #RPF #Joseph Quinn fic #stranger things #Joseph Quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #role play smut #slight dom!joseph quinn #dressing up smut #halloween smut #halloween fic #demon fucking #demonfucking #mrsjellymunson gets the horn

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gabessquishytum · 8 months

Note

Throws this at you

So…Hob is a pretty fair known streamer, mostly he talks about history and related stuff, but the most relevant segment of his career is debunking those rituals you often see on the internet (like the bloody Mary etc. etc. etc.) so he basically put himself in reckless situations, since he likes to do them in secluded areas or abandoned places “for the spooky factor”, adding a bit of urban exploration into the mix for the stream to be more lively.

His followers send him rituals from all over the world and he does them, most clearly end up being him chatting all night, with nothing paranormal happening (maybe an encounter with strange people on the buildings he is in or some wild animals but never ghosts, demons or something beyond)

One of those days, he receives a mail with a very detailed one, it´s a bit more complex in the prep /materials it needs, but as per usual, he just goes with it.

After all, they are not even real! (What´s a few drops of blood now and then to fill a tiny flask before going to bed, or collecting stuff like sand in a very specific time of the day…)

Anyways, the day comes, this time he does it in his home, since in the text it was written it needed to be done in the place he goes to rest.

When he is finished with all steps…nothing happens, zero.

So, he calls it another win for him! and after an hour or two online he says his goodbyes and cuts the stream.

Stuff begins to get weird the moment he doesn’t upload or do streams in the next following weeks, the normal thing is to think that maybe he is busy with life, so he is going to prioritize that first, but it´s so uncharacteristic of him, because it´s not only the streaming that ceased, it´s also the social media, and Hob LOVES showing all the stuff he is making or just interacting with people in general (always the social butterfly)

By the time there is a ping of an impromptu stream on his channel, some months had already passed.

From the look of it, he seems like trotting in the middle of the night in an unknown location, the camera is just a blurry mess, mostly it´s just the footage of the pavement and the movement of his feet. The moment he sees the stream is still working his face lights up.

To keep it short, only thing he missed that day was going to sleep for the ritual to be fulfilled, he says.

After that, things went south quickly.

At the beginning the typical light flickering or total blackouts, then it came the weird sounds whenever he was alone, which, he thought it was because of lack of sleep that made him see things, he adds that he hasn´t be able to get some rest since the day he did the ritual, hence the lack of social presence for the first few weeks. He continues saying that he truly believed to be that…until he saw it…or him…he is not quite sure how to catalogue THAT.

At this point people are just speculating it´s just one of those ARG´S.

So, the moment Hob begins to describe the being and babbles about investigating who send him that email with the ritual and saying how he wasn´t able to communicate to anybody until now, the stream cuts abruptly and the chat is 100% convinced it´s an ARG.

But…is it truly?

-🪀

Hob’s followers: I can't believe he pranked us all this time hehe

Hob, actually being haunted by an ancient sleep demon entity: P̷̨̡̢̢̢̢̛̬̲̲̠̬̼͔̖͇̞͙̼͍͉̘̤̠͎̥̉̌̈́̅̆̀̿̿̍͊̔̏̒̽́͂́̾̐̆̾́͘͜͜͝͝ļ̶̢͚͓͇͔̣̣̩̪͔͍̼̼̱̭̼̦͔̖̝͛̊̔͛́̀͛̇̊̒́ͅe̴̡̙̖̪̖͉̺̰͉͛ͅa̴̛̛̜̳̱͖͖̳̤͌̇͋̇̍̾̈́́̈́̉̑̈́̀̾̓͋̀̀͐͌̄̊͘ͅs̷̢̧̡̗̳̖͙̘̫̣͖̩̞̞̰̗͇̤̙̜͍͍̔̏̿̇̿͛͌͜ĕ̷̢̢͈̬̫̗̻̭̞̙̥̜̜̰̺͈̠̗͘ ̶̢̛̮̟̝̒̾̍̍͒̌͑̑̓͒̐̎̂͊́͗͑͘̕̚͘̕̕͠h̶̢͍̠͖̟͍̻̻͉̹̥̳̮̝̭̟̲̖̖̗̬̙̙̿̇͊̀̅͗̌̒̔̆͆͗̿͐̂̿͜͠ͅͅͅe̴̢̧̗͇̫̬̲͗̕l̴̛͙̭̱̳̮̅̓̉̊̕p̷̧̡̢̛͕͔̠̹̳̫͓̺̫̙̭͍̝͉̲̥͍̞̽̂̓͛̆̀̐̈́̽̋̀̎̈́͐̈́̉̆̍̊̆̚͝͝ ̵͔̬͕͈̈́̏́m̷̧͔̟͇̣̮̞̓̈́̈́̓̓͌̌̓́̀͌̌̽͆̂̑́̚͝͠e̸̛̝̩̪̟̟͚͎̱̗͊̈́̀̽̈͛̚̕͝ͅ

This is so great though. Hob summons this... thing and has a minor heart attack because the ritual actually WORKED and now there's this 8ft tall... guy? In his bedroom. And when Hob blows out the candles and stuff the guy is still there, and he's kind of flickery and staticy and Hob can't quite look at him properly because he feels like his eyes are going to start bleeding any minute.

So he goes out of the room hoping that this is all just a bad dream. and the guy/thing follows him. He just flickers into existence in Hob’s kitchen and stares at him expectantly. And at this point, Hob figures that he's definitely fucked up here and meddled with something real.

Meanwhile Dream is just waiting for the guy who summoned him to tell him what he wants. It doesn't really happen much but sometimes humans do ask him for a boon, but Hob is just shakily making a cup of tea and doesn't even seem to know what Dream is.

Which is pretty funny, as far as Dream is concerned. He decides he might hang around, take a little vacation here.

And he proceeds to break ALL of Hob’s recording equipment with his presence alone. The camera shatters very spectacularly. Hob is very much at the "what are you doing in my house????" stage while Dream looms in the corner like "I. Want. Waffles fries." He's having a great time winding Hob up. Teasing him. Flirting with him?

Anyway. Hob’s life is very weird, now.

#🪀 anon #the sandman #dreamling

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telvess · 5 months

Note

Halloween is over but the spooky never ends

Reaction to a handing SO a spell jar/ them finding out they have an alter dedicated to them

Jataka, Loki, Buddha, Your favorite

RoR: Receiving a spell jar from s/o OR finding out s/o has an alter dedicated to them (Jataka, Loki, Buddha, Thor, Apollo)

Jataka (spell jar)

That’s very kind of you. Jataka had received gifts from others before, either because he was their prince, or because he was sick, and they tried to comfort him, but from you… it was a different feeling. Especially if there’s no occasion.

Jataka will ask all kinds of questions about the spell jar. He's interested in whether it's part of your culture or just a little thing that's been passed down in your family for generations. If this is important to you, he'd love to hear the details. Seeing how excited you are to share this part of your life with him makes him happy.

He holds the jar close to him. He doesn’t believe it actually has any mystical power, but it was created by your hands and that’s what’s important. You put your whole heart into it, so how could he not appreciate it?

Loki (spell jar)

The what? A spell jar? Pfft, hahahaha, how stupid of you! It has no power! It’s nothing! Silly human rituals…

proceeds to keep it anyway

And then he plays dumb if you find out he actually kept it. Good luck getting him to tell the truth. He would never admit that a gift from you is very precious to him. Of course, part of him wants it, but another part knows that you know the truth…

Loki likes to keep spell jar in his pocket, it’s small and easy to hide. Sometimes when he gets bored he just play with it a bit, wondering why he doesn’t just find you instead and play with you…

Yes, he will definitely pay you a visit.

Buddha (alter)

Oh? Did you do this for him? How sweet of you. But can you put some good candies on it? This is the kind of offer that interests him.

Buddha mocks you a bit about this whole thing. Nothing serious, of course, but he finds your altar amusing. He used to be a prince, he is a god now, and he still doesn’t care much about sacrifices, gifts, prayers, bows… everything that people do for those they consider superior over themselves. It’s just not his thing.

At some point he will tell you he doesn’t need it. He wants you to waste your time not on your alter, but on him. But once again - bringing the candies as an offering is never a bad option.

Bonus characters:

Thor (spell jar)

But do you remember that he is the strongest among the Norse gods?

He doesn’t need luck to win his fights, but once you point out that he might need it for other stuff, Thor will accept the gift.

He keeps it in his private chambers, in a safe place. Far from Loki’s hands (But let’s be honest, Loki will find out somehow anyway). Thor checks it every night before sleep, except when you share a bed with him.

He thinks you’re adorable with your little spells.

Apollo (alter)

The alter for him! Made by his sweet s/o! How lovely, how wonderful!

His narcissistic side is very pleased to see how much time and work you put into making something just for him. Apollo takes his time admiring the work of your hands. He asks questions about details and compliments profusely.

If he found out by accident and you’re embarrassed, don’t worry. Apollo wouldn’t mock you. BUT he may mention your little secret to Ares or Hermes (he’s so proud of you) and they might sneak in a few snarky comments.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror x reader #snv x reader #ror jataka #ror loki #ror buddha #ror thor #ror apollo #udj

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hype-blue-fixation · 2 months

Text

Pt. 1/2 | The Purest Kind of Entertainment | SFW Tickle Fic [RadioRose QPR]

I wanted to make a tickle fic and the plot thickened. If you want to skip this introduction/plot then here's the second part.

Sitting around the TV to watch different programs had become the typical night time activity. Charlie begged Alastor for weeks to take his turn sharing a “picture show,” to which he constantly made up polite excuses to let someone else go instead. But tonight the princess of Hell would be fancied something different.

“What in Heaven is this?” Angel barely lasted 5 minutes into the program before he showed annoyance for it.

“I told you before, it is called the Queen's Messenger. Very historical and groundbreaking for its period. Without this, Voxtech would never exist.” Alastor raised a brow, holding back his impatience behind a smile.

One by one, the others dropped off to sleep. Utterly bored with the outdated and slow-paced presentation. Even Charlie could barely keep her eyes open at the halfway point. When it finally ended, Alastor hummed at all the sleeping bodies. Silently irritated that they couldn't even bear 40 minutes of his favorite picture show. That was until Angel flittered his eyes open. “I didn't fall asleep. Are you proud of me, Smiles?”

“Mildly, I suppose.”

“Also I got a question,”

Alastor's ears pricked to attention.

“I just find it weird that the first thing you show us is an old romance slideshow. Surely the great Radio Demon don't have a soft spot for that sappy stuff, right?”

A disgruntled sigh came as Alastor turned the TV off and tiptoed his way around the sleeping demons. “History is history, my effeminate fellow. If something else were to be made first instead, I would have played that.”

As he went to slip off into the unknown, Angel followed in his distorted shadow. “I've got another question!”

The radio demon rolled his eyes. “If you must.”

“Do you ever think about sex?”

The question was both expected and unexpected at the same time. “Heavens, no.” Alastor instinctually replied.

“Then what do you do to bond with people you love? Kisses? Cuddles?”

“I've never met someone who interests me in that way, so none of the above. If we are discussing friendships, a benevolent game of cards and a night out at a bar never hurt anyone.”

Angel's eyes flickered to the snoring Husker. He knew very well how card games turned out in Alastor's book. Perhaps the topic really was hopeless. Perhaps Al really was a psychopath demon with no chance at anything beyond Hell. “I see. Goodnight, then. Don't be gettin too spooky out there.”

A hum of relief came from Alastor as he found the spider demon leaving. Finally some peace. A short lived peace. It wasn't too long before questions began filling his head.

“How do I show love to the people I care about?”

“Shut up, I don't love anyone.”

“Oh, but you do! Isn't she the reason you want all this power to begin with?”

“It's a lost cause. Everything I'm doing is for me, now. Hell is forever and I've earned it.”

“But what if that darling Charlie is truly onto something? And there are people here that you love too, yes? Do you ever let them know that?”

The inner dialog could have gone on and on in painful bouts of excuses and rebuttals, unsorted feelings that he preferred to keep repressed. When he began feeling this way, there seemed to be only one person in Hell that could set him straight.

#sfw tickling community #lee!alastor #radiorose #ler!rosie #hazbin hotel #queerplatonic #qpp #fanfic #asexual #fic with plot #my writing

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thegirlnextdoorssister · 11 months

Text

You can run but you can’t hide: Chapter 1: Soulmate

(Soft!Dark! Soulmate AU)

Summary: Lloyd Hansen had been told from a young age that he’ll one day find his other half. What they didn’t tell him was that not everyone was as excited as him to find their other half.

Soft!Dark!Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Warnings for the series: noncon/dubcon, rape? just to make sure, age gap, manipulation, sex used as punishment? edging? soft!dark! gonna give you whiplash, forced breeding, breeding kink, language, violence, blood, past abusive/toxic relationship

Warnings for this chapter: language, allusion to past toxic/abusive relationship

A/N: Buckle up, that’s all I have to say. This chapter is a short one.

As always MINORS DNI

Divider by @maysdigitalarts

18+ only and consent banners by @maysdigitalarts

Chapter 1: Soulmate

Soulmate.

What’s a soulmate?

Someone who you’re destined to be with. Someone who completes you. Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. I don’t need a soulmate to complete me or for them to control me. My mother was better off without one.

My mother’s soulmate, my father, they were in love-wait no, my mom was in love. She would have done anything for him and she did, she still wasn’t enough in his eyes.

Yeah, I wish never to meet my soulmate. I’ve seen firsthand what a soulmate can do to you, the person who’s supposed to “love and protect you”. What my parents had would never be love.

That’s why when I had the chance I fled and never looked back, now 5 years later, I’m happy as can be. I’m alone and happy.

I just have to move to a new town since I've been here for 7 months already. That's not what I normally do, usually, I stay for about 5 months and then on to the next town since it’s unlikely to meet your soulmate or anyone when you just go to 3 places-hotel, a job, a store. It’s been the perfect set-up for the past 5 years.

I don’t have much stuff, so that makes it easier to move from place to place. I’m still packing everything inside my car.

“Just you, me, and the open road”, I tapped the roof of my car after putting the last of my things inside. I never felt anything during any moves before but this time I felt my heart beating abnormally fast, fear maybe? but of what I don’t know.

Getting inside the car, I take a deep breath before starting the engine. What type of job would I find this time? bartender? waitress? A dog sitter? Hopefully my boss this time isn’t a perverted asshole, god just thinking about my time working at the retail store makes my skin crawl. I need to listen to some music.

The sound of Love Her Madly by The Doors playing filled the air in the car.

Don’t you love her madly?

Wanna be her daddy?

Don’t you love her face?

Don’t you love her as she walkin' out the door?

Like she did one thousand times before

I hope she got out of there alive, that is if his love hadn’t killed her already. He was the reason I left not her but that was the price to pay, either I stayed and get punished or run away and survive. I felt the cool air cares my skin as I rolled down my window. The smell of fresh air, sweet sweet freedom.

«5 hours later»

Welcome to Âme soeur

French, huh? That's weird, I had no idea that there were little French towns. I should look up the meaning of it. I should make a rest stop, I've been driving for hours and I feel like sleeping. So I guess Âme soeur it is. Now time to find a motel but it doesn’t look like there are any buildings close by. It looks completely abandoned. Ghostown. Spooky.

Ahh…finally a motel. Not the best looking but it's a motel what do you expect? Getting out of the car, the air felt different, heavy. After locking the car, I made my way to the front desk. A girl wearing the motel uniform sat at the front desk. She had charcoal-colored hair and the dullest blue I'd ever seen. A wall of room keys was behind her.

“Hello, do you have a room available?”, I asked. She just stared at me, like she was trying to figure me out.

“We just have one available”, she plainly said typing away on the computer. She truly looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. “Ok, I’ll take it”, I smiled. She turned to get my room key, and that's when I saw it, for a split sec, a mark on the back of her neck but she turned back just as quickly. Weird. She handed me the room key. As took the room key, she stayed silent. I left with a quick “bye”, I got to my car and opened the trunk to get my things out. I felt goosebumps on the back of my neck, and my bag fell from my hand as I touched the back of my neck. I looked around but shook it off and picked up my bag and the air felt somehow heavier than before. I looked for my room key to see the room number. My heart stopped.

Room 222.

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tangledinink · 1 year

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Chapter Eight of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is up! The Hamatos talk to some extended family in hopes of getting some answers... but they mostly get more questions. Read on ao3 or below the cut!

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"Mikey."

Hm...?

"Mikey!"

Couldn't they tell he was sleeping right now...? He was having a really good dream... Just... Five more minutes...

"MIKEY!"

Ah! Okay!!! He was up!

Mikey kind of squeaked in surprise, flopping down on his bed a lot harder than he was expecting. In fact, he hadn't been expecting to flop down on his bed at all. And what was Leo doing in his room? He kind of blinked, a bit dazed for a moment, staring at his brother.

"... Did something happen?" He asked after a second, still a bit out of it. What was going on? He had been dreaming, he remembered, which was not unusual for him. He dreamed almost every night, for as long as he could remember. He and Dad had been cooking together... They were making something, but he couldn't remember what now, the dream already fading away, retreating to the corners of his mind... But he had been so excited, and his dad had...

Oh. Right.

Dad wasn't here. Dad was missing. Mikey's expression dropped as the memory came back to him, and he lost Dad all over again, all the grief and anxiety and fear coming crashing back.

He hadn't enjoyed dreaming as much lately.

"Uhm, yeah something happened!" Leo all but shrieked, his eyes blown up wide. "You were floating! And glowing!"

Mikey blinked slowly at him. "... What?" He said after a minute. "Uhm. Leo. Are you okay? And... what are you doing in my room?"

"I don't-- I-- that's not the point!" Leo snapped, his face flushing dark as he scowled. "The point is that you were doing spooky magic stuff in your sleep! Which is definitely not normal! What the hell is going on?! Did you do that on purpose?! Are you possessed by a demon!? I told you to stop going on that Reddit forum!"

"What?" Mikey gawked, his brows furrowed. "What are you even talking about? And what Reddit forum?"

"The one with the guy! And the pan?"

"... The hundred coats of seasonings guy?"

"Yeah! That one!"

"You think that the hundred coats of seasonings cast iron pan guy possessed me like a demon?"

"I'm saying that that kind of behavior is clearly of the devil!!!" Leo cried. "I mean, come on! A hundred coats?! And also that you were definitely floating a second ago!!!"

"Uh..." Mikey frowned a bit, his brows furrowing. This was... not really in-character behavior for Leo. Was lack of sleep finally getting to him? He did seem pretty convinced about this whole 'floating and glowing' thing, and... well... things had been kind of weird recently. His mind wandered vaguely back to his notebook, may it rest in pieces, and he bit the insides of his cheeks.

But floating? Glowing?

"Do you think maybe you were dreaming, Leo?" He ventured after a moment, tilting his head to the side.

"What?! No! I was not dreaming! I mean-- I was, before, but I mean, I wasn't during that part! I woke up! I swear!"

"Are you sure?" Mikey said, doubt beginning to creep into his voice, despite his best efforts at keeping things level. "'Cause, I mean, I know we're all kind of stressed..."

"Look, I know what I saw, okay!" Leo insisted. "Everything was... orange! It was like you ate a bunch of freaking fireflies or something! You were in the air! And, like, okay, yes, maybe, I had a crazy dream also, and I guess I must have sleepwalked in here, which is weird but that doesn't mean-- I know what I saw! There's no way I imagined that, Mikey, there's just no way--"

Mikey listened for a while, all droopy-eyed, still half-asleep, before he slowly scooted over to the far side of his bed, pulling open the covers for the other.

Leo groaned loudly in frustration, dragging his hands down his face and glaring at him for a moment. Mikey was afraid he was gonna have to argue, which he was not awake enough to do, before Leo finally climbed into bed with his brother, all grumpy and indignant as he did so.

"This is not over."

"Mmhmmm..."

"We're not done talking about this, Miguelito."

"Mmm..."

"I know what I saw. And this is not an admission of wrongness, either! I am doing this for your sake!"

"Leo. Shut up."

Leonardo grumbled loudly, rolling over onto his side, the two of them comfortably back to back under the covers, but thankfully, for once, did as he was told.

---

“Dad,” Leo whispered excitedly, hoisting himself up onto their father’s bed by the sheets. It took a few tries, but eventually, he managed to get himself up there, scrabbling up to the surface and scooting across the mattress so that he could shake his dad’s shoulders. “Dad. Dad!!!”

He watched his father startle slightly as he was awoken, his eyes bleary as he stared at his child, mouth agape. “Hm…? Wha…?”

“Dad! It’s really important.”

“Wha… what is it, Blue?” Dad mumbled softly, smacking his lips a few times, but still rolling over in bed so that he could face his son properly. “What do you need?”

“What comes after seventy-nine?”

His dad blinked slowly, fighting to keep his eyes open. “What?”

“What number comes after seventy-nine? I forgot.”

Dad mumbled softly, taking a moment before he finally responded. “... Eighty. Like how eight comes after seven, remember, my son…?”

“OH! Yeah! Eighty!!!”

“Yes. Eighty.”

“I was counting the stuff on the fish poster.”

“Mmmm…”

“‘Cause I couldn’t sleep.”

“Mmm-hmmm…”

“And ‘member, ‘cause, you said, uh, you said before that if I couldn’t sleep, I should try counting stuff? So I was counting all the different things on the, uhm, the fish poster, with the shark on it. That’s my favorite poster. It’s better than the basketball one, even. Donnie agrees. But, and, and I was counting it and I got all the way up to seventy-nine!” Leo declared proudly. “But then I forgot what came next. There’s still more stuff on the poster.”

“Mmmm… very good, Blue…”

“Yeah,” Leo said, beginning to pull some of the covers aside. His dad grumbled a bit, but his eyes were already closed again. “I’ve never counted up that big before all by myself.”

“Very impressive…”

“Do you think I can get to a hundred?” Leo questioned, burrowing in with his father, pulling the blankets back up over both of them. “All by myself?”

“Mmm-hmmm…”

“Donnie can count to a’hundred. And then even higher than that!”

“Mmmm…”

“I wanna do it, too,” Leo whispered, curling up small, tucking himself up against his Dad’s side and clinging to him slightly. His feet were kind of cold from the walk over, so he pressed them up against his dad’s legs to warm them back up. “It’s gonna be so awesome…”

“Mmmm.”

“... Dad?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you think there’s a whole hundred things on the fish poster for me to count? Or will I run out? ‘Cause I don’t know exactly how many is on there. Just that it’s more than seventy-nine.”

“Leonardo…”

“Uh-huh?”

“Go to sleep,” Dad mumbled tiredly, wrapping an arm around his child, squeezing him tight. “I am sure things will work out. Right now, just sleep.”

---

April was not expecting to get jumped before she even made it to the breakfast table. She wasn't exactly excited about it, either, stumbling a bit as Leo grabbed her by the arm, yanking her down the hallway to literally corner her. Hey now, wait a minute-- this had been her plan!

"April, something's wrong with Mikey," Leo hissed fervently under his breath, his eyes narrowed into slits, and April's heart fell into her stomach.

"What happened?!" She immediately demanded, her eyes wide, a million possibilities flying through her head. Oh god, she knew she should have kept a closer eye on him-- she knew he was more upset than he was letting on and yet she still--!

"I caught him floating above his bed last night. And glowing! Like the freakin' exorcist or something!"

April's expression rapidly shifted.

"Okay, I know you did not just give me a heart attack for no goddamn reason Hamato Leonardo."

"What?!"

"This is not funny! I thought something really bad actually happened!"

"I'm being serious! Come on, April, you have to believe me!"

"Uhm. Okay. Well, first of all, let the record show that I do not have to do anything," April scoffed, placing a hand on her hip, giving the other a rather unimpressed look. "Second of all, while we’re here, let the record also show that I also do not appreciate you picking a fight with my mom yesterday!"

"ME?!" Leo gaped, his brows raising up. "I didn't pick a fight with her! She picked a fight with me!"

"What! She did--"

"Look, this is so not the issue! April, I'm being serious! I saw Mikey floating last night! It was freaky! He was sleeping and he was just, like, hovering over his bed! And I don't know what to do! If I tell Raph, he's just gonna freak out, and you know Donnie will never believe me!" He begged.

April narrowed her eyes.

"... When's the last time you slept?"

"Oh, come on, April!" Leo groaned, throwing his head back. "I slept last night! I swear! Ask Mikey! I really, really did!"

"Ask Mikey?" April echoed. "Leo, what were you even doing in Mikey's room to begin with?"

"That's. Uh. Well, that's beside the point!"

"Leo."

"This isn't about me--"

"Leo!"

"Okay! Fine! I don't know!" He groaned, wrinkling his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "I don't remember, okay? I think I was sleepwalking or something, but I really was awake for the Mikey part! Something for real weird is going on with him! Remember when his notebook caught on fire?"

"I thought you guys said that that was a cover story," April said, pursing her lips. "And I hope you know how this sounds, Leo."

"I do, and I know, but now I think... I dunno, maybe it actually happened? I mean-- I just-- I dunno how else to explain this stuff, April! You saw Dad disappear too! You know that wasn't natural, I know that you saw it."

"Look, Leo, I know that you're under a lot of stress, and you don't always sleep very well..."

"April. Please," Leo pressed again, his voice tight and his eyes wide. "Come on. I don't know how to deal with this on my own. I need your help."

April sighed softly, her shoulders slumping a bit as she examined the other's expression. Why did he have to look so goddamn sincere and pathetic...? That just made this so much harder!

... But, as much as she hated to admit it, he... did have a little bit of a point. She had run the scene through her head about a million times now, and she still had no idea what she saw. Yoshi and the intruder had been right in the middle of the room, and then they just weren't. How did something like that happen?

"... Okay, fine," she relented, frowning as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Let's say I believe you. Which I'm not saying I do! What are we supposed to do about it?"

Leo gave a sigh of what might have been relief, pursing his lips slightly. "I dunno," he admitted. "But something weird is going on. So I think we're gonna have to do some digging..." He scrunched up his face. "... And that means we might have to get Donnie on board."

"I thought you said he'd never believe you," April said, knowing that he wouldn't.

"He won't. So we're gonna have to be... creative," Leo said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "C'mon. Let's go."

"Uhm, no? I'm getting breakfast first."

"Ughhh. Seriously? Fine. Breakfast, and then let's go."

Ooh, April was gonna kill this boy. Though she was, admittedly, a lot less inclined towards violence once she had a wildberry poptart in her system. Reluctantly, she followed Leo upstairs to the third floor to rap on Donnie's door. Leo cautiously peeked his head inside, creaking the door open slowly.

"Heeyyyyyy, Donnie...? You up?" The two of them peered into the room where they found their brother, hunched over their computer. They barely even turned to face them before they began signing.

'Leo, if this is about hacking Mrs. O’Neil's phone again, I already told you, you would still have to get parental consent to go on air, you're a minor--'

"What?!" April yelped. Scratch that last part about feeling less violent, she was going to strangle him. "Leo!--"

"HAHAHA, Donnie, I have no idea what you're talking about! This is completely unrelated to that other request that I definitely never made of you!" Leo laughed loudly, swinging the door the rest of the way open and darting his way inside before April could smack him, flitting over to his twin's side as if that might protect him. April growled softly, swinging the door shut behind her as she followed him in. They were so lucky that she was making an effort to be extra nice to them.

'Okay, then, get out of my room?' Donnie suggested dryly, turning back around, their hands returning to their keyboard as soon as they had finished signing, eyes immediately back to their computer screen. Or, computer screens, rather. They had at least five monitors pinned up, all of them doing different things as Donnie tapped away, staring at the glowing screens intensely. April didn't even wanna try to follow whatever the hell they were trying to do, nor think about how much sleep they had been getting recently. At least some. She knew from past experiences that he was not capable of pulling actual all-nighters without his brain turning to straight-up mush. He’d get all loopy and confused, and it was admittedly pretty hilarious, but not very effective. He could, however, get away with two-to-three hours a night and come out the other side functioning, but cranky. She suspected this was the current situation.

"Well," Leo began, leaning over the desk slightly. April watched Donnie's eyes twitch with annoyance. "We were just wondering, uh, if you had made any progress with your... whatever it is you're doing?"

'No,' Donnie responded coldly, bristling as he glared at their screen. 'If I made any progress, Nardo, I would have told you by now. I haven't found any leads online, I haven't been able to track Dad's smartwatch, I haven't found him on any security footage,' Where was he getting security footage feeds? Actually, nevermind, 'or anything else that's helpful, okay? I'm doing my best! If you have a problem with it, why don't you--'

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy! I'm not trying to critique or whatever!" Leo defended, putting up his hands. "I was just thinking, uh... what if… we went through some of Dad's stuff?"

Donnie all but growled, like actually for-real growled, giving Leo a look. Every time they had to stop typing to respond to their twin, they looked just a little bit closer to a crime of passion. 'I just told you, I'm going through Dad's stuff.' They pressed, their ASL sharp and choppy with frustration. 'I've already gone through his social media, through all his files, his emails, I've been through his phone--'

"No, no, I mean, like..." Leo hesitated a second. "Like, his physical stuff. Like... go through his room."

Donnie paused. He frowned a bit, looking Leo up and down suspiciously.

'Why?'

"I don't know. I just. I think maybe we might find something," Leo pressed. "I mean, we've tried everything else, right? Maybe there's something useful in there."

'Dad wouldn't want us looking through his stuff. The police already looked anyway.'

"Oh, like he'd be tickled about any of the rest of this situation? I think Dad would want to come home!" Leo said, raising a brow. "Maybe the police looked, but those guys are idiots, and we haven't. What if we find something, Donnie? Something actually helpful?”

Okay, that was a pretty good argument, April had to admit. Dee could be pretty hard to reason with once he had made up his mind about something and emotional appeals very rarely worked. But... April glanced over at Donnie out of the corners of her eyes, biting the insides of their cheek. She knew Donnie missed their dad. All of them did. Of course they all did, and it wasn't like Donnie missed Yoshi any more than their brothers did, that's not what she meant, but...

Donnie hadn't spoken since he had gone missing. They barely left their room, barely ate, barely slept... All of them were having a hard time. Donnie just... didn't always deal with change and stress that well. This was the longest Donnie had been non-verbal in years, and just...

All she meant was that having some sort of a lead instead of repeatedly banging their head against the wall up here by themselves might be good. And she was sure Donnie knew that, too.

'Fine,' Donnie relented, pushing their chair away from their desk so they could get to their feet, visibly wincing as their joints no doubt protested after being in one position for so long. 'But if I end up mentally scarred, I'm gonna be annoyed.'

---

Donnie was tired.

They were no stranger to exhaustion, either. They found that it was a common companion. Sure, they were an athlete just like their brothers, and capable of plenty. They rarely found themselves winded or out of breath. The amount of activities and commitments that filled their calendar had always felt reasonable and manageable to them, though they recognized that it would be enough to overwhelm many. Coding marathons and long study sessions didn't bother them.

But sometimes they were just... fucking tired. They hated how quickly they tired as compared to their brothers, but it had been this way their entire life. They'd go to a sci-fi convention, and Donnie would enjoy himself, they'd be happy to be there, but they would just... get so fatigued so quickly. Even with their headphones on and their brothers nearby, even with a carefully planned itinerary of their day, they would still always find themselves exhausted halfway through their trip and lagging behind. Mikey, Leo, and Raph were always raring to go, thrilled at the chance to take on the next thing, and he'd be trudging behind them wishing he could lay down and just take a nap. God forbid they have any change of schedule or inadvertent last-minute plans; then he'd be worn down even quicker.

The world was a lot to take in. Emotions were a lot. And processing it all took so much out of him. It was frustrating. Especially when they knew they weren't the only one wearing thin right now. They knew full well that everyone was having a hard time. They knew that Leo wasn't sleeping, that Raph was running himself ragged worrying about everything... which was exactly why they had to keep going.

There had to be an answer somewhere. Some way to fix this. Everything had an answer. People didn't just disappear.

Their dad had to be somewhere. This was just a fact. All he had to do was figure out where.

... Which was proving much more difficult than he had anticipated.

Usually, he was not one to be dragged into Leo's stupid schemes or plots, but at this point, they were running out of other options. Nothing else they had tried was working, so... desperate times, desperate measures?

And going through their dad's room was certainly a desperate measure.

It wasn't terrible, but it... definitely wasn't clean either. Donnie made a face as the three picked their way in, closing the door behind them and flicking the light on. God, why was there so much dirty laundry all over the place?! Note to self, figure out some kind of solution to avoid this in the future. A modified Roomba, perhaps? Ugh, whatever. Focus.

"Where do we start?" April said, wrinkling her nose and looking around the room.

"I dunno. Just... start going through stuff, I guess. Look for anything weird. There's gotta be something useful," Leo mumbled, stepping forward, beginning to thumb his way through old magazines stacked up on the dresser.

"Are you sure about this, Leo? This feels sort of... wrong," April said, kind of wrapping her arms around herself, clearly having second thoughts. Donnie couldn't say they blamed her. There was a sort of 'ickiness' to this whole thing. They felt a bit like a child going through their mother's purse.

"Look, if either of you has a better idea..." Leo huffed. As Donnie, unfortunately, did not, they got to work, quietly wishing they had brought their gloves with them as they began sifting through their dad's stuff.

For the most part, they were quiet, only occasionally speaking up (or signing, as the case may be,) to ask a question or grab the others' attention. It wasn't as if there wasn't anything interesting to be found in here, either. There was. There was plenty of interesting stuff. Thus far, the group had uncovered at least one Lou Jitsu body pillow (ew,) a bunch of paperwork that their father had seemingly neglected to actually fill out and submit yet, ("Are these tax forms?") the evidence of at least three crimes that they had thought they had properly disposed of, ("Why is he hiding this from us!? What does he have planned?!") and about a gazillion snacks that he had squirreled away in various hiding places in his room. But, so far... nothing useful.

"Hey... what about this?" Leo asked after a long period of silence, no sound in the dimly lit room aside from shuffling.

Donnie, who had just been preparing to break into their father’s nightstand, glanced over and gawked for a moment.

'His altar? Seriously, Leo? It's not bad enough that we're rifling through the rest of his stuff, you want to tear apart that, too?'

"I'm not gonna hurt it! But we might as well explore every option!" Leo insisted, shrugging, trying to look casual. Donnie didn't buy it for a moment. "Plus, like... look at this stuff. Some of it is kinda weird, right...?" He mumbled, beginning to grab a few trinkets off the shelf. "Here. Look at this."

Donnie frowned, but he made his way over anyway, accepting the item Leo pressed into his palm. It was some weird necklace he had never seen before, carved out of porcelain or something, with these symbols painted along the front and sides. It was very pretty, and Donnie was certain if he did his research he could find a fascinating cultural history behind it, but...

None of that was gonna help find their Dad.

Donnie was going to protest, but Leo was already passing a new item into their hand, waving April down with a, "come here, come look at this," and Donatello sighed, resigning themselves to their current position. None of the things Leo had handed them, however, meant anything to them. They were just... things. Things that Donnie could research, sure, but what use could that possibly be here? These were just knick-knacks! They grit their teeth as they sorted through them, growing more and more irate. They were just silly items that their dad collected for sentimental purposes, they had no meaning, there was no secret here for them to unveil, and no way that it was any help in--

Their fingers brushed against a folded scrap of fabric, and their eyes locked on the pattern of red thread sewn along the inside.

Donnie froze.

They recognized that pattern. Setting the other objects aside, he carefully unfolded the fabric, (What was this? An obi?) running his fingers along the seams of it. It was a fairly simple emblem, a circle with stripes running through it like the spokes of a wheel, smaller circles inside of each part. He swallowed hard, leaning in a bit closer. He... recognized this. He had seen it before. Where had he seen it before...?

"... Donnie?" April said, sounding kind of far away. Donnie ignored her. They were busy.

They absolutely racked their memories, pulling desperately at every neuron in their head, reaching into every fold of their mind, trying to figure out where he had seen this, because he knew he had, he was certain of it. This meant something, but he had no idea what. He just... felt like it had to be important. So why couldn't he remember?

Come on. Come on. This is important. I can feel it, they hissed internally, gritting their teeth.

"Dee? Did you find something?" Decline call. Busy right now. Stop talking. I'm trying to focus.

We need to know this. I need to be able to understand this. Come on, stupid brain, work! Dad needs us. I have to know this. So tell me what this is! I swear I know--

All at once, the room lit up with a violet glow, this dazzling gleam flooding the room for an instant. They could hear something rattling in their father's closet. For just a moment, some sort of shape, made out of light itself, began to stitch itself into his hands, around his fingers, around the obi he was holding.

Donatello gasped loudly, dropping the fabric like it had burned him and leaping back. The light disappeared all at once, fading away like it had never been there in the first place. All three of them gaped in silence for a moment. The air crackled with leftover energy, lingering like smoke after a fire.

Eventually, however, Leo found his tongue again, whipping around to face April.

"I told you!!!"

---

The restrictions of his new working conditions were... challenging. Not insurmountable by any means, but they did, admittedly, make progress much slower than he would like.

Much slower.

After a period of 'laying low,' he had of course made another visit to the Hamato household, intending to repossess his experiments, Lou Jitsu or not, but was frustrated to find a powerful mystical barrier had been placed over the apartment. At his full power, Draxum was certain he'd be able to break through, but in his current state, it was... an obstacle. He had been forced to retreat and reevaluate.

He should have known that Lou Jitsu would seek reinforcements to keep him out. He curled his lips a bit at the other's cowardice, hiding away rather than facing him, but it didn't matter. They couldn't stay inside their little palace forever. Sooner or later, he knew he would be able to catch them outside of the protection of their home and reclaim what was his. They would join his side willingly once he spoke with them, he was sure.

In the meantime, he prepared.

He had already drafted about three dozen different tests he would want to run to measure how well his initial experiment had fared over the past fourteen years or so. It was obviously less than ideal that they had spent so much time in uncontrolled conditions, and that they had been under the influence of Lou Jitsu rather than himself, but… still. They existed. That was enough. The data he could gather alone would be invaluable. He had spent a great deal of time collecting all the various materials he would need to examine things like cell growth, mutation capacity, and any number of other biological factors. Humans hardly had the quality of components available to them as compared to what he could find in the Hidden City, but... it would have to do. He couldn’t risk showing his face in the Hidden City right now.

The torturous part was the absolute breadth of resources that the humans lacked.

Hunched over a make-shift desk he had fashioned, deep in his likewise make-shift sewer laboratory, he snarled in frustration, balling up his fists around stacks of papers and uncompleted checklists. Every lab and pharmacy he broke into, he never found everything he needed. Human technology was so primitive… Not to mention their dismal grasp of alchemy. And every item he was unable to procure he would be forced to fabricate, which would use up precious mystic energy, which would only lead to him falling farther and farther behind in his timeline--

How long could he afford to wait!? Every day, the prophecy loomed further over his head. He could feel the breath of danger hot on the back of his neck. He had already wasted so much time, and here he was, his goal literally within his sight, and yet…!

He swept the papers from his desk with a violent thrash of his arm. It was childish, he knew, and he would only regret it later when he had to clean it all up again, but it made him feel better in the moment. He sighed deeply through his nose as he watched the lists slowly flutter back down to the ground, his shoulders slumping slightly…

Only to pinch his brows together and frown when the papers… instead began to flutter behind him, all whisking away in unison, darting unnaturally past him.

“What the--?”

Draxum had just barely turned, glancing behind him, when the cool violet light behind him blossomed into a full-blown sigil, pulsing firmly to his back and promptly beginning to swallow him whole. Draxum gave a surprised shout as he was sucked inside the magickal door, writhing as he did so, clawing desperately at the air. But he had nothing to hang onto, and in mere moments, the doorway he had been forced through blinked shut behind him-- leaving only the doorway up ahead.

He only had seconds to prepare himself. But he already had his feet beneath him as the portal spit him out somewhere new, his head whipping up immediately to face whoever dared summon him here.

“What’s going on? Who brought me here?” He spat, every muscle in his body tensed and angry, ready to fight. He had no idea where he was. Some human alleyway, it seemed, sad and dark and wet as they typically were. He was almost convinced he was alone before he heard a gravelly cackle bounce off the walls, the echo sounding like pebbles scraping across sand. Two bouncing red flames emerged from the darkness, and he tensed, baring his teeth in a silent warning.

“Is this the sheep guy?”

“Be cool. He’s a warring warrior scientist.”

“Sweet! Triple threat.”

Were they talking about him? As if he wasn’t even there-- who did these fools think they were? Underestimating Baron Draxum would be the last thing they ever did.

Draxum rose up to his full height, clenching his hands into fists and glowering at the strangers. “I will end both of you,” he snarled. His power may be weakened, but it was still plenty enough to destroy these two interlopers. If they thought summoning him with this silly party trick was all they would need to apprehend him and collect a reward from the Hidden City Police, then they were sorely mistaken.

“Easy, easy,” the smaller of the pair bade, extending a hand outward. Draxum narrowed his eyes. “I think we just might share some of the same goals… Like taking care of that pesky Lou Jitsu. And those odd children of his,” he hissed, tightening his hand into a fist.

Children?

Right. Of course.

His turtles. Beneath his skin, his temper flared, sharp and spined, scratching against his muscles angrily. He wasn’t inclined to trust any strangers, especially given his current circumstances, but…

He supposed it was possible he might be able to find a use for these two. They were competent enough, at least, to summon him here, and he was hardly in an advantageous position at the moment… he stood to gain ground.

Draxum frowned deeply, narrowing his eyes. Perhaps he would hear them out.

“I’m listening…”

---

"Oh, HANG ON NOW--"

"Mikey--"

"No no no! So, let's get this straight. When I tell you guys that my notebook caught on fire--"

"Mikeeyyyy."

"Then I'm crazy, and also lying and covering up a cigarette addiction, apparently--"

"Michael. Come on."

"But when YOU guys tell ME that Donnie has glow-stick bones--"

"That's not what I said."

"That's reasonable?!"

"Okay, fine!" Leo sighed loudly, holding his hands up in defeat. "I will concede that, maybe, possibly, there is a slight chance that actually I was wrong about the fire thing, and also you were totally telling the truth. We are oh so very sorry, Miguel. I mean. Even though you really can't blame us…"

"BOY, I swear to GOD--"

"But this is serious! Donnie really did glow! And so did you last night! I saw you. Stop trying to deny it."

Mikey sighed loudly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, magic fire is one thing, but I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if I could float! And glow!”

"Okay, look. Regardless, something weird is obviously going on! I could believe one of us just totally going crazy and starting to have weird hallucinations or something, but all of us!? We're not all just imagining things! There's something going on, and there's an answer in this chest! There has to be!"

Raph frowned a bit, not looking entirely convinced. "Are you sure, Leo? I don't think Dad would want us going through his stuff."

"Dad isn't here!" Leo cried, throwing his arms in the air. "What about that don't you guys get?! Do you guys wanna figure out what's going on and how we're gonna get him home, or don't you!? There's no way this magic stuff isn't involved somehow!"

As his brothers continued to argue, Donatello ran his hands over the length of the dusty wooden chest they had dragged out of the very back of Dad's closet. It had been all tucked away inside of a box, underneath a bunch of old clothes, mostly theirs from when they were kids. Hidden-- like Dad wanted to make sure no one found it. The same symbol that was on the obi was on the front of this chest. It looked absolutely ancient and was clearly handcrafted, locked shut with a golden padlock, and absolutely tempting the shit out of Donnie.

"What do you think, Dee?" April nudged gently, leaning over next to him. "Think we can get it open?"

For the past four days, Donatello had been all systems go, full steam ahead. He had barely slept, didn't want to eat, didn't want to do anything except claw at the wall in front of them, trying to find a way to save their dad. And so far, nothing worked.

But now here they were. With this chest in front of them. A lead, finally. Even more than that. Something... interesting.

For days now, Donnie hadn't felt much beyond numb, anxious, helpless.

Right now? He was curious.

"Yeah," Donnie said after a second. His throat felt a bit rough, a bit sore from being unused, but that was okay. "Shouldn't be too hard."

This alone was enough to stop Raph in his tracks, and Leo absolutely beamed, immediately moving to join Donnie's side. "All right! Dee's got this. If anyone can pick the lock, they can!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Donatello responded smoothly, pulling his bag off of his back, unzipping it and beginning to shuffle through its contents. "I've never picked a lock in my life," they added in, pulling out a small toolkit and cracking it open, immediately getting to work on the golden lock in front of them. "And anyone who indicates otherwise is clearly confused and does not have any evidence to back them up, meaning their testimony will not hold up in court. Especially considering I have four counter-witnesses right here who can attest that I would never engage in any such behavior, and in fact, we were elsewhere at the time of the crime..."

The padlock was open within forty-five seconds. Nice, new record.

Donnie could feel all four of their siblings leaning over their back, all wide-eyed as they pulled the chest open. Usually, they would get annoyed, but this was too big of a moment to fuss over. And inside, they found...

Paper.

Raph frowned a bit. "Is that it?" He questioned. "It's just... paper."

"Just paper?" Leo scoffed. "I'm sorry, what did you say? Did you say it’s just paper? Obviously, this is important paper! What's it say, Dee?"

"Wow, read the paper we found? What an innovative idea. Great plan. What an impressive pair of strategic minds you two have. Truly leaders of our generation..." Donnie muttered dryly, rolling his eyes as he moved to grab the long scrolls of paper folded up inside the chest.

And the moment he touched it-- "Whoa."

Before another question, comment, or sassy remark could be made by anyone in the group, a bright blue light burst from the scroll in Donnie's hand, overtaking them all in a shimmering, mystic glow. Mikey yelped in surprise, jumping behind Raph, who, at the same time, leaned closer to Leo, Donnie, and April, his hands moving over their shoulders, as if ready to yank them back. Donnie just barely resisted the urge to drop the paper altogether.

Mikey was, admittedly, not the only one to shriek when about a dozen ghostly blue figures burst into the room around them, encircling the group, manifesting in a cloud of gentle mist.

"Greetings, young Hamatos," one of the figures spoke, their voice soft and echoing, yet seeming to transmit straight into Donnie's mind. He swore he wasn't hearing it with his ears at all-- this was a direct transfer. "It is an honor to be in your presence. What wisdom do you seek?"

The entire group stared for a minute.

"Oh. My god," April finally bit out.

"Dad had people in his closet!? This whole time!?" Mikey yelped, his eyes wide, having half climbed on top of Raph at this point.

"Fascinating," Donnie whispered, leaning forward to swipe his hands through the man a few times, amazed to see that it passed straight through. "They appear to be holograms? Or perhaps projections...? The polygons--"

"Dee, I know that science and logic is, like, your whole thing, but I think we're kind of past that," Leo scoffed. "It's obviously not holograms."

"Please stop doing that," the figure in front of them said, and Donatello scowled, reluctantly pulling his hand away from where it was doing passes back and forth through the hem of their robe. No one let him have any fun.

"Okay, so... these guys know us," Raph ventured, narrowing his eyes almost suspiciously. "Then... who are you?"

"We are the ancestors of the Hamato Clan," the figure spoke, pride filling his voice as he gestured to the many people filling the space, all draped in identical robes-- all sporting the same circular symbol. "Our spirits inhabit the sacred scrolls of our bloodline in order to offer guidance to those who remain on earth and bear our great destiny."

"Destiny?" Leo echoed, raising a brow. "Wait wait wait... So, you're, like... our grandparents."

"... No," the spirit said after a moment. "We're a little bit older than that."

"Okay, so, like, great-grandparents?"

"Hang on, what about this destiny stuff? What destiny?" Raph barked. "Look, this is all goin' a little fast! First, we find out that magic is, like, a thing, which I'm still sorta hung up on, and there's ghosts in Dad's closet, and now you're sayin' there's a Hamato destiny? 'Cause, uh, we're Hamatos, and no one ever filled us in on that!"

"Yes!" The spirit exclaimed, and the fog still filling the room seemed to lift with his voice, rising up to match his excitement as he swept his arms up. "The Hamatos are the bearers of a great duty to all of humanity-- it is the Hamatos alone that guard the safety of the earth against a great, ancient evil, and ensure it never rises to power again. As direct descendants of the bloodline, it is your divine purpose to--"

"Are we sure this isn't a movie prop?" Donnie stage-whispered to his siblings. "'Cause, like, this kind of sounds like the plot of a movie, right?"

"I mean, he's kinda got a point..."

"We are not movie props!!! This is an ancient tradition--"

"Okay, well, that's all well-and-good, very cool, uhm, love the special effects," Leo cut in. "And I'd love to discuss this great evil thing some more later, but can we maybe take a rain-check on that one? 'Cause we've kind of got a situation right now. Any chance you guys know where our dad is?"

The movie prop blinked slowly at them, keeping quiet for a moment. "... You want to rain-check your divine purpose?"

"Yeah. Can you maybe help us out in finding our dad first, and then we'll do all the rest of it? 'Cause it seems like humanity is doing, like, mostly fine? Except for maybe the part that posts on internet forums about reality TV. And, like, Republicans. But that's all obviously gonna be a huge undertaking to correct, and priority numero uno is our Daddy, please, so do you think you can, y'know... help us out?"

Mikey, Raph, Donnie, and April all nodded fervently.

"Your father has already fulfilled his purpose in producing heirs," the movie prop responded, their voice suddenly cold. "Though he may have rejected his duty, in continuing the bloodline, he has allowed the hope that the Hamato Clan brings to live on. It is now your great honor to take up the mantle and--"

"But where is he?" Mikey chirped. "He's missing."

"Okay, look, we are not exactly omniscient, we don't just know that kind of--"

"Then can you help us find him?" Raph pressed.

"You are already years behind on training, your ninpo--"

“Our what-po?”

"We can talk about that after we find our Dad," Leo scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're not just gonna forget about him!"

"Traditionally, Hamatos are not raised by their parents, so it is not really--"

"What?!" Mikey wailed. "What kind of tradition is that? That's so sad!"

"It is a great sacrifice--"

“Sacrifice?” Mikey echoed shortly, his eyes widening.

"What do you mean sacrifice?" Raph demanded, moving closer to their youngest brother. “Sacrifice what!?”

"This is all starting to sound kind of fishy," April accused.

“How do we even know we can trust these guys?” Raph added in.

"Are you going to help us or not?" Leo cried.

"Is that why we don't have grandparents?!" Mikey whimpered.

"Hamato Yoshi can no longer be considered a priority for--"

Donnie dropped the scroll back into the chest and slapped the lid shut.

"Dad?"

"Yes, my son?" His father hummed, glancing down at his child, picking at stones on the ground at the bus stop. He had long given up trying to get his kids not to pick stuff up from off the street; so long as they didn't put anything in their mouths, he was content.

"Are we challenging kids?" Leo questioned, glancing up at his dad with side eyes.

Their dad frowned a bit, pausing whatever show he was watching on his phone and pocketing it, leaning forward to rest on his knees and look at Leonardo properly. "What makes you ask something like that, Blue?"

"Uhm," Leo paused, frowning a bit and looking to the side. "Samantha's mom, uhm, she was saying to the other moms the other day, after swim practice, that we were, uh... That we were ‘challenging kids…’ And that 'you couldn't pay her to deal with what he does,' and also she said she would tear all her hair out."

His dad hummed thoughtfully, nodding as he listened to his son speak.

"First of all," he said. "Of course you are challenging! There is no such thing as a child who is not challenging. I promise you that Samantha will have all sorts of challenges in her lifetime! Children are not meant to be easy. Children are meant to be children. And there is nothing wrong with being challenged. It makes life exciting."

Leo wrinkled his nose. "Okay," he said. "... Do we have more challenges than other kids?"

His dad laughed aloud. "I do not know!" He said. "I have never tried to raise any other children but you four. Thank god. But I can tell you that you are no more challenging than I was as a child! That is for certain."

Okay, that made Leo smile a tiny bit.

"Second of all," his father continued. "Even if you were the most challenging children in all the world, I would still never trade being your father for anything. I did not become a parent and expect it to be easy! And there is not a single thing in all the universe that could convince me to give up even one of you."

"Not even the new plasma-screen TV that they have at Target? With the super super big screen? The one so big it curves?"

"No, not even the super big TV they have at Target," his dad laughed, ruffling Leo's hair. "And if raising you boys is challenging, it is the best challenge I could have ever asked for. I must be a very lucky man indeed."

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite sure.”

“Even when Donnie takes apart the remote controls?”

“Yes, even then.”

“And when Mikey puts paint in his pockets?”

“Yes, even when Mikey puts paint in his pockets.”

“And even when Raph and I fight over who gets to get on the subway first?”

“Yes, Blue.”

“And even when we tear the gutter off the roof ‘cause we were trying to climb up to the balcony?”

“Yes, even when-- wait, what!? When did you do that?!”

“Nothing. Nevermind. I love you too, Daddy!!!”

---

All five of them had been lying in various states of unrest or depression about their father's room for about ten minutes now.

"I can't believe there are magic spirits in your house, and they're all completely useless dickheads." April was the first to break the silence.

"I concur," Donnie muttered sourly, wrapping his arms around himself. "I'm going back to not believing in magic."

"How can they just write off Dad like that?" Mikey sighed deeply. "Because he has kids to carry on the ‘Hamato Destiny,’ he doesn't matter anymore!? What kind of a deal is that? And what even is the Hamato Destiny? They never said!"

"I dunno," Raph said, hunching his shoulders, staring up at the ceiling with a scowl. "But whatever it was, Raph didn't like the sound of it..."

He couldn't help but wish they hadn't opened that dumb box in the first place.

All his life, he had been the biggest brother-- the brother who was the biggest. It was his job, obviously, to look after his little siblings and make sure everyone was safe. Sure, there was some leeway there, obviously. Letting Mikey dart out into traffic because he saw a dog on the other side of the street? Bad idea. Grab him. Letting Leo attempt to grind his skateboard down five flights of stairs with railings that weren't even connected? Also a bad idea, but would be really funny to watch, so we’ll let that one slide. He had been the biggest brother long enough to know this stuff! He knew what kind of stuff was actually dangerous and what wasn't, and what the best way to keep everyone safe was.

How was he supposed to protect them from this "Hamato Destiny" stuff when he had no idea what it was? And hadn't even thought that magic stuff was a thing until about twenty minutes ago? He had been pretty much sure, like most reasonable people above the age of nine, that magic was like, definitely not real. Now he was kind of feeling differently.

He wasn't sure if he liked it.

Every time he thought about it, it made his skin crawl. What the hell was it that was creeping around in their own damn shadows? And how long had it been there with them none the wiser?! Was there danger inside the strands of their very own DNA? And how the hell do you protect someone from that?

"Do you think it's bad?" Mikey ventured, glancing up at Raph from where he sat on the floor, propped up against the side of the bed.

"Well it definitely didn't seem good," Raph huffed, tilting his head a bit so he could glance over at his little brother. "Blah blah blah, bare a great destiny, blah blah blah, guard against evil-- that don't exactly sound like a picnic! And why else would Dad skip out on his ‘duty’ or whatever? I mean, there's gotta be a reason he never told us about any of this!"

"You think that's why he never wanted to talk about his family?" April said, frowning a little.

"Well, from what they said, I'm not even sure if he actually knew his family. Apparently, Hamatos don't raise their own children," Donnie scoffed, crossing their arms over their chest. "So clearly he's already broken from tradition there."

Silence fell over them once more. Raph fidgeted uncomfortably in place. His stomach hurt, he noted dully.

"Should we try talking to them again?" Mikey suggested after a bit. Leo scoffed loudly.

"They didn't exactly seem excited to help us out, 'Angelo."

"Yeah but, I mean, maybe we can convince them!" Mikey argued. "They’re our family! And it's sort of the only lead we've got. I mean. Okay, so, there's a Hamato Destiny, and also, magic exists, I guess, and, uh, maybe some of us have it...? Which is super cool and all! But... I'm not sure how it's gonna help us find Dad."

Dammit. He had a point.

"... Do you think that guy in the mask was just, like... actually a goat man?" Donnie said after a second, and Leo all but gasped, sitting up sharply.

"Holy SHIT. I didn't even think about that!" He cried, clutching his own head. "But he probably is, right!? Instead of being a stalker fan or whatever? And that's how they disappeared? He's... like... a magic thing!"

"So new theory is that a goatman kidnapped Dad?" Raph ventured.

"Well, if there's magic goatmen or whatever other kinda creatures are kind of on the table, right?" April reasoned. "I mean, there are ghosts, I guess. So it'd make sense if there's other stuff too."

"Do you think there's unicorns?"

"Mikey, so not the priority right now."

"Right. Sorry!"

"Alright. So. To summarize. Goatman kidnapped our papa for unknown reasons, magic exists, allegedly, which I'm still not entirely sold on for the record--"

"Dude, you literally started glowing purple--"

"And also the Hamatos have a very rich and magical history, a divine destiny, and fucked up childhoods," Donnie continued. "... How do we make any of that work for us?"

Everyone quieted for a moment. It was a great question.

"... Research?" Leo suggested weakly.

"You all are going to make me deep-dive satyrs, aren't you," Donnie sighed very deeply, letting their head fall back down to the floor with a dull thump. "Right. I'll start on that. Mikey, you make friends with the Hamato ghosts."

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