#means you are somehow tainted by their political views

[sivavakkiyar]

When Did I Stop Wanting To Be President?, answered by William S Burroughs:

“Both in this life or any previous incarnations I have been able to check out, I never wanted to be President. This innate decision was confirmed when I became literate and saw the President pawing babies and spouting bullshit. I attended Los Alamos Ranch School, where they later made the atom bomb, and bombs bursting in air over Hiroshima gave proof through the night that our flag was already there. Then came the Teapot Dome scandal under President Harding, and I remember the unspeakable Gaston Means, infamous private eye and go-between in that miasma of graft, walking into a hotel room full of bourbon-drinking, cigar-smoking lobbyists and fixers, with a laundry hamper.

“Fill it up boys, and we talk business.”

I do not mean to imply that my youthful. Idealism was repelled by this spectacle. I had by then learned to take a broad general view of things. My political ambitions were simply of a humbler and less conspicuous caliber. I hoped at one time to become commissioner of sewers for St. Louis County—$300 a month, with the possibility of getting one’s shitty paws deep into a slush fund—and to this end I attended a softball game where such sinecures were assigned to the deserving and the fortunate. Everybody I met said, “Now I’m old So-and-so, running for such and such, and anything you do for me I’ll appreciate.” My boyish dreams fanned by this heady atmosphere and three mint juleps, I saw myself already in possession of the coveted post, which called for a token appearance twice a week to sign a few letters at the Old Court House; while I’m there might as well put it on the sheriff for some marijuana he has confiscated, and he’d better play ball or I will route a sewer through his front yard. And then across the street to the Court House Café for a coffee with some other lazy bastards in the same line of business, and we wallow in corruption like contented alligators.

I never wanted to be a front man like Harding or Nixon—taking the rap, shaking hands, and making speeches all day, family reunions once a year. Who in his right mind would want a job like that? As commissioner of sewers I would not be called upon to pet babies, make speeches, shake hands, have lunch with the queen; in fact, the fewer voters who knew of my existence, the better. Let kings and Presidents keep the limelight. I prefer a whiff of coal gas as the sewers rupture for miles around—I have made a deal on the piping which has bought me a $30,000 home, and there is talk in the press of sex cults and orgies carried out in the stink of what made them possible. Fluttering from the roof of my ranch-style house, over my mint and marijuana, Old Glory floats lazily in the tainted breeze.

But there were sullen mutters of revolt from the peasantry: “Is this the American way of life?” I thought so, and I didn’t want it changed, sitting there in my garden, smoking the sheriff’s reefers, coal gas on the wind sweet in my nostrils as the smell of oil to an oil man or the smell of bullshit to a cattle baron. I sure did a sweet thing with those pipes, and I’m covered, too. What I got on the Governor wouldn’t look good on the front page, would it, now? And I have my special police to deal with vandalism and sabotage, all of them handsome youths, languid and vicious as reptiles, described in the press as no more than minions, lackeys, and bodyguards to His Majesty the Sultan of Sewers.

The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. Then I met the gubernatorial candidate, and he looked at me as if trying to focus my image through a telescope and said, “Anything I do for you I’ll depreciate.” And I felt the dream slipping away from me, receding into the past, dim, jerky, far away—the discrete gold letters on a glass door: William S. Burroughs, Commissioner of Sanitation. Somehow I had not intersected. I was not one of them. Perhaps I was simply the wrong shape. Some of my classmates, plump, cynical, unathletic boys with narrow shoulders and broad hips, made the grade and went on to banner headlines concerning $200,000 of the taxpayers’ money and a nonexistent bridge or highway, I forget which. It was a long time ago. I have never aspired to political office since. The Sultan of Sewers lies buried in a distant 1930s softball game.

What would you do if you were in the President’s place? You would be inexorably pressured by the forces and the individuals that made you President, and by your own desire to be President in the first place; so you would wind up doing just what they all have done. It’s enough to stop any sane man from wanting to be President.”

#William s burroughs #routines #Youtube

[hchollym]

If Rheagar was such a bad guy then why does most of westeros still think about him positively after the Rebellion?

This ended up being a long response, so I'm going to put a lot of it under the cut for length.

First of all, even if most of Westeros thought that Rhaegar was fantastic, that still wouldn’t mean that he actually was fantastic. Perception plays a huge role in politics, which is obvious from Sansa’s observation about Margaery and the Tyrells:

The smallfolk cheered them as well.

The same smallfolk who pulled me from my horse and would have killed me, if not for the Hound. Sansa had done nothing to make the commons hate her, no more than Margaery Tyrell had done to win their love.

Reality does not always equal perception, especially where the rich and powerful are concerned.

Second, there’s absolutely no evidence that most of Westeros thinks about Rhaegar positively. In fact, quite the opposite. The story that has been told across Westeros ever since Robert’s Rebellion is that Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Lyanna; that’s the story that Robert (as the new king) spreads, and it’s what most people believe, including children like Bran:

“Robert was betrothed to marry her, but Prince Rhaegar carried her off and raped her,” Bran explained. “Robert fought a war to win her back. He killed Rhaegar on the Trident with his hammer, but Lyanna died and he never got her back at all.”

That doesn’t sound too positive to me.

Third, it may seem like Rhaegar is viewed as mostly positive because of the POV trap. We only really get a few people’s outright opinions about Rhaegar (instead of vague or implied ones): Daenerys, Jorah, Ned, Bran, Barristan, Cersei, Jaime, Robert, and Jon Connington.

Of those, 2 of them (Bran and Robert) see Rhaegar negatively, 2 of them (Ned and Jaime) see him almost indifferently (I’ll talk about that later), and 5 of them (Daenerys, Jorah, Barristan, Cersei, and Jon Connington) see him positively. That seems like there is more good than bad, but you have to look at the context.

Daenerys certainly isn’t going to view her brother (that she never met but has heard tales about from Viserys) as a villain when she’s been told a very different story, and even if Jorah and Barristan didn't like Rhaegar, they would never tell Daenerys that. It’s also worth noting that Jorah traded slaves and Barristan was part of a Kingsguard which has seriously questionable morals, so I can’t say that I hold either of their opinions in high regards.

Jon Connington thinks of Rhaegar in a positive light because he was in love with him, but ironically enough, he barely knew him. That's obvious from the fact that he was more jealous of Elia’s relationship with Rhaegar than Lyanna’s, which would make no sense if he truly knew what transpired and what Rhaegar was thinking.

Cersei thinks of Rhaegar positively because Rhaegar is to her what Lyanna is to Robert – a fantasy of what could have been that serves as an escape from the awful reality. Robert has abused Cersei countless times, and she’s understandably unhappy with him. She didn’t even know Rhaegar, but she deludes herself into thinking that her life would have been better if she had married him:

If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

This is just like the way Robert deludes himself into thinking that he would be happy if he married Lyanna. Neither of these ideas are based in reality.

There’s also an unrealistic perception of royalty that comes into play. Look at what happens to Cersei:

Cersei was soiled goods now, her power at an end. Every baker's boy and beggar in the city had seen her in her shame and every tart and tanner from Flea Bottom to Pisswater Bend had gazed upon her nakedness, their eager eyes crawling over her breasts and belly and woman's parts. No queen could expect to rule again after that. In gold and silk and emeralds Cersei had been a queen, the next thing to a goddess; naked, she was only human, an aging woman with stretch marks on her belly and teats that had begun to sag … as the shrews in the crowds had been glad to point out to their husbands and lovers.

The perception (as opposed to the reality) is what really sets the royal family apart, and Rhaegar certainly had an advantage in that regard: he was a handsome and intelligent prince and a talented jouster and swordsman. On paper, that sounds great, so for people who didn’t really know him (like Cersei and Jon), what’s not to love?

Also, compare that to Aerys (who was growing increasingly paranoid and delusional and even looked like he was going mad by refusing to cut his hair or nails) & Robert (who was an abusive, angry drunk). To people like Barristan, Rhaegar seemed like the lesser of all evils (though the bar is certainly set very low).

Now think about the two people who view Rhaegar almost indifferently: Jaime and Ned. With Jaime, I say it’s indifferent because his memories and thoughts about Rhaegar aren’t really based on his opinion about him; they are more about his guilt at failing to protect Rhaegar’s children, which I think he realistically would have felt regardless of how he felt about the prince. It’s no secret that Jaime hates Robert, but he doesn’t seem to particularly love Rhaegar either. He mostly just gives facts about him that are tainted by his youth and his guilt.

Ned’s opinion is what people usually point to as an excuse for Rhaegar “not being so bad” because if Ned doesn’t hate him, then surely he must not have been so awful 🙄 The irony of that is that Ned had a much greater opinion of Robert than he deserved (at first), but that certainly doesn’t mean that Robert was a saint. And he mostly just remembers facts about Rhaegar; the only “positive” thing he thinks is this:

There was no answer Ned Stark could give to that but a frown. For the first time in years, he found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar had frequented brothels; somehow he thought not.

If not frequenting brothels is the standard for being a great person, then his expectations are far too low.

I also think this is rooted in Ned’s misogyny. Even though Ned doesn’t think poorly of Lyanna (which he shouldn’t), he knows that she went with Rhaegar willingly, and because of that, he doesn’t seem to fault Rhaegar for the power imbalance as much as he should.

Since he doesn't think of Rhaegar as a rapist, that implies that he seems to just accept that this was a bad decision that Rhaegar and Lyanna made together that had domino effects. It's not as bad as some characters thinking that Lyanna “seduced” Rhaegar, but it still doesn't put the blame fully where it belongs (by acknowledging that Lyanna was still a child who Rhaegar took advantage of).

Ned clearly still loved Lyanna dearly, but I do think he didn’t understand her decision to run away with Rhaegar in the first place, and part of that is because his views about Robert didn't match up with hers (which was obvious when he assured her that Robert was a good man who was true and would love her with all his heart). Even though he told Robert that he didn’t see the iron underneath Lyanna’s beauty, he still somehow thinks that Robert loved her truly:

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.

That’s one of the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read, and yet somehow Ned believes that. By the time he starts thinking about Rhaegar again, he’s finally seeing Robert more clearly, and because of that, he’s finally beginning to think about/understand why Lyanna made the decision that she did. So I personally think that Ned's thoughts about Rhaegar (above) have more to do with Lyanna than the prince.

This became way longer than I intended, and I feel like I went off on a few tangents (sorry), but to sum it up: Not everyone views Rhaegar positively, and even if they did, it doesn’t make him a good person. He left his wife and children to kidnap a girl that was still a child, locked said girl in a tower without access to her family while she was pregnant, and set into motion a war that killed so many innocent people. I don’t care how many people “liked” him in the books; Rhaegar was still a jerk.

#anti rhaegar targaryen #anti rhaegar x lyanna #ask me #anon ask #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #valyrianscrolls

[thedeathdeelers]

just a little bit of magic (you know the rest by heart) ✨

my take on a Juke HP AU for the lovely Taryn @pink-flame on her birthday 🥰🎂 may you have an amazing day/week/month/year, you wonderful human being.

hope you like it!

----

Luke eagerly pulls Julie along as they walk down several corridors, up moving staircases and through low hanging archways. The deeper they walked into the castle, the quieter it got.

He had been jittery all morning, too impatient to pay attention in any of his classes as he counted down the hours and minutes until he was free to find Julie and drag her to his surprise. He’d lost his house countless of house points, his leg bouncing and his mind wandering whenever any of his professors called on him in class.

Alex had tried to help a few times whispering the right answers to him, but unfortunately nothing could help Luke when he got in one of these moods. He was just too excited.

Julie trips on her feet behind him, a reminder that her legs were shorter than his. He shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present as he focuses on the girl next to him. Luke slows down his pace, squeezing Julie’s hand once in apology as he gives her a few seconds to regain her balance.

The last thing he wanted to do was mess this up by having her trip and fall right before his big reveal.

Alex had already nearly blown the entire thing when they had passed him on the fifth floor coming out of the prefects’ bathrooms, forcing Luke to very loudly and purposefully talk over him to stop Julie from hearing anything. When he had realised his mistake, Alex had quickly gone quiet, his features morphing into a sheepish expression as he waved at them, walking away and back towards the Hufflepuff common room.

“Luuuuuke, where are you taking me?" His lips twitch at her whine, finding it to be very endearing. "It’s nearly past curfew and as Prefect I really can’t afford to be caught sneaking around by Harrison again.” He sees her look down at her outfit from the corner of his eye, a look of frustrated confusion taking over her face. "Also why did you tell me to change into my normal clothes under my robe?"

Luke snorts at her words, hopping onto the stairs leading them towards the seventh floor, Julie quickly following suit as the staircase starts moving.

“First of all, Harrison absolutely loves you — she'd probably thank you for being you and then very politely ask you to head back to your tower, and then turn right around and give me 3 months’ worth of detention in the same breath.” He turns his head towards her, throwing her his signature grin. “You’ll be fine. And second of all, you ask too many questions. We’re nearly there -- be patient Young Padawan."

"Young-" She shakes her head, cutting herself off, the muggle reference clicking. Luke grimaces at his choice of words, thinking might be spending a little too much time around Reggie lately. "And where is there, exactly?"

Luke tries very hard not to take the stairs two steps at a time.

"Nuh-uh, I already told you - it's a surprise."

He smiles at the disgruntled noise she makes, knowing just how impatient Julie can be. He sneaks a look at her face from over his shoulder, nearly tripping over the stone steps when he sees a little pout on her lips.

At his fumble, a smirk replaces the pout, her voice coming out cockier than usual. "You good there, Patterson?"

Luke whips his head back around, his eyes flying to his feet and staying fixed on the steps in front of him.

"Yeah," he clears his throat before continuing, "yeah, I'm fine. We're uh- we're nearly there."

"It's what you keep telling me," is her teasing, sing-song reply, her mood apparently shifting at his fumble.

Luke keeps his eyes forward, hoping Julie can't see his reddened cheeks as they reach the seventh floor landing. He stops for a second to let her catch her breath before pulling her along with him again, taking the first left corridor they come across to head towards the Troll tapestry.

He'd been taking this route so many times in the last few weeks, he could probably do this with his eyes closed. He had wanted everything to be perfect, practicing again and again until he was sure he had nailed the process.

Only the best for his Julie Molina.

Their steps echo as they make their way down the seldom used corridor, the flickering lights from the torches casting long shadows on the stone floor ahead of them.

"Merlin, this castle is so creepy sometimes," mutters Julie to his left, shivering slightly as her hand tightens its hold on his.

Luke squeezes back, his eyes zeroing in on the tapestry up ahead. His heart starts to beat faster, the excitement reaching an all-time high, only slightly tainted by the nerves that fought to make their presence known.

Taking a deep breath, Luke slowly lets it out as they reach their destination, stopping and turning to face the large tapestry.

Julie stands next to him, confused as she takes in the scene before her - a group of Trolls in tutus attempting to learn the ballet. He watches her as she follows their movements, zeroing in on Barnabas the Barmy as he attempts to direct the Trolls to his left, while the ones on the right pull out their clubs ready to hit him over the head.

Luke loses focus for a second, too taken by Julie - by her furrowed brows, her scrunched up nose as she leans forward to inspect the design on the tutus, and especially by the way her lips twist before her bottom lip slips between her teeth.

He's only shaken out of his daze, his eyes flying up and away from her lips, when she suddenly turns to him with a quizzical look on her face.

"Is this the Barnabas the Barmy Tapestry? Why are we- wait..." She turns her head back towards the Tapestry, taking in the scene with new eyes. "I remember reading about this in Hogwarts: A History years ago...It was the chapter about the many hidden magical rooms in Hogwarts and..." She trails off as she looks at him, her eyes widening. She lets go of his hand, slowly turning in place to face the wall behind them - the one right across from the Tapestry.

"Wait....Isn't this-"

Luke rushes to cut her off, quickly turning around and stepping up in front of her to block her view of the wall, in a hurry to derail her train of thought.

"Okay! So, if you could stand right," he places his hands on either side of her waist, pulling her forward as he walks backwards, positioning her right in the middle of the corridor. "Here."

His hands don't move once she's in place, his fingers brushing against smooth warmth right where a sliver of skin peaks out between her t-shirt and the top of her jeans. He had somehow slid his hands under her open robes without even realising it.

His eyes fly up to meet hers, already wide and staring. They stand there in the quiet space, both locked in each others' gazes, neither one of them daring to move. Within seconds Luke can already feel the now familiar thrum of electricity that always crackled whenever they were both together. Only this time it felt even more surreal.

If he could, Luke thinks he could stay this way for the rest of the night, of the school year, but he brought her here for a reason, so he loudly clears his throat, effectively breaking some of the tension that had built between them. He lets his hands slip away from her waist as he takes a step back, his fingers still tingling from the contact.

"So just...yeah just stay there for a few seconds, while I..." He trails off as he looks away, turning around to face the bare wall in front of them and trying very hard to refocus on the task at hand.

He closes his eyes, clearing his mind until all he has left is the image of the room he wants to recreate.

Taking a deep breath, he pivots on his right foot and faces the direction they had just come from. He takes a few steps forward then abruptly turns back around and walks back down the corridor, making sure to keep his focus. He stops again once he reaches the edge of the Tapestry, turning back around and repeating the process until he starts hearing the sound of crumbling walls that always preceded the emergence of a large wooden door, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Luke opens his eyes to take in the transformation in front of him, only turning to look at Julie when he hears her surprised gasp.

"Luke-" she's cut off by the increasing creaking sound of the door hinges slotting into place, the loud grating out of place on the deserted floor - until suddenly - everything stops. A deafening silence follows, only broken by the crackling of the torches nearby.

Coughing quietly to get her attention, Luke speaks up.

"So...Reggie told us about this room he read about a few weeks ago when we were trying to find a new rehearsal space to use, since, you know, Covington kicked us out of the fifth floor classrooms 'cause he obviously has no taste whatsoever when it comes to real music and loves making everyone miserable, especially Hufflepuffs and-" Luke cuts himself off when he realises he's rambling, rubbing the back of his neck before clearing his throat to continue.

"Yeah well, I asked around to check if this place actually existed and then Willie, you know how Willie likes to listen to us play - although honestly I think he just likes to hang out so he can watch Alex - but anyway, what I'm trying to say is that one of the ghosts from down by the dungeons owed Willie a favour so....ta-da," he finishes lamely, his arms coming up to point towards the door in front of them while wiggling his fingers.

It's quiet for a few seconds, Julie presumably taking it all in.

"You- you found the Room of Requirement?" She asks quietly, sounding almost awed.

"I mean- I had a lot of help from the guys and then Willie and the Bloody-"

"You found it," she cuts him off, her fingers reaching forward as she moves close enough to touch the door.

Luke scratches the back of his head, suddenly feeling shy in her presence.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I did."

He keeps his eyes on her, tracking her movements as she traces the patterns on the door, following the curving decorative loops down the length of the doorframe until her fingers wrap around the protruding metal handle.

"Luke, this is incredible."

The tone of her voice makes his cheeks grow warmer.

"Nah it's nothing," he tries to brush it off, shuffling on his feet, glad that she is too preoccupied with the door to see his continuously reddening cheeks.

She turns to him then, her hand still latching onto the handle.

"It's not nothing! There's a literal betting pool over at Ravenclaw tower to see who can find this place first, and so far no one's done it..." She shakes her head at him, a smile making its way onto her lips. "But you did."

Luke scuffs his shoe against the stone flooring, not sure what to do with himself. He's always been awkward with compliments, especially when they came from Julie.

Apparently Julie eventually takes pity on him, speaking up again.

"So Patterson, what am I going to find behind this door? A record store? That dodgy hot dog place you told me about? I saw you pacing back and forth three times in front of it, so I'm assuming you already have something or somewhere in mind."

She quirks a brow at him, her eyes shining bright with curiosity.

"Yes! That's actually why I brought you here," he chooses to ignore her little digs as he bounces closer to the door, coming to stand right next to her. "So I remember you saying at the start of the year how you've been struggling with music and...y'know...because no matter where you went you just never felt comfortable enough? And then I remembered the studio you always talked about, the one where your mom taught you everything you knew..."

He watches as her expression slowly morphs, her eyes getting wider and her lips parting ever so slightly.

"I asked Flynn to show me if you had any photos of the space and well..." Luke wraps his fingers around the metal chain hanging off his jeans underneath his robe, squeezing tight to keep himself from fidgeting.

Julie continues to stare at him, her expression frozen on her face. It only made him more restless.

Shit, did he take it too far? Was this not what friends did for each other? Sure he had been in love with Julie for years now, but he's been trying really hard to keep it strictly friendly between them, not wanting to ruin anything, especially after having lost her mom.

And Luke likes to think this is definitely something he would have done for either Reggie or Alex.

But maybe her studio back home was something too personal to her? Maybe she wasn't ready?

"Oh Merlin Julie if this is out of line we can just forget this whole thing happened and-"

Suddenly Luke is cut off by a small bundle of limbs and soft curves throwing themselves at him. His arms reach up reflexively, wrapping them around her, his hands coming to rest on the small of her back.

"Thank you," she says, or so he thinks, being the only words he can barely make out, muffled as they are against his t-shirt.

"Of course Julie." He moves his hands up and down her back, a gesture he knows is comforting to her.

The arms wrapped around his neck tighten for a second before she releases him, taking a small step back and wiping at her face with the sleeve of her robe.

He takes in her face, her expression so vulnerable, unsure about what to do next. But then a small smile appears as she nods at his unanswered question. He reciprocates, nodding back with a smile of his own.

He gestures towards the door. "So, want to do the honours?"

He watches as she nods again, taking in a deep breath before turning to face the door once more. With slightly shaking hands, Julie reaches over and wraps her fingers around the handle, twisting it before pushing. The heavy wooden door creaks at the movement, slowly swinging open until they were both standing on the threshold of a brightly lit garage-turned studio space.

Luke only takes a second to check that everything inside is as it should be, before turning back around to look at Julie.

Her eyes widen at the scene that welcomes her, the steps she takes as she crosses over into the space small and tentative. Luke slips in right behind her, taking her hand off the handle before easing the door shut behind them. He keeps her hand in his as she looks around the space, her fingers brushing over everything within her reach - from the throw covering the armchair that greets them on the right, to the trinkets covering the corner shelves on their left. As they gradually move into the studio, the sound of their footsteps alternating from loud to muffled as they cross over the various rugs decorating the space, Julie’s eyes move upwards, her attention momentarily shifting to the ceiling. Luke follows her gaze to see the three hanging chairs he’d debated leaving out, glad to have included now that he sees a wistful smile take place on Julie’s face.

With the late afternoon Californian sunlight streaming in through the windows, the studio almost looks magical, a warm golden glow enveloping the space. Julie’s gaze comes back down as she pulls Luke along with her further into the studio, walking around the baby grand piano, her finger lightly trailing its side, to stand in front of the wall of plants nestled against the glass back wall.

"My mom..." Julie starts, breaking the silence before trailing off as she reaches over to touch the leaves hanging closest to her. "She always said that plants were sacred. She used to tell me and Carlos all these stories about these spirits that lived in each and every single plant on Earth, protecting those who cared for them. Nurturing all those who treated them with love and kindness and respect." Luke takes in the sight of the green foliage, noting how beautiful it looked. "Said tjat our loved ones’ spirits somehow lived in the very roots of these plants.

“Our house has these pots and vases full of flowers and all sorts of plants all over the place - even our garden looks like a jungle!" She lets out a watery laugh, sniffling as she gets on her tiptoes as if on instinct to pull down a green watering pot resting on a shelf above them.

Luke, seeing what Julie wants to do, hurries to pull out his wand from his back-pocket, muttering a quick Aguamenti as he taps the watering pot. Julie shoots him a grateful smile before she starts watering the plants one by one, Luke tucking his wand away into his robe pocket.

“We used to take turns, each of us spending a few minutes or hours watering and pruning every single plant in the house and in here - but my mom was always there anyway, singing to us, to the plants. Keeping us company.” Julie leans forward as she tries to reach the back row. "But when she...when she wasn't around anymore, I- I stopped. I couldn't bring myself to think about her plants or her music or her stories — let alone come in here where everything about this place reminded me of her." Luke gently rubs the back of her hand with his thumb, not wanting to cut her off, but still finding a small way to try and comfort her.

"I guess my dad took care of everything last summer..." Julie trails off as she finishes watering the remaining hanging plants, before placing the watering pot back in its place.

She turns to him, a peaceful smile lighting up her face. "I forgot how soothing it felt to do that. Thank you."

Luke's smile widens at her words, nodding at her in response.

She keeps her eyes locked on his for a few more seconds before averting her gaze, turning back around to face the piano they had walked past earlier.

Julie lets go of his hand as she slowly makes her way towards the instrument, only stopping when she reaches the bench. Luke takes note of her hesitancy to touch the piano, only to then take a deep breath and slip onto the bench, fingers poised over the fall-board.

He slowly walks up behind her, squeezing her shoulder once before moving away.

"Julie, if you need some space or want me to go I can just-"

Her eyes, which had slid shut, pop open at his words as she cuts him off before he can even finish his sentence.

"No! No, this is- Stay. I want you here, really." She looks at him with so much open trust and something else he can't quite place, that Luke doesn’t really know what to say. So instead he just nods at her, pointing at the black couch behind him.

"I'm uh- I'll just go sit there? Give you a few minutes to yourself, yeah?"

At her nod, he takes a step backwards before spinning around on the spot, his shoe squeaking against the wood flooring, jumping over the coffee table and landing on the old weathered couch cushions.

He hears a little giggle behind him, his head whipping up in time to find Julie attempting, and failing, to smother the sound. His pokes his tongue out at her in response even as warmth blooms in his chest at the sound of her laughter.

She shakes her head at him before averting her eyes and focusing the piano before her, slowing reaching out to lift the fall-board.

He can see the anticipation and fear and love and grief and happiness swirling in her eyes, noticed the way her fingers shake as they hover over the keys. His own fingers dig into his knees, forcing himself to stay still, to stay quiet, as he witnesses a moment that truly is monumental for Julie.

He watches her as she takes another deep breath, squaring her shoulders as if ready for battle. She nods to herself once right before her fingers land on the keys, music instantly filling every corner of the studio, every corner of his soul.

Luke has always been sensitive to music - he thinks that's why he's always been good at picking up new instruments so quickly, at finding the right words and melodies and blending them together to create something new and exciting. But the feeling that courses through him as he listens to Julie singing takes him completely by surprise. It's like a physical punching him in the gut, squeezing his heart and taking his breath away all at once. He sits there, stunned, as he listens to Julie inadvertently command his full attention, singing her heart out.

He thinks it must be an original, because he doesn’t recognise it at all.

Her face goes through a rollercoaster of emotions, pain leaking through as she makes her way through the first pre-chorus.

And you use your pain,

‘Cause it makes you you,

Thought I wish I could hold you through it

I know it’s not the same

You got living to do

And I just want you to do it

But then just as she reaches the end, gearing up for what feels like the chorus, Luke sees determination take its place.

So get up, get out, relight that spark,

You know the rest by heart

Julie dives into the chorus, full of energy and hope, another one of her many smiles suddenly changing the tone of the song.

She makes her way through the second verse, pre-chorus and chorus in the same vain, the energy around her building and building, Luke’s heart beat matching it.

The song reaches its crescendo, her voice climbing as it builds on every note it hits, Julie getting to her feet, spreading her arms wide as she gets to the high note. A look of peaceful acceptance crosses her face before she eases the songs to it’s final chorus, settling back down onto the bench, singing and playing softly as the song comes to an end, the last two words ringing in the quiet studio.

Wake up

All Luke can do is stare with his mouth hanging open as Julie lowers her hands onto her lap, her eyes closed, chest heaving. He had always known that Julie was a powerhouse, always known that music coursed through her veins right along her magic, but he had never heard her sing the way she just had. Not with the full force of her voice as so many raw emotions filtered through.

It left him reeling. He needed to catch his breath.

If he wasn't already in love with her, he knows he'd be head over heels for her after what he had just witnessed.

He's pulled out of his daze when Julie moves, her eyes open as she stands up and steps away from the bench, slowly moving towards him.

Luke scrambles to shuffle down the sofa making space for her to sit, only to be surprised when she chooses to sit on his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck as she burrows her face in his neck.

It takes him a few seconds to react, his body frozen and unable to process.

"I know I keep saying this but....thank you," she whispers, voice unstable, her lips sending shivers down his spine as they brush against the skin of his neck.

The movement snaps him out of his stupor, his arms coming up to fully wrap around her, pulling her closer to his chest as he leans back against the couch cushions.

"I told you," he says, resting his chin over her head of curls, "anything for you, Julie."

Her fingers curls into the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling herself closer to him at his words.

They stay that way for a while, Julie’s breathing eventually easing into a calm rhythm.

Luke stays quiet, understanding her need to absorb everything she had just gone through, happy to just hold her in his arms. When she does break the silence, her voice comes out a little more composed.

"I- that was a song my mom wrote for me before she- when she found out..." Her whisper trails off into silence, the pain in her voice squeezing at his heart.

Luke tightens his arms around her.

"You don't have to explain it to me, Jules, it's okay."

"No I- I want to."

Luke relents, nodding at her words as he patiently waits for her to continue.

"I found the song right before leaving home back in September, and when I saw it...it just hurt too much. I couldn't even get past the title." She releases her grip on his shirt only to start tracing random patterns on his arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

“I packed it up and brought it with me thinking I’d be able to read it once settled in my dorm, a space my mom’s never been in but — it took me months to even take it out again, and then a few more months after that just to read through the whole thing. That first time I was a mess," she laughs, a small quiet sound. "Flynn was so close to dragging me to Madam Pomfrey but I managed to convince her I was okay-ish. And then after that it slowly started becoming a little easier every time I read through it until one day I just knew the full song by heart." She stops talking for a few minutes, lost in her own thoughts as she continues her ministrations on his arm. "But even then I still couldn't get myself to sing it, I was always so scared that once I did, it meant that my mom really was gone, that the last piece I had connecting me to her was over and I couldn't bear it..."

Luke's heart drops at her words, an apology ready on the tip of his tongue.

"But the minute I walked into our studio again, this studio, after watering those plants and being able to share all of her stories about spirits and magic and life always being around even after death with you, it just...clicked." She lifts her head up from her hiding place, finally locking eyes with him. "I carry her with me, in everything I do. And I know that I would have eventually figured this out myself, probably once I went back home over the summer, maybe, but..." Julie places her hand against his cheek, her fingers warm against his skin. "It wouldn't have been the same, and I- well, thank you. Again." She tilts her head, looking at him from under her lashes with a smile so radiant on her face, all he can do is nod, turning his head to press a kiss against the palm of her hand.

He feels her fingers twitch against his face, a hitch in her breathing as he looks back up at her.

He finds her looking at him, eyes wide and open, looking both tired and fully awake with dried tear tracks down her cheeks, her bun falling apart with loose curls bending at weird angles from a long day of classes, but all he can think is how beautiful she is. How much he loves her and everything she is, and he tries to hard to stop himself but-

"I love you.”

The words spill out, unable and unwilling to stay locked up anymore. His own eyes widen at his confession, regret flooding in the second he says it.

"I- I- I," he tries to backtrack, to fill the silence, anything, but now that the words are out in the open, his brain and mouth seem to have detached, neither one wanting to cooperate with the other.

Julie stares at him, her eyes somehow growing larger, her mouth forming into the shape of an "o".

“Oh.”

Luke braces himself for her rejection, prepares himself to feel the cold air rush in the minute she moves off of his lap.

But instead, Julie brings up her other hand to fully cup his face, her mouth stretching out into a full blown grin.

"You love me?" she asks, breathless.

Luke, too stunned to do anything else, simply nods at her question.

“You love me," she repeats, this time more of a statement than a question.

She surprises again him by laughing, a lovely melodious sound that pulls the laughter out of him, joining her in her mirth as he chuckles quietly along in his confusion.

"I'm sorry I'm not- I'm not laughing at you," she tries to get out between laughs, her smile still present on her face. "I'm just in disbelief, I-" She shakes her head, laughter quietening down as her thumbs swipe along his cheekbones.

"I love you too."

Those four words take him by surprise, affecting him in a way even her singing hadn’t, his mind spinning, heart racing, entire being vibrating.

Julie Molina loved him.

She loved him too.

He takes his time to commit this moment, her face, the feel of her weight on his lap and the warmth of her hands against his cheeks, to memory. His eyes roam her face, taking in every detail, before they finally land on her smiling lips.

He briefly thinks back to all the moments he had wished he could kiss her, taste her smile and her joy and happiness - and share in that glow that always seemed to be uniquely hers.

He now smiles at that thought, thinking that maybe he might actually be able to experience the one thing he had always craved but thought was off-limits.

Lifting his eyes back up to meet her, Luke leans slightly forward, in askance, in invitation. When she reciprocates his movements, Luke brings both his hands up from behind her back, cupping her face as he pulls her closer to him, ending years’ worth of pining.

That night was the first time of many that Luke Patterson was given the privilege of tasting Julie Molina's smile.

fin

#jatp #juke #julie and the phantoms #jatp fics #luke patterson #julie molina #julie x luke #luke x julie #HP AU #my fics #thedeathdeelers fics #guys this thing is 5k #this is the longest thing i have EVER written #im- #ya #the power of juke

[artbyblastweave]

After one pleasant and one.... spirited conversation after that last TMA post, I do want to clarify that I draw a distinction between the dynamic of a supernatural creature going “oh, it’s fine, I’ll just be a vigilante who eats evil people,” and someone like Adelard Dekker who takes it upon themselves to specifically stop an immortal, malevolent superhuman who’s actively killing people, does little else, and isn’t going to stop unless stopped with violence. I don’t view the use of violence as being morally equivalent in those two setups, but after tonight I do feel a need to suss out why, because the methods of resolution are basically the same in both situations- extrajudicial vigilante violence.

If I had to put a pin in it I’d definitely feel comfortable claiming that Dekker’s approach is more problem-oriented- He’s approaching from the fairly detached standpoint of wanting to remove an element that’s killing people. Sometimes that has a fatal outcome for the target of his vigilantism, like with Amherst. Sometimes that just means binding the problem, like with the table, because that's the most permanent thing you can do to get the motherfucker off the board. But there’s a level of dispassion and focus on removing the threat rather than punishing the evildoer, which allows Dekker to, if not maintain the moral high ground, at least remain somewhat grounded.

And as I mentioned in the other post, he’s got the advantage of not personally having to fight monsters to remain alive, which gives him the leeway to be judicious, take his time and wait until there’s an avatar actively on a killing spree, like Justin Gough or John Amherst, where he’s obviously got the moral high ground. He obviously isn’t being genocidal about it or he wouldn’t be pen pals with Gertrude.

With Daisy and Trevor, their whole bent is more explicitly about punishment (for Daisy) and Revenge (Trevor) and that means that their approach is going to be tainted because stopping the monsters from hurting people is at best a nice side benefit to what they’re actually going for, and at worst a fig leaf they use to excuse themselves in polite company. It’s insidious in that it’s superficially a win-win- they get to fufill their cravings AND improve the world, yay!.... except that it’s a mindset that allows you to justify anything, any fuckup, any level of brutality, any lack of preparation, any adherence to your own gut instincts of who’s innately bad and who’s innately good, in pursuit of the actual goal, which is killing something every so often.  Any moral argument they make in favor of any specific killing- utilitarian, deontological, whatever- is side-stepping why they’re doing it. Neither Daisy or Trevor entertained the idea that they might be wrong, or more specifically, unequipped to do what they were doing. They centered themselves as the heroes of their own stories.

Of course, none of this is any kind of guarantee that Dekkard is equipped to be doing what he does either- we see objectively better outcomes from his approach, but that could just be luck. Which circles us back around to the original conundrum- when is it okay to direct violence at known threats? It’s a rough question. 

It might be good to clarify at this point that my IRL opposition to the death penalty isn’t rooted in the belief that no one deserves to be killed. It’s  rooted in the suicidal arrogance of thinking you’ll be able to identify those people correctly, every single time, and that you’ll never slip up. It’s opposition rooted in the implicit disregard for the innocent- or at least undeserving of death- who you’ll inadvertently kill if you build a system that does that. It’s opposition rooted in the impotent, frustrated rage I feel when death penalty advocates think saying “that hardly ever happens” somehow erases the times that it does happen. It’s rooted in the fact that no government that builds a system through which to murder people is going to use that system in good faith, because that’s not what a government is. 

But at the end of the day, the TMA world is plagued by something our world doesn’t have- a rash of superpowered, unaccountable serial killers who hurt people because they have to, but also frequently because they can. That isn’t something you can afford to ignore! Or at least, it’s not something  I think you can ignore. But the avenues to actually do anything concrete about them are all morally murky, or will inadvertently contribute to the underlying problem. The best you can hope for are slow, judicious actors who keep their own sense of self-importance tamped down, and even that won’t work forever; they’ll still misstep- missteps fueled by good intentions instead of arrogant bloodlust, but people will still be dead.  They’ll make judgement calls of subjective value, and there can’t be more than a handful of them because how many people are actually trying to solve the problem for the right reasons, and not for their own self-aggrandizement? Not many, or the hunt wouldn’t be nearly as much of an issue.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. That’s the point, probably.

#tma #meta #thoughts #analysis #kinda hoping this one takes off as well because I'm now slightly worried that the previous one may have been taken as a pacifistic tract #the magnus archives #adelard dekker #daisy tonner #trevor herbert

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Everything, Everywhere | The Mikaelson Boys

Hello Lovelies! I circled back to my element and wrote a more traditional Mikaelson Boys fic. Did I reuse the theme of a ball? Yes, I am a weak and lazy woman. Did I make the fic completely implausible and touchy? You know I did, they’re vampires and I will let them touch whoever they want (with consent of course). Anyway, it’s honestly just a cute, kinda steamy romance. I altered some of the points from the universe but you have to squint to see where. You know, my entire gambit. You could use this as a prologue for my other fic, Big Decisions, but this is more than fine as a standalone. Anyways, I hope you are all doing well and that this story brings you joy! Until next time <3 

Description: Y/n is part of a founding family and gets invited to a Mikaelson ball. Somehow she manages to enamour three of the brothers. They soon discover she has a few secrets that they’re more than willing to indulge.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x The Mikaelson Boys

Warnings: Kudos to me I think there are none

Word count: 10k (oops)

Tags: Fluff, smut if you squint (more like nudity)

“Are you heading home this weekend?” Lily twirls a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, “Mama told me there’s an event.”

Your best friend lays on your bed as opposed to her own, her legs dangling over the edge. Her eyes are closed, probably halfway to being asleep. It’s been this way since the two of you left for college three years ago, always more in your space than her own. You’re lucky that way, you have a best friend who would follow you across the country if you wanted her to. Honestly, you would do the same. Luckily, though, you decided on only two hours away away from home. Just far enough to find your footing. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

You smile softly at her, swiveling in your chair, “what event? My parents haven’t said anything to me.”

Your family is a founding family, just like Lily’s is. That’s how the two of you became best friends, it was practically destined. You were babies at the same time and your parents brought you to every meeting together. You were inseparable long before you can remember.

Lilly yawns, curling her legs to her chest, “I think it’s some sort of ball. I’m not too sure, I think we got invitations,” Lily rolls her eyes as if the concept of a hand written letter offends her very being, “and they probably just forgot or assumed I would tell you. Isn’t your mom, like, the head of the committee now?”

You nod at her, closing your own eyes for a second, “yeah she’s always got something going on. I swear she forgets she even has a daughter half the time.” You let your mind drift to the other half of the conversation, “Invitations? That’s exciting.”

You don’t have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes again. You crack an eye open anyway just in time to glimpse her do that very thing. You giggle lightly, shaking your head. 

Always one for theatrics, “careful, Lil, your tomboy is showing. What would your mother think if she could see you up in arms over a silly, little note, hmm?”

She scowls at you before letting the grin crack through, flipping her middle finger up at you and mouthing bite me. 

You lean your head back against your chair, “I’m not even sure if mama wants me to come. She hasn’t said anything about this to me. She called me yesterday and it didn’t come up once. Maybe I should just stay here.”

“Not true,” Lily curls her fingers at you, beckoning you to join her on the bed, “she’s just busy these days. Remember how she was when we were little?”

You move to the bed, curling next to your best friend, “you mean how she was always around? She went from helicopter parent to too busy to text me back.”

You yawn, closing your eyes and letting the lullaby of sleep on your limbs sing a little louder. Lily cuddles closer to you, almost gone herself. You wish you could hold onto these moments. These fleeting minutes of comfort in your best friend’s arms. It’ll be gone all too soon. You almost don’t want to fall asleep. Laying next to her feels like the calm before the storm and you want to soak up as much of it as you can. Your heavy eyelids, however, have other plans.

“You’re coming. If I have to go then so do you. I’m sure this weekend will be different,” her voice is the last thing you hear before you drift off, “I can feel it.”

                                 *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Sure enough, when you pull into your parent’s driveway after dropping Lily off at her own house, your mother bursts through the door, a wide smile on her face. You let your own smile drown the nerves you’ve been fighting for the last three hours, practically falling out of the car to get to her. She wraps you in a hug, her familiar honeysuckle and lilac scent trickling around you.

“I missed you, mama,” you whisper against her shoulder and she squeezes you tighter for a second before letting go.

“Oh honey,” she crinkles her nose at you, her face the picture of serene joy, “what’s to miss? I’m always right here. I, however, missed you so much.” She leads you into the house, her arm around your shoulders tight, “Tell me all about everything!”

You suck in a breath as you enter your house, letting your shoulders sag as you pass over the door frame. You’re home, finally. You glance around quickly at everything you’ve missed for the last few months. You glance at family photos, most of which include Lily, and the random trinkets your parents have collected over the years. There are a few new ones and you make a mental note to look at them later. 

You settle on a stool at the kitchen counter, leaning your head in your hand, “you first, mama. What’s this about a ball? And an invitation, hmm? You’ve been holding out on me.”

Her eyes widen, telling you everything you need to know. She forgot. You really aren’t that surprised. It makes you feel better, at least the reason she didn’t tell you wasn’t because she didn’t want you to attend. Lily was right, you’ll have to let her say I told you so when you see her next.

“Oh shoot,” she snaps her fingers, rushing to the foyer, her voice floating to you as she turns the corner, “I’m so sorry honey, it completely slipped my mind. I barely had a chance to glance at my own invitation,” she comes back into view, now with two envelopes in her hand, “here you go!”

She hands you the envelope and you almost gasp at how luxurious the paper feels in your fingers. The cardstock is definitely of the more expensive selection and you blanche. Who on earth could be sending this? You read your name on the card drawn in an elegant script. Handwritten. You had been joking with Lily when you thought that but now, looking at it first hand, it almost offends you as well. You could never write like that.

You open it carefully, making sure to not taint the red seal. You’re pretty sure your heart would collapse if that happened. This has to be one of the most beautiful things you have ever touched. You pull the equally luxurious note from the envelope, your eyes dancing over the paper. 

Please join the Mikaelson Family this coming Saturday at seven o’clock for dancing, cocktails, and celebration. 

Your heart stops. This coming Saturday. Saturday. As in today Saturday. You whip your head up to stare at your mother, your mouth falling open. 

“Mama,” this time your eyes widen, “this is tonight!” you hiss, your brows shooting up, “I can’t attend this! There’s no time, it’s two in the afternoon already!”

She rolls her eyes and for a moment you picture Lily and how she would call you dramatic. You can practically hear her voice. Just wear jeans you princess. You scoff at imaginary Lily. You can’t attend a ball in jeans, not that that would stop her at all.

“You can and you should attend,” she places a finger under your chin, drawing your eyes to meet hers, “the Mikaelson’s are new to town and have invited us. It’s only polite that we attend. Besides,” she winks at you and your cheeks flood with heat, “they are quite the handsome bunch. Perhaps you can end this dry spell? Give me some grandbabies?” 

You choke at her words, pulling your face from her fingers with burning skin, “oh my god, mama! I’m almost certain you should not be condoning grandbabies! Besides, I have nothing to wear so I highly doubt I’ll be the one pulled from the crowd. Reproduction rates are looking slim, I am sorry to say!”

She laughs, her eyes crinkling, and you can’t stop yourself from joining her, “alright, alright. No grandbabies. Yet. However, I’m not so sure how you can be so certain when you haven’t even looked at what I picked up for you. I quite think you’re going to change your mind, honey bunch.”

Your laughter stops abruptly as she leaves the room for the second time. You hear her jog up the stairs and your interest is officially peaked. She never jogs. What on earth has she done? You rack your brain, trying to picture what she’s going to show you now. You don’t have much time to sit on your thoughts, however, because soon you can hear her feet on the stairs again, still jogging, now humming a tune you can’t place. 

When she comes back into view, your mouth falls open. In her hands is a gown. No, not just a gown. In her hands is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. It’s a black, sequined number with a full skirt and a slit that looks like it will rest a touch lower than your hip. The straps keeping it on the hanger are thin, almost nonexistent, and the bodice has a deep but modest dip. When she moves it sparkles like a diamond, catching the sun rays pouring in through the kitchen window. She holds it up, letting it flow to its full effect in front of you, and you gasp, your hands flying to your mouth. 

You can feel the tears prickling at the edge of your vision and you silently scold yourself for being so emotional, “mama, where did you get this? It’s too much!”

Her smile falters, minutely, but you still see it and curse silently, “you don’t like it?”

You stand quickly, your eyes wide, “no! That’s not it,” you take the dress from her, afraid it’ll disappear if you don’t touch it, “this must have cost a fortune is all! How can we afford this?”

It’s true, the dress looks like a million bucks and probably costs as much. You’re a founding family, sure, but that doesn’t instantly equate to old money. It doesn’t even mean new money. Your family has never struggled to get by but you also know that something this extravagant would have definitely set your father back a pretty penny. You don’t want your family to waste their hard earned money on something this frivolous, even if it is the most stunning thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

Your mother’s smile returns to its full brilliance and she shakes her head, “it didn’t cost me a thing, honey, don’t worry. Mrs. Jackson down the street owed me a favor and I asked if she had anything particularly pretty laying around. She pulled this from her closet. She also told me to let you know that it’s yours if you would like.”

You hug the dress tiger to your chest, your mouth gaping further, “I can keep this?”

Your mother giggles, bobbing her head up and down quickly. She looks like she’s ready to start jumping. You don’t blame her, you’re half a second away from doing the same thing. You could scream from how ecstatic you are.

“Come, honey,” your mom grabs your hand, dragging you up the stairs with her, “I think it’s high time we start getting ready for tonight, don’t you think? You have some Mikaelson’s to wow!”

                            *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

When seven o’clock rolls around you’re standing outside the biggest mansion you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Its white pillars taunt you, each one large enough to hide your body. Twice. You’re alone, spare the people around you milling in and out of the large doors. Your mother had dropped you in front while her and your father went to park the car. Never before in your life has a house made you feel this small. This alone. You pull your shawl, a sheer black number, around your shoulders and shrink slightly.

A hand lands on your shoulder and you jump, spinning around quickly only to be greeted with Lily, whose face is twisted from the laughter pouring out of her. She clutches her stomach from the force, wrinkling the red satin dress she’s wearing. You take a moment to admire how much it suits her. It’s a little bold for your tastes but she wears it like no one else could. Her hair is twisted on the top of her head, a few curls falling to frame her face. She looks amazing, not that you had any doubts.

You lightly smack her shoulder, finally letting a few giggles loose, “you scared me you idiot!” You turn your eyes back to the mansion, swallowing the lump of nerves growing in your throat, “take a look at this place, will you. It’s huge! Have you ever seen a house this big? What could someone possibly need a house this big for?”

“Yeah it’s something alright,” her eyes drag down the hulking facade before meeting yours once more, a naughty smirk now on her red lips, “and I’m sure the inside is even nicer! Let’s go!”

She grabs your hand, all but dragging you over the threshold. Light pours over you, catching the sequins on your dress and making it sparkle delicately, something that would usually make you squeal however your attention is currently elsewhere. That elsewhere is the dual grand staircase in the center of the room. It’s encased in pillars, the feature leaking in from the exterior of the mansion. It’s bronze railings are strung up with thousands of twinkling lights. The staircase is easily the focal point of the foyer. 

But not because of the lights. 

Lily digs her nails into your hand, pulling you to a screeching halt, “are you seeing what I’m seeing right now?”

Her eyes are glued to the same place that yours are, dragging up and down the staircase with little care to whoever might be watching her little show. You choose a less outright form of gawking, opting to look all around the room while still making little glances at your main focus.

“Yeah, Lil, I think I am,” you gulp, your eyes training on three sinfully gorgeous men, “mama said they were handsome but this,” you let the end of your sentence drop, not having nearly the vocabulary to explain the Mikaelsons.

In total, there are five people on the staircase. Four men and a woman. Each one is gorgeous in their own right. You mull over the woman first. If you thought that you looked nice before you left, that’s pretty much gone now. She’s absolutely stunning. Her blonde hair lays in a sheet over her shoulders, winding almost to her base of her spine. She wears an emerald gown, one fitted to every dip and curve of her body like it was spun by Aphrodite herself. You have to look away, she’s the kind of pretty that makes you feel like you’re not worthy of seeing it.

Your eyes travel to the man next to her and your mouth goes dry. He’s tall. That’s the first thing you notice. If you were next to him he would easily tower over you. Not just because of his height, though. You shift your focus to his arms and the way the sleeves of his tux hug them tightly. You have no doubts this man could rip you in two if he wanted to. He stands at ease, his eyes wandering the faces of those closest to him as he lifts a hand to smooth over his brown hair. At least he doesn’t look to be in the killing mood.

Behind him is a man with blonde hair. Even from across the room it looks softer than silk and your palms itch to run through it. He leans against the railing, a glass of champagne loose in his fingers. His eyes are on the others but he has the appearance of a man who is a thousand miles away. Your heart hurts at the thought but you brush past it. You don’t know him and you’re most likely wrong. Still you give him another brush over, wishing slightly that he would crack even a hint of a smile.

You shake your head, moving to the man at the top of the stairs. He’s alive with something fiery, speaking to the others with animated hands and laughing hard. You can’t hear him over the crowd around you but, gods, you wish you could. It’s probably nothing important but, by the looks of him, he could make anything sound special. He throws his head back laughing, his brown hair flopping wildly. You can’t look at him for long either but not for the same reason you couldn’t look at the woman. No, you can’t look at him because you’re afraid if you look any longer than you’ll be sucked in forever.

When you look at the last man you shiver. It’s not the kind of shiver that makes you feel exhilarated though, it’s the opposite. Your blood runs cold when you look at him and, when his eyes meet yours, you look away instantly. You can feel his eyes burning into your back for a few moments after and you hate it. Unlike the rest of them, this man makes you feel ice cold.

You tug on your best friend’s hand, desperate to get away from the man, “come on, Lil, let’s go find the champagne.” 

Lily’s eyes light up at the thought, instantly taking the lead on this new expedition, “girl you read my mind!” 

You take one last glance towards the staircase as she pulls you into another room, momentarily catching three pairs of brown eyes before scampering around the corner. Your cheeks are hot when you’re finally out of their vicinity. You hadn’t realized how heavy the air around them had been. Now that you can’t see them your bones feel marginally lighter. Something nags at you though, a loss of sorts. You rub a hand over your chest, massaging the ache away.

Lily pushes a cool glass into your hand, lifting her own to her lips. You follow suit, breathing in the sugary scent before letting the sweet bubbles flow down your throat. They pop, soothing your flaming chest.

“Shit,” Lily breathes, “everything about this screams money. The invitations, the house, this damn champagne. What’s next? A pool of synchronised swimmers?” Her eyes wander the room, her fingers tight around the glass, “I’m not used to this Great Gatsby level of wealth. It’s making my head spin a little. This is my parent’s scene, not mine.”

You nod lightly, her words everything you’ve been dying to say. It’s magnificent but you’ve never felt more out of place. Not even the founders day balls are like this. At least Mrs. Lockwood has the good sense to cater to the modesty of the town. Before you can answer, however, a voice joins your conversation.

“My apologies, my brothers like to go overboard when throwing parties. It’s not quite my taste either, a little too stuffy if you ask me.” 

You spin around to the sight of the woman from the stairs and your heart pounds hard in your chest. She’s even more beautiful up close, like a Van Gogh masterpiece. Her voice is accented and smooth, impossibly so. You feel like a peasant in her presence but her smile is light and it helps to soothe your nerves a touch. When you look at Lily, though, her cheeks are beet red and her eyes are wide. 

“Oh my, I am so sorry! I didn’t think anyone would hear me besides,” she nudges you lightly, the smile she’s plastered on her face sheepish, “this one here. It really is gorgeous. Perhaps university has lowered my standards.”

You watch Lily fumble her words and you don’t blame her. This girl seems like she was made to insite insecurity and you mean that in the very best of ways. Despite her slight enthusiasm, though, Lily’s eyes flow over the woman slowly. You can tell she’s interested. By the way her stares are being reciprocated, you would say she isn’t the only one. You smile at that.

The woman laughs, her eyes filled with mirth, “your standards aren’t low, this party is just a nightmare. I’m Rebekah, one of the many Mikaelsons you will surely encounter tonight,” she looks over her shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing slightly, “and it looks as though you’re going to get the immersive experience.”

You, too, look over her shoulder and your heart stops. The three men from the staircase, the ones who didn’t make your blood run cold, walk towards you slowly, stopping here and there to welcome guests. The tall one catches your eye and you freeze, a deer caught in the headlights. He says something to the other men and they join in looking at you. You swallow hard, your insides doing somersaults at the sight of them. A deer caught in three headlights, it would seem. 

You look back at Rebekah, your eyes blown wide from the panic rising in your chest. She isn’t looking at you, her eyes still locked on your best friend. They’re in the middle of a conversation that you haven't been paying attention to. You tune back in just in time to hear Lily ask about the gardens behind the house. You scrunch your nose. What gardens?

“Yes, they’re marvelous,” Rebekah leans towards Lily, a glint in her eyes, “and much less crowded. I could show you around them if you’d like?” 

Oh no. No no no. You can see the gears turning in your best friend’s head and the smile that blossoms on her face. You know what’s about to happen and for a moment time stands still. She’s really going to do it, isn’t she? 

She looks over at you, tossing you and apologetic squint before meeting Rebekah’s wondering eyes, “I would love that! Lead the way.”

You watch in slow motion as your best friend wanders away, once more looking over her shoulder to mouth a quick I’m sorry. You roll your eyes at her, murmuring a silent you owe me. You close your eyes briefly, tipping the remainder of your champagne into your mouth. You set your glass down as the alcohol swirls in your stomach, adding a kind of weightlessness to your movements. You embrace it, your eyes scanning the ornate walls. What the hell are you going to do now?

A breeze swirls around you, a myriad of spices hitting your nose just as a honeyed voice breaks your daze, “this house was built in the seventeenth century. As a matter of fact, those are the same walls. I do apologize, we’re a little slow when it comes to modernization. I know it can be a lot to take in, if you need another moment to confront them I do understand.”

You turn quickly, your cheeks hot to the touch, and you find yourself inches away from one of the men from the staircase. You bite your cheek, you really need to figure out their names. Up close you see that you were right about him, he does indeed tower over you. You have to bend your neck significantly to make comfortable eye contact. You almost wish you hadn't, though, his dark eyes flooding your chest with butterflies.

“I think I’ve had my fill of the walls but thank you for your consideration,” you pull your wrap tighter around you, clutching it like it's the source of magic that is helping you keep your composure, “and for the history lesson. This house is beautiful.”

He smiles widely, an action so doused in beauty that your head spins, “thank you, it was my father’s. I am Elijah, I don’t believe we’ve met before,” his eyes flit across your face and you can feel the blush begin to creep down your chest, “something which I’m beginning to understand is a terrible misfortune on my part.”

Your heart pounds painfully, your throat dry. This man clearly has a deep grasp on words and knows exactly how to use them. You wonder for a moment to what extent. What would he sound like in a more intimate setting? What words would he use when no one else could hear him? 

Your eyes widen, your chest burning at the thought, “I’m y/n. Perhaps you’ve met my mother, Mary-Anne?” you glance around, trying and failing to locate your mother, “She’s around here somewhere, she has a hand in most of the happenings around town so it wouldn’t surprise me if you do know her.”

Elijah’s carmel eyes fill with recognition, “ah, yes, I believe I’ve seen her in town. Never you, though.”

Though he doesn’t ask, the question is clear in his tone. 

“I attend university out of town,” you clutch your chest lightly, your fingers curling around the top of your dress, “I’m actually only home for the weekend. My mother was adamant I attend this evening.”

Elijah tilts his head, his eyes flitting quickly to where your fingers slip down your dress. When he looks back at you his eyes are a touch darker than before. Your heart pounds harder as well and you bite your lip slightly, thankful your mother didn’t make you wear lipstick.

“I see. I suppose that means we must give you a night to remember,” his eyes linger on your mouth for a moment and the heat that was swirling in your chest sinks lower.

“Indeed we shall, brother,” a voice from your left pulls your attention.

You’re greeted with the blonde from earlier, the one who looked like he was on another planet. Standing in front of you now he looks much more aware. His eyes, a touch lighter than Elijah’s, skim down your dress, lingering on the high slit on your hip before meeting yours again. You suck in a breath but there is no oxygen to be found.

“I do hope my brother is giving you a proper welcome,” his eyes flash, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips, “I wouldn’t want you leaving here tonight without a proper taste of the Mikaelson charm.”

The way he says the word taste, the way it rolls of his tongue, is positively sinful. It hits you straight in the stomach, spreading like poison through your already airy body. It anchors you to the ground, to him. You glance at Elijah who’s already watching you like a hawk. You feel naked under his gaze but, for some reason, it isn’t a wholly unwelcome feeling. You actually kind of like it. 

You smile lightly at him before turning back to his brother, “I think he’s doing a marvelous job. His introduction skills, however, need a little bit of a touch up.” You giggle at the glimpse of his furrowed eyebrows from the corner of your eye, “Too much talking about walls for my liking.”

“Ah, there you two are,” a third voice joins your arsenal of men, standing on your right and piercing you with a voice accented enough to make the gods fall to their knees, “hogging all the pretty girls tonight, are we Klaus?”

You meet the eyes of the third man, the one who made laughter look like a gift, and your heart sings. He grins at you, his eyes, much like his brothers’, a warm brown. Having all three of them this close to you is more intense than you could have imagined. They make the room feel smaller. Intimate. You’re not sure if you want to run away screaming or move closer to them. They’re magnetic, you’re just not sure if being pulled in or pushed away.

He takes your hand, an action that sends your heart into overdrive. His eyes light up, as if he can hear every rapid beat of your pulse. You scold yourself inwardly. Don’t be stupid, y/n, that would be impossible. 

“I’m Kol,” he brings your hand to his lips, laying a kiss that renders your knees weak against your knuckles, “it’s a pleasure.”

Your heart thunders at the feeling of his lips against your skin. You feel like a schoolgirl, dizzy from the slightest touch from your playground crush. His lips are warm and soft. Is this how princesses feel? God, you need another drink. 

“So,” Klaus steps towards you, his eyes swirling with something barely contained, “what’s this I heard about us giving you a night to remember?”

Your heart stops on the spot and you almost choke, not missing any of the implications behind his tone, “I have to head back to school tomorrow is all,” you breathe, trying to play off some of the heat swirling under the surface of your skin, “please, don’t let me keep you from the rest of your guests. I’m sure there are quite a few more important people than me here tonight.”

Elijah chuckles, the sound piling on top of the many other ones you’re already holding tight to, “the guest list is merely a formality, it would really be my pleasure to show you around.”

He holds his hand out to you, his eyes warm but challenging. You swallow thickly, a string of indecipherable emotions rushing through your chest, circling your lungs. You know it’s just a gesture so why does it feel like something more? Why does the thought of taking his hand feel like stepping into the rest of your life? You take a breath, squaring your shoulders and slipping your hand into his. Bring it on, destiny.

“Wait just a moment brother,” Kol’s fingers slip around your wrist, dragging down your palm until your fingers are locked together, “stealing her away from me so soon? I’m not sure I can let you do that.”

Elijah and Kol stare at each other, something wild brewing in their increasingly dark eyes. You tense, feeling like the rope in a game of tug of war. This doesn’t feel like a game, though, this feels real. You’re not a rope to be fought over, you get to decide what and who you want. Even if that’s all of them.

You squeeze both of their hands, drawing their attention back to you, “I’m sure this house is big enough for us to all comfortably go for a tour.”

Elijah’s eyes widen, dragging over you once more as if seeing you properly for the first time all night. He, like his brothers, lingers on the most delicate parts of you for just a few moments longer than he should. It’s a hole in his armor, a hint past the gentleman front. You want to leap at it and pull until all that’s left is the darkness swirling beneath his surface.

You glance at Kol who meets your eyes head on, a toothy grin already on his face, “marvelous, darling. What a great idea.”

He begins pulling you, and by default Elijah, out of the room but you halt, feeling a tad off. You look behind you at Klaus and sigh, your heart heavy. He stands tall but you catch his eyes and the way they glance at your hands, both of which are still being occupied. He squeezes his hands into fists, shoving them in his pockets. You tilt your head, pouting slightly at him. 

“Mr. Mikaelson, are you coming? Time is of the essence,” you nod your head toward the foyer, a coy smile on your lips, “we can’t can’t afford to waste any now.”

His face lights up instantly, walking towards you with flames dancing behind his eyes, “time isn’t real, love. Tonight we have as much of it as we want. As much of it as you want.”

You swallow hard. You want it all. 

Kol pulls you towards him, twirling you slowly, making your dress spin around your legs like a ribbon, “where to first, darling? What do you want to see?”

Your hands land on his chest, your cheeks flushed and legs wobbly from the spinning. His other hand goes around your waist, his fingers squeezing gently, his thumb pressing into your side in a way that makes you want to draw his body closer to your own. Your thoughts from before ring through your head. He makes everything sound special. More than that; he makes everything feel special.

“Everything,” you can’t tear your eyes away from his, you don’t want to, “show me everything please.”

He leans down, his forehead inches from your own. You can feel the heat rolling off his body even through his tux. It’s luxurious and mingles with the last dregs of the champagne. When combined with his scent, a nutty blend of cloves and cinnamon, you feel lightheaded. 

“Very well, darling,” his eyes flit to your lips, “everything it is.”

An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you away from whatever mischief is brewing beneath Kol’s honey eyes. He tilts his head at the person who grabbed you, his aura turning from playful to down right frosty. 

You turn away, breaking the hold of one Tyler Lockwood. Your ex. You squint your eyes. If you were a cat, your hackles would be raised. You wouldn’t claw his eyes out but you would be damn close. Memories from your senior year pour through your mind, twisting your gut painfully. You blink them away. Contrary to Klaus, you don’t have time for this.

“Tyler,” your voice courteous but cold, “what is it?”

He doesn’t catch your tone or, if he does, he doesn’t act like it. He reaches towards you again, no doubt to pull you into a hug, but you back away. Unlike with Kol, you don’t want to touch him. You definitely don't want him touching you. That part of your life is over.

“Y/n,” his voice is light, happy, “I didn’t know you were back! Mom didn’t say anything. How have you been?”

The atmosphere around you thickens. You don’t have to look at the Mikaelsons to see that their shoulders are tense. You feel them take a step closer to you, surrounding you with some much needed warmth.

You clench your jaw, forcing a smile on your face, “yes, well, I didn’t know if I was going to be home this weekend or not. University and all, I’m sure you understand. I’m fine, thank you.”

He nods enthusiastically and you grind your teeth slightly, wishing the floor would just swallow you whole. You dart your eyes to the side, briefly skimming Klaus as he rolls his eyes. Lily would be proud. Kol and Elijah don’t look amused either. You’re not sure how you know but you have to get them away from Tyler as fast as possible. The air drops another few degrees and you shiver.

“Oh well, no harm done!” Tyler steps closer to you, “say, how long are you in town? We should grab a bite at the grill.”

You drop your fake smile, your heart stinging slightly, “sorry, Lily and I are heading back tomorrow morning.”

You feel the boys once again tense, as if they don’t like the information you just shared. You don’t have time to think too hard about it though before Tyler closes even more space between you, grabbing your hand. You flinch back, hitting something hard and warm. The smell of pine trees, a whole forest of them, swirls around you as a hand circles your waist.

Tyler scrunches his brows, his smile slightly faltering, “tonight, then? I would really love a chance to talk. Catch up a little.”

You almost laugh. He just isn’t giving up. He can never make it easy for you, can he? The hand on your waist squeezes and you look over your shoulder, your heart stuttering. Elijah is staring at Tyler, something swirling under his irises. Whatever it is looks untamed. Not in the good way, like how he was looking at you earlier. No, whatever he’s feeling right now is dangerous. Time to go. 

“I really can’t, my night has been spoken for. Maybe next time, Tyler,” you turn to Elijah, “Elijah, did you say that you saw my mother looking for me? Would you mind showing me to her?”

Elijah’s eyes sparkle, clearly taking your hint, “indeed, she was right this way.”

He pushes you gently, blocking you from Tyler as he leads you out of the room. You can hear Tyler call out to you but you keep walking. Two other sets of footsteps join you, Kol grabbing your hand and twining your fingers together once more. When you break into the foyer you let the anxiety that had been building drain. That was more exhausting than you would like to admit. 

Elijah leads the four of you silently to a room off to the side of the foyer. He pushes the large mahogany door open, ushering you in before shutting it again. The smell of ink and old pages hits your nose and your mouth drops open at the sight. You’re in the biggest library you’ve ever seen. It’s like something out of The Beauty and The Beast, the ceilings high and the walls lined from top to bottom with shelves upon shelves of books. You break away from the boys, your fingers itching to touch what is no doubt an impressive collection of history. 

You hear a chuckle behind you but you don’t turn, your fingers skimming an older looking manuscript. Upon closer inspection the handwritten inscription on the cover reads Vonya i mir. Your heart stops and you quickly pull it from the shelf throwing all common courtesy out the window. This can’t be what you think it is. You flip it over in your hands, taking care not to crack the spine too much. Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy. 

You whip your head up, meeting three curious glances with wide eyes, “this is War and Peace! Like, the original manuscript. This is,” your heart pounds, your eyes glued to the yellowed pages in your hands, “this is history. I can’t believe I’m holding this.” Your heart stops, “Oh my, I should not be holding this! This belongs in a museum! What am I even doing, holding it like it’s nothing.”

You set it carefully on a desk behind you, looking apologetically back at them. Your cheeks heat rapidly. It’s very much not like you to go into a stranger’s home and start groping their collectables. You pull your lip between your teeth, lowering your head.

A hand gently grabs your chin, “you didn’t mention you’re a classic literature major, love.”

A small smile toys on Klaus’ lips, his thumb skimming over your jaw. Your heart stutters when he says love, warmth spreading through your chest. You reluctantly move your head from his hand, turning to motion at the manuscript.

“That’s because I’m not. I am a history major, with a focus on Russian culture. I’ve read War and Peace more times than I care to admit,” you smile lightly at the book, thinking about the hours you’ve spent pouring over it, “never in Russian, though.”

You glance back at Klaus, your hand flying once more to your bodice. He studies you carefully, his head tilted to the side. 

“And what do you think of it? Do you prefer the war or the peace?” He steps towards you, his words filling the almost nonexistent gap between your body and his.

Your breath catches. He’s close enough to touch and, gods, do you ever want to just reach out and pull him against you. First Elijah, then Kol, now him. You’re really gunning to end that dry spell in one night and three ways aren’t you? Heat creeps up your neck, your ears flaming at the thought.

“You can’t have one without the other,” you glance over his shoulder at Elijah and Kol, both of whom are hanging on to your every word, “war is inevitable but peace,” you look back at Klaus, “peace is fundamental.”

Klaus brushes a strand of hair from your cheekbone, sending shivers racing up your spine, “fundamental to what, love?”

His voice is low, his accent wearing down any reservations that you had at the beginning of the night. Your mother’s voice rings through your ears. Give me some grandbabies. She had clearly been joking but your body clearly has no concept of satire, heat pooling between your legs at the thought of making those babies. You close your eyes, sucking in a deep breath. It does nothing to quench the heat. You’re in the thick of it now and there is no escaping the white hot fire growing inside of you.

You sink your head into his hand, “happiness.”

An arm hooks around your waist, spinning you into a pair of spiced arms. Kol. You crack your eyes open and, sure enough, you’re correct. You shouldn’t have been able to guess that already. You’ve known them for no longer than an hour. This is insane. He lowers his face towards yours and your heart slams against your ribcage, his lips inches from yours. You swallow hard, your hands finding the lapels of his jacket. Instead of kissing you, however, he rubs his nose against yours. Oh. That feels nice. 

“What makes you happy, darling?”

You laugh softly, his question catching you off guard, “I’m not sure, to be honest. I haven’t had many opportunities to find out.”

“Well then, If you could do one thing that you think would make you happy what would you do?” Kol lifts a hand to your face, his thumb, like his brother’s, skimming your jaw. 

You don’t have to think about it, the answer is on your tongue as soon as he asks the question, “I would leave this town,” you glance down, the truth of your statement making you feel all too guilty, “and I’m not sure that I would ever come back.”

His thumb stills and you hold your breath. Perhaps you should have answered with something a little less full on. You haven’t even told Lily that you want to leave and never look back so you honestly have no idea why you just divulged one of your greatest kept secrets to three men you just met. Maybe because it doesn’t matter. Who are they going to tell, right? But no, that doesn’t feel right. You didn’t just tell them because. You had a reason, you just can’t put a name to it.

“I see,” he draws his thumb over your lips, an action that both surprises you and steals the air from your lungs, “and where would you go?”

Again, your answer is effortless, “everywhere, Kol. I would go everywhere.”

Kol smiles, his eyes lighting up with his grin. Your heart skyrockets, fireworks shooting through your chest from the slightest tilt of his perfectly red lips. They look soft; perfectly kissable. If only you had half of his self-assurance. What you wouldn’t give to run the tips of your fingers over his lips. 

His hands draw back down your sides, “what was going on back there? You didn’t seem pleased to be speaking to that,” Kol clicks his tongue distastefully, his accent thickening, “boy. Is he the reason you want to leave?”

You pull back slightly, your hands tightening on his coat. How are you even supposed to answer that? The story is a long one and there are very few enjoyable moments to lighten it. Tyler is not the reason you want to leave but you surely wouldn’t be doing yourself any favors by staying for him either. He’s part of a long past, one you’re not going to tell them about. Not today, anyway.

“It’s a long story,” you gently remove yourself from his hold, “one that I assure you none of you would care to hear. But to answer your question, no. Tyler has nothing to do with me wanting to leave. That’s entirely my own, for better or worse.”

He nods, the understanding clear in his honeyed eyes, “in that case, darling, tell me something else.” He pulls you back to his chest, “Do you like the stars?”

                                 *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

They left the party. Their party. They just up and left the party that they were hosting. You’re shocked. You were shocked when they dragged you out of the mansion and you’re still shocked now, laying on a blanket a few miles away with your mouth hanging open. You hadn’t thought anything of it when Kol asked you about the stars. You thought he was continuing with his little game of twenty one questions. You didn’t think he was serious! Who the hell just leaves the party they’re hosting?

Elijah shuffles his hands through your hair, pulling pins from it left and right and letting the hardwork your mother put into it fall. Yes, indeed you’re laying across the lap of one of the most eligible bachelors you have ever come in contact with, your face pressed against his warm thigh. Your fingers are wrapped around a bottle of the sweet champagne from earlier.

“You know,” you murmur quietly, your eyes locked on the spray of stars above your head, “when you host a party, it’s usually expected that you attend. Running away is frowned upon.”

He laughs and you can feel it through your entire body. It awakens the butterflies sleeping in your chest, sending them fluttering to your guts where the beating of their tiny wings create an inferno so large it sets you on fire from the inside out. You always wondered what it would feel like to be burned alive. You would have never guessed that it would make your toes curl.

“I thought that was what you wanted,” he drags his fingers through your scalp, the final blow to your once styled hair, “to run away. Here’s a start.”

You rub your cheek against his thigh, your face heating when he tenses at your action, “we’re pretty terrible at this running away thing then,” you hum, pulling yourself to your knees, “we only made it five miles. If I focus I think I can still hear the music. We’re lousy escape artists.”

A breeze blows over your shoulders and you shiver, your thin shawl doing nothing to veil you from the night. You’re just thankful it’s still warm enough to be outside at this time of night. Soon the nights will be getting colder and you won’t be able to do this. It’s one of the many reasons you long to move away. A pair of hands draws over your shoulders and you shiver again, this time from something entirely unrelated to the elements. You smile lightly. Maybe not. The Mikealson’s have more than proven that they are a force of nature.

Klaus’ voice is like ocean waves in your ear, cresting your skin with every low syllable, “well this is just the beginning, love. How far we go is up to you.”

He’s joking, of course. He has to be joking, right? You turn to look at him, seeking out his eyes in the darkness. They burn into yours, no hint of humor anywhere on his face. His gaze pierces through the night and your breath catches, your heart pounding at all the possibilities of what he meant. You bring the bottle to your lips, using the cool liquid to stall while you gather your feelings.

Kol takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth, “So, darling,” he kisses one of your knuckles, his lips like heavenly fire, “how far are we going?” Another knuckle, another kiss, “what is it you want?” He nips lightly at your fingertips and you gasp, the feeling akin to tiny zaps of lightning against your skin, “where do you want to go?”

Your head is spinning, the champagne settling once more over your bones, “I wouldn’t know where to start. There are too many places,” you swallow hard, “too many things.”

Klaus’ fingers toy at the straps of your dress, skimming down your arms with them in tow, “the first place that comes to mind, love. What is it?”

Elijah pulls you towards him, his hand sliding up the slit on your thigh and curling around your hip. His fingers whisper over your bare skin and you tighten your hand on the bottle. Not out of fear, though. No, you use the bottle to keep your hands busy. If your hands were empty you can’t be sure where exactly they would be. On who they would be.

Elijah squeezes your hip and you gasp again, this time louder, “New Orleans,” it’s the first place that comes to your mind, “I want to go to New Orleans.”

Time stills when you finally answer the question. You can hear the wind rustle through the trees and crickets chirping in the distance. Three smells, each of their own element, wrap around you. Klaus’, like water, pouring over your back. Kol’s, like fire, burning up your arm. Elijah’s, like earth, sliding down your hips. You, the air, curl around each of them, pulling them close with your very essence. 

And then, with a far off howl, time unfreezes and Klaus rips the straps down your arms, “New Orleans, hmm,” He sweeps your hair back, his nose skimming down the side of your neck, “a woman after my own heart. When shall we go?”

You laugh, the sound breaking through the almost reverent atmosphere, “we can’t just leave, Klaus. You have to plan things. I can’t just drop everything and run to New Orleans.”

Kol pulls your arm through the strap, furthering the tantalizingly slow  process of peeling the dress from your body, “but you want to, darling. Am I right?”

His lips find the crook of your elbow and you almost moan, “of course you are but it’s not practical.”

Elijah tugs at your hips again, pulling you onto his lap. Kol and Klaus move with you, clinging to you like shadows. Kol’s hair tickles your arm, the soft strands brushing against you as his blazes a trail of open mouthed kisses up your arm. Klaus nips the back of your neck, his fingers wrapped in your hair and pulling lightly. It should feel wrong, you know it should, but by god how could something this ethereal possibly be wrong. Your body feels like it’s made out air and for the first time you’re free to breeze wherever you choose.

“Neither are we. It’s simple,” Elijah leans down, grabbing your jaw and steering you to meet his eyes, “would you like to go, y/n?”

Your heart stops when it hits you that they’re dead serious, “to New Orleans?”

It’s dark but you can still make out the smile on his face. It says it all, his words only reaffirming what your brain has been screaming at you.

“Not just New Orleans, darling, everywhere,” Elijah murmurs, his lips just in front of yours, his peppermint breath fanning your face delicately, “do you want to go everywhere?”

Just like that, your heart restarts, a rush of adrenaline spreading over your bones. Very rarely in life are you presented with the opportunity to go everywhere. You can’t even fathom what everywhere means. Surely there isn’t time to go everywhere, right? You suck in a breath, one that makes it feel like before this moment you were never truly breathing at all. Who cares if there isn’t enough time, you think to yourself.

You slide your arms around Elijah’s neck fast, nodding your head furiously in lieu of all the words that refuse to form a coherent sentence. You tangle your fingers in his hair, the strands like silk against your skin. You don’t take your time to admire it, though, you just yank his mouth to yours, smashing your lips against his and hoping it says everything that you can’t. 

His hands squeeze your hips again and this time you don’t hold back, moaning into his mouth with the force of the tropical storm building under your skin. Your dress feels much too tight all of a sudden, the sequined material biting into your flesh. You shuffle, pulling your other arm from the strap before wrapping it back around Elijah’s shoulder, your fingers digging into his back through his tux jacket. That needs to go too. Now.

“Darling,” Kol’s husky voice whispers against your skin, his face buried in the other side of your neck, “as beautiful as you look right now I’m about half a second away from ripping this dress off your body.”

His words barely register but you catch the important parts, peeling your lips from Elijah’s just far enough to utter, “please don’t rip it, it’s the prettiest thing I own.”

His hands, which are curled around the back of your bodice, stall momentarily, “well that won’t do, now will it?” He muses, his mouth skimming your shoulder with each word, “New Orleans is fine, you won’t need many clothes at all I’m sure. But Paris will demand more of us, darling. We’ll have to fix this.”

Your heart shudders, along with your body. Paris. Surely now he’s joking.

He opts instead to use the zipper rather than tearing it apart, his knuckles softly skimming your bare back as it becomes exposed to him. Inch by inch, cool air wraps around your skin. When he gets to halfway, his mouth begins following his hands. He nips at the bumps of your spine, biting down harder when he gets to the base. Your hands, which are still on Elijah’s shoulder, tighten as flames roll through your body. 

Klaus’ hands slip around you, tugging this time at the front of your bodice and pulling it down to reveal your bare chest. He pushes the fabric down your stomach, trailing his fingertips over your ribs as you arch into his chest, a string of incoherent praises falling from your lips. You’re pretty sure you murmur his name somewhere in there though, because his chest rumbles against your back and, before you know it, he pulls you up to your feet. 

“Klaus, what are you-” your words are cut short from the night, swallowed instead by lips which taste too much like oranges and rum for you to even consider trying to repeat yourself .

His tongue slips into your mouth, his hands flying into your hair, pushing it away from your face and using it to tilt your head to an angle that makes you see stars. The cold air sweeps over your breasts and you shiver again. It doesn’t last long before a pair of hands are sliding up your exposed sternum and over your chest, cupping your breasts. Kol’s cinnamon musk furls in your lungs as he pulls you into his now bare chest. His skin is hot against yours but you wouldn’t expect anything less from the flame made man. 

Klaus detaches from your lips, pressing them once more against your swollen mouth before moving down your neck. He pulls your skin into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the dip in your throat. He courses a river down your front with his mouth, stopping to leave little love bites all over your collarbones and shoulders before heading south. He falls to his knees, shrugging his jacket off before pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts. 

You moan, loudly, and thread your fingers through his hair, tugging him harder against you, “god, you’re too good at that,” you roll your head against Kol’s shoulder as Klaus lips flow over your skin, finding your nipple between Kol’s fingers, “we should not be doing this.”

Another pair of hands, the last pair, pulls your face to a pair of lips, the last pair of lips, “Is that what you think, darling? Do you want us to stop?”

Elijah’s lips skim over yours as he speaks, sparks igniting with each touch. You don’t have to think about his question.

“No,” you press your mouth against his assertively, “please don’t stop. Never stop.”

With that Klaus pushes the rest of your dress off your body and, well, the rest of the details of that night remain between you, Kol, Klaus, Elijah, and the stars.

                               *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You lean your head against the cool leather of the seat, your eyes closed as the wind whips your hair behind you. You’ve never ridden in a convertible before but, much to the trend of Mikaelson fashion, it’s luxurious. Elijah slings his arm around your shoulders and you smile, cracking your eye open to glance at him. His hand is on the wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him. He looks peaceful. Happy. He looks over at you, tossing you a wink before turning back to the road. Butterflies flutter through your chest and you welcome them with open arms.

You glance in the rearview mirror, your grin growing when you see two sleeping men. Kol is leaning back, his mouth half open as soft snores fall from his mouth. You giggle quietly. Last night must have exhausted him. He wears his slacks still but now, instead of his jacket, he wears a wine colored hoodie. His hair is mussed and you swallow thickly, thinking back to how it felt between your hands.

You move to Klaus, shaking your head slightly to defuse your slowly heating skin. He, too, no longer wears his jacket  but, unlike Kol, he only has a t-shirt on. His arms are folded under his head as he leans against the seat. His body is relaxed, his legs spread in front of him. You yawn looking at him, fighting the urge to crawl over your own seat and into his lap.

“Are you tired, love?” Elijah’s voice mixes with the wind, floating over you like music.

You meet his glance for a moment, smiling sheepishly, “yes but it’s nothing.”

“You should try to sleep,” his voice is slightly concerned, his eyes slipping over your bruised skin before turning back to the highway, “we still have about seven hours before we’re even in Louisiana.” 

You stifle another yawn, pulling the sunglasses on your head over your eyes as the sun breaks over the trees blurring past you, “not yet, Eli. I don’t want to miss anything. I’ll sleep when we get there.”

You hear your phone beep from the bag at your feet but you ignore it. That’s another thing that you’ll wait until the Louisiana state line for. Instead you lift the book on your lap, your fingers skimming delicately over the words on the cover. Vonya i mir. Your heart warms as you open it to the first page, settling into the leather seat. Elijah looks over at you and chuckles, the sound even more musical than last night. This is going to be the easiest seven hours of your life.

#the mikaelson brothers #the mikaelsons #the mikaelson boys #the mikaelson brothers x reader #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #elijah #mikaelson #Kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson x reader #kol #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus #rebekah mikaelson #rebekah #the originals #the originals imagine #the originals fic #to #originals #tvd #vampire diaries #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries fic

[soulmate-game]

“Are you paw-sitive this is alright?” Selina half-purred half-asked. The slender cat thief was dressed casually— for her, anyway— in a floor length amethyst purple gown that swept just barely above the floor, accentuating her curves and coming down in a deep V neck that was just barely within the constraints of being acceptable for public appearances. Her companion, almost half a foot shorter even in her short heels, was a stark contrast. It was as if all the two women had in common was their hair color, a rich deep black that shimmered blue in the right lighting.

Marinette, with her hair done up in two buns and wearing a sensible pink-and-white cheongsam top with apple blossom embroidery paired with an ankle-length denim skirt that had a knee-high slit in the front, nodded even as she eyed her friend’s choice of outfit with a small frown.

“Of course. Bruce is in the media’s eye all the time, and he knows I don’t have a care for the spotlight. But you do,” Marinette stopped talking for a second, snapping her fingers and reaching into her purse. She pulled out a gorgeous inch-thick collar necklace that was made entirely of thick panels of flawless silver and high-quality diamond. At the very center of the collar necklace, where it would hang right in the center of Selina’s collarbone, was a diamond-and-obsidian cat face. “I knew I was forgetting something! Bourgeois owed me a favor for doing the outfit for her last magazine cover pro bono, so I asked for this as payment. It’s exactly what your outfit is missing.”

Just because Marinette didn’t like revealing clothing didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate someone else wearing one well, after all. And Selina wore her dress perfectly.

Selina quirked an eyebrow, eyeing the necklace with her expert gaze. Gently, she trailed her fingertips over the tops of the diamonds in the thick bands of the collar as a small smile flicked over her lips. She raised her eyes up to Marinette’s, light green eyes sparkling with mischief and knowing.

“You got this as a bribe for me, didn’t you kitten?”

Marinette smiled unashamedly. “I know you’re a proud lesbian, but would you mind playing the role of Bruce’s girlfriend, just for the media? And only while you’re single, of course. If you ever want out, you only have to say the word. Bruce already agreed, but he also doesn’t mind continuing to play the careless bachelor if you aren’t willing.”

Selina scoffed, rolling her eyes and grabbing the necklace. Effortlessly, she swung it around her neck and clasped it in place. “Please, darling. You and I both know it drives you up a wall when Brucie is hounded by gold diggers every time he steps foot out of that mansion of his. I’ll play the camera-girlfriend, but only for a maximum of a year. And you two can only call on me one a week at most, a girl’s gotta have some time to herself.”

Marinette nodded eagerly. “That’s fine! We probably won’t even call on you that much, Bruce is planning to play the ‘we want to keep our relationship pretty low-key’ card for now. Just an appearance once a month or two ought to satisfy those vampiric paparazzi.”

Selina just smiled. She had practically adopted Marinette years previous, during a trip to Paris where she had found out she apparently had a male doppelgänger. Now the two were sisters in all but official (Not-forged) legal documents. And because of that, Bruce had somehow become her brother.

Which Bruce later found out, meant that Selina would relentlessly tease him every time she needed to appear as his “girlfriend.”

Relentlessly.

But Marinette and Bruce had a Plan. She wasn’t quite ready to make a public appearance as his real girlfriend, mostly because of loose ends that still had to be tied back in France. She was making so many trips back and forth between the two countries that they couldn’t see each other in person much to begin with, so they also didn’t want their few in-person meetings tainted by greedy D-rate journalists.

But yes, they had a Plan. One year was the perfect time frame for the last stretch of said plan. Marinette would tie up the last few things she had to do in Paris, start an official branch of her fashion company in Gotham, and they would stage an entire break-up with Selina, a three-month “break” to “recover” and then a suitably dramatic, romantic “meet-cute” between the two of them to start what the media would see as a love-at-first-sight, fairytale relationship.

Nobody needed to know about Marinette and Bruce’s five-year pining session, or their one-year fumble through figuring out how to date one another before actually getting it right, or the most recent three-years of dealing with the fact that they were both highly experienced hero/vigilantes, the leaders of their own hero teams, and highly accomplished business people.

It was a hard relationship utterly riddled with drama, but they had finally reached the stable point where they were ready to commit. Sort of. They just needed Selina to fake-date Bruce in the public eye for a couple months, and then everything would be fine.

—*—*—*—*—*

One year and three months later.

Marinette shifted her purse on her shoulder. This would be her first time in over five years actually setting foot inside the Wayne Manor. She was excited to see Alfred again, and to hash out the last details for her and Bruce’s public “meet-cute.” But Alfred didn’t open the door this time, a short green-eyed boy with an all-too-familiar frown on his face did.

And once again, Marinette knew that Selina was not the mother. Her pseudo-sister was, as she had said so long ago, a very proud lesbian. But Marinette did know of a past fling of Bruce’s who did possess the proper genes to help create a child of this age.

Marinette smiled, pushing her inner rage at the thought of Talia Al Ghul out of her mind. She was still pissed beyond all rational thought when she heard about what Talia had done to Bruce. But this child was not at fault for any of it, only an innocent by-product.

“Hello. My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Would you mind telling Alfred I’m here?”

“Tt. Why should I?” The apparently bratty boy asked, crossing his arms and glaring straight at her. Marinette felt her eye twitch.

“I am a close friend of Bruce— Would I be correct in assuming he’s your biological father?” Immediately upon her question, the boy’s eyes widened ever so slightly in shock before his glare intensified. Marinette chuckled. “He didn’t tell me that he adopted any new children, and he always tells me when he adopts. Which means he didn’t have to adopt you, suggesting you are related to him directly. You can’t be a cousin or nephew, he has no living blood family. And all his pseudo-siblings are alive and fine, so you weren’t left to his care in anybody’s will,” she deduced out loud for him. “Plus, the green eyes and tan skin— I know of exactly one of Bruce’s past… suitors… who happens to fit the timeframe and features necessary.”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “Most assume that I am that harlot Selina Kyle’s spawn,” he snapped, but it lacked the same heat this time around. He was now analyzing her face closely, and Marinette noticed. She was careful to keep her eagerness toned down. She really just wanted to see Bruce and be able to hug and cuddle him for the first time in almost a year, and this child was her only obstacle at the moment. A very stubborn one.

Marinette sighed. “Selina is like a sibling to me, don’t call her a harlot. If Selina was ever pregnant, I would have known. Hell, Selina would have given me her baby to raise because she doesn’t have any interest in being a mother. Now, the polite thing to do when someone introduces themselves is so introduce yourself back. Not interrogate or intimidate them.”

The boy huffed, straightening his emerald turtleneck and rolling his shoulders back. “I am Damian Wayne,” he replied imperiously. “And Father has never mentioned a friend by the name Marinette. Which leads me to believe you are yet another no good hopeful suitor, and Father is still recovering after he and Kyle finally split up for good.”

Marinette froze, and slowly her eyes narrowed. “He never mentioned my name? Ever?”

“Tt. I already said no.”

Finally, the shape of Alfred Pennyworth came into view behind Damian. He had obviously heard the last bit of the conversation, because he just sighed and shared a long suffering look with Marinette. It was that look that made Marinette’s eye twitch a second time.

“Alfred,” she said slowly. “Has he mentioned me at all to any of his kids?”

“He has not,” Alfred replied. “And furthermore, Miss Selina would not stop giving him a hard time whenever he had to call her out for an appearance. It seems all of the children mistook their relationship for actually being of a romantic nature.”

Damian spun to the butler, eyes wide and swimming with a multitude of emotions. “What do you mean, ‘actually’, Alfred?”

“He means,” Marinette began before Alfred had the chance. Her eyes were narrowed, matching storms of dark, furious blue. “That Selina was only pretending to be Bruce’s girlfriend so that the press and gold-diggers would leave him alone. And apparently I need to beat some sense into my stupid, idiotic boyfriend, who I should have known would do something like this,” she looked up at Alfred, jaw clenching. “That man would never be able to pass for a functioning human without either you or me keeping his head screwed on. Where is he?”

“Not at the manor currently, Mademoiselle Marinette.”

“Alfred.”

The butler gave Marinette a rather mischievous little grin. “Master Bruce has forbade me from telling you where he is currently, he wanted you to stay at the manor and sleep the jet lag off until he got back. But I can tell you that he is not currently on Earth or on a mission.”

“Alfred!” Damian hissed, shocked that the man would say something so revealing. Alfred was the perfect secret keeper, why would he tell someone Bruce had never mentioned something so telling?”

“Oh, calm yourself Master Damian,” Alfred soothed. “Marinette has known about Master Bruce’s nighttime activities since before you were born. If anything, I believe he rightfully deserves the wake up call he is about to receive.”

Marinette nodded, eyes still stormy and determined. “Alright, so he’s at the Watchtower. The Zeta tunes are still in the Batcave, right?” When Alfred nodded, Marinette wasted no time. She easily slid around Damian and stormed into the manor, finding her way to the Batcave on pure muscle memory and rage.

“Wait, Alfred! I demand an explanation!” Damian’s loud voice slowly grew quieter as Marinette stormed down into the cave, ignoring how Alfred began to calmly explain the situation to the boy. She just slid right in to the Zeta tube, and commanded the computer to send her to the Watchtower.

“P-001, codename LADYBUG, recognized.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Batman pinched his nose from where he stood at the head of the meeting room in the watchtower. The briefing was supposed to start over an hour ago, but Hal Jordan had been twenty minutes late. No surprise there. But still, SuperMan had insisted that they wait until everyone arrived. And really, normally Batman would too. Except that his long time girlfriend was going to be landing in Gotham any minute now, and he would rather be back at the manor to greet her.

And the asinine argument that had been going on for the past forty minutes was finally going to end, even if Bruce had to hogtie every last one of his insufferable coworkers himself and force them through the rest of the meeting strapped to their chairs.

“Okay, can we PLEASE begin the meeting now, or so help me I will break out my kryptonite restraints,” he threatened darkly. He might have only mentioned Kryptonite, but everyone knew that that threat was actually aimed at all of them. Batman knew every last one of their weaknesses and was not above being petty when they strained his last nerve.

Quickly getting the hint, the entire room rushed to fill their seats and at least fake at paying attention. But of course, nothing goes quite right in the life of Bruce Wayne. Right as he turned on the slideshow he had prepared and began the meeting, the sound of an enraged woman’s voice echoed down the hallway in a deafening roar.

“BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE, YOU ARE IN SOOOO MUCH TROUBLE!”

Batman felt as if someone had just shoved him into a cryogenic freezer, a harsh shiver of dread running down his spine. There was exactly one person who could terrify him with a single word, and it just so happened to be the woman he was hiding a wedding ring from.

For the past eight years, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Oh shit,” Bruce breathed, but found he was unable to move from his spot. Yes, he wanted to see Marinette so badly that it hurt. But he also would like to stay alive.

SuperMan leaned forward, not really concerned since Batman would have reacted much differently had the voice been coming from a real threat. Instead, the man leveled his old friend with a very teasing smirk.

“Why is your heart suddenly racing?”

Bruce could only glare daggers at Clark before the door to the meeting room swung open, a tiny French woman standing there in a long, formal white-and-pink knee-length gown with a cheongsam neckline and one of her leaf-green heels held in each hand threateningly.

“You absolute idiot! When I said I wanted to keep our relationship out of the public eye, I didn’t mean to keep me a secret from EVERYBODY!”

“But darling—“ Bruce cut himself off as he was forced to dodge one deadly-accurate piece of flying footwear. “You don’t understand. The boys cannot keep a secret to save their life.”

“They have secret identities, don’t they?” She slipped her other shoe back on. She had known that her shoe never had a chance of hitting, and with Bruce in full Batman gear, even if it had hit him the high heel would have felt like she had only thrown a pillow. Had it been otherwise, she wouldn’t have even joked about throwing her shoes at him. But as it stood, she knew none of the normal things she had on her would be able to so much as make Bruce say “ow.”

Marinette placed both of her fists on her hips, marching up to Batman and pulling him down the full foot it took for him to be able to look her in the eye. His resulting gulp was clearly audible, and visible, to everyone else in the room. “You absolute, emotionally dense moron,” her voice had dropped from a yell to a mildly fond, but still very annoyed, grumble. “Your kids are mostly adults now, you know. And you never told me about Damian either. Did you honestly think I’d be mad?” Bruce looked away from her, which was honestly all the answer she needed. Marinette sighed, letting him go and softening her voice. “You need to trust your kids more, Bruce. I never wanted you to keep me a secret from your family, or even your close friends. Just the annoying ass paparazzi. And trust me a little bit more, yeah? I know it isn’t exactly your strong suit, but I’ve known you long enough that you should know I’m not gonna run for the hills just because you have a biological kid that wasn’t with me.” Marinette risked giving him a slightly vulnerable, lopsided smile. And Bruce immediately deciphered what it meant. His shoulders slumped.

The cost of using the Ladybug Miraculous for so long was that Marinette had to give up her fertility. She could never have children of her own, and Bruce had felt guilty that he had had a biological child, even though he hadn’t exactly consented to it, without her. But now he could see where he went wrong.

Marinette was just happy to have another piece of him to take care of. She never would have resented him for what had happened with Talia. And, seeing all of those facts written on her face now, he felt more than a little blind.

“... sorry.”

Marinette just huffed out a short, soft laugh before grabbing Bruce by the bicep. She turned to look at the other heroes still in the room, half of them uncomfortable with seeing such an emotional display while the others looked like they were incredibly invested in a good soap opera. She shot them a grin.

“I’m stealing him for the next few days, okay? Don’t worry, I’m sure you can make do with making Diana read the slideshow. I know from experience that it has everything you guys need to know and more. Don’t call us, I’ll field all your contact to Agent A!!” With that, she dragged Bruce by the arm out of the room.

To be fair, he wasn’t exactly resisting. Even if the reunion was far from ideal, just having this little bit of contact was extremely relaxing for the vigilante. When they reached the Zeta Tubes, he stopped Marinette and pulled her in for a kiss.

When they inevitably pulled away for breath, he smiled at her. “As soon as we get back, I’ll call everyone in and explain the situation,” he promised. “And then, we can spend the rest of the night doing whatever you want.”

Marinette smiled back, shoving him into the Zeta Tube. “Then get ready, because I wanna sleep off this damn jet lag and I plan on cuddling you like a koala the whole time. No escape.”

“B-001, Codename BATMAN. Recognized.”

“Can’t wait,” he replied right before he was whisked off. The sound of the love of his life laughing followed him through until he reached the other end of the teleportation.

—*—*—*—*—*

@maribat-writing-and-prompts

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #brucinette

[lewyn-martell]

I'm the Ken & Shiv anon from last time...

I'm still in awe at the way E3 played out??

I was initially shocked that they were willing to do that to each other, but then Shiv did tell Tom that taking the fall for Logan was a good idea; and when Tom told her he was probably going to jail, she reacted nothing like she did at the end of season 2.

She likes her executive position at Waystar Royco, and judging from the almost friendly banter she had with Nate, she likes it better than politics.

And Ken likes being in the spotlight (Ewan's judgement of him was very accurate), and he genuinely sees the late-night-show styled roasts as playful jokes (since they don't hit him where it hurts and instead treat him as a generic "rich white man who wants to kill his dad") to the point that people around him are uncomfortable to watch the "roasts".

I was more surprised that Ken casted the first stone, mostly because I sort of knew Shiv had it in her to gut her brother. I also knew Ken is a very vindictive person, down to what he told Rava about the divorce lawyerings & bringing the team to her house in S3E1 / what he did to those girls after Angela rejected his VC offer & told him off / what he did to Logan after Logan tried to scapegoat him, but I didn't think what Shiv did warranted something like this: she rejected his offer, yes, but so did everyone else.

Somehow Ken perceived it as such an insult that he was willing to do this, and their conversation at the beginning??? "I think I'm right--I am right" followed by his half-assed apology, and then responds to Shiv's proposal for a truce with "Look at this. It's you now," and ends the convo with "I'm sorry for you, Siobhan"... Like, just because she refuses to kill Logan with him??

With Ken IGNORING HIS LAWYER'S ADVICE to storm in WR to play a certain Nirvana song to sabotage Shiv's speech and the late-night show thing, I've 2 observations:

1) I'm starting to see who he interrupts & treats as disposable and who he doesn't, the latter being family / useful friends / WR related people / women he's infatuated with at the moment.

2) Ken seems to like new-age tech much more than traditional media, especially the ones with a liberal view and are therefore antagonistic toward him & his family. He apparently saw Shiv as a through-and-through liberal and thought that she's somehow abandoned her ideals by defending Logan??

This line of thought clears up a few things: 1) he agreed with what Shiv said in Argestes and liked the idea enough to actually execute it, thus the "I'm the real you", 2) he sees Shiv as someone willingly taking Logan's side and someone who KNOWS the scale of the crimes and Logan's culpability (again, projecting much?), 3) he's feeling vengeful because he thinks that she's a hypocrite & she has no reason to be on Logan's side when she could be on his side.

And oh boy, Shiv just had to spell it out for him just EXACTLY why she didn't want to be on his side in her open letter. I don't know why Ken thought it was a good idea to do this to her when Shiv obliterated him in S1E2 when he asked her "what do you have against me" when she wouldn't back him for the CEO position.

Now the whole world knows why, and any potential liberal goodwill toward him is tainted by Shiv's words.

In a way, Shiv is Ken's foil and Ken loves her for who she is (and who he couldn't be) and Shiv hates him for who he is (and who she is not).

(also, I actually have multiple comparisons to draw between Rava & Shiv and how Ken treats them, but I think that's just me going off the deep end)

Hello hello great to see you again. As someone who is also in complete AWE of how the episode played out, I'm more than happy to try and get my thoughts in order to touch base with you.

I want to start by saying how much I adored the war-like aspects of the episode, with high tension surrounding the "battles", invasion of territory, tactical moves and strategy in general, I mean... Everything. Shiv is glowing with the opportunity (like you said, I also agree she enjoys it more than politics. This has always been framed by Logan as the the fight of their lives, after all), Kendall is still high in his histrionic meretricious manic phase and has Shiv as the central enemy (after dad, who is looming over them all), so not only I was ready for it, I was expecting it to hurt even more. We sure as hell know Kendall is vindictive and we also know Shiv can go low low to match it (god, I love them).

And yeah, about what you said that "it's not like what Shiv did warranted for it" like I know right?? But none of these kids' reactions are proportionally right and what we would expect more well adjusted human beings to act like. Shiv only said no, but it hurt him so much he not only said what he said that night, but he also channelled his other hurt feelings about his image that had nothing to do with her into fucking up his lawyer's whole strategy to go bomb his little sis' big day. (Yes, I definitely agree that the rich white man with daddy issues doesn't hit where it hurts the most, but I also think it still bothers him. He wants to be the hero of the people and he's trying to project the image of "any press is good press because they're talking about me" for his friends, but I couldn't help but see that it got to him, with how he was reacting in that party scene when he turned on the tv. I mean, he immediately thought he should go on the show and that sounded an awful lot like he wanted to defend himself. He even felt the need, maybe out of nervousness, to feel the "temperature" of the writer's circle right before it to see if they would lay it hard on him and tried to protect himself by going all "hurt me!!" to make people think he's not getting affected.)

Oh, I absolutely adored (and was tortured by) the fact that these kids just can't get in the same wavelenght (i.e. Shiv proposing truce and trying to reach common ground and Kendall answering with conflict). Shiv is at a supposed dawn of her time and both doesn't want to give it up and can't have the perspective Kendall has about her proposal (since he was in this position before) and Ken just doesn't give it to her because being real is a sin in this family. I think this disconnect and pattern of awful communication is a big part of Kendall rejecting all possibility of collaborating with Shiv on some level (like, any sane person who knew their sister was almost caving would try and leave the page open to try again. Armed with the right words and right time she could be his and he definitely needs it. But not Kendall, though. These people are egocentric and delusional), but also, yknow, the ever present vibe of permanent conflict between these kids and that he felt betrayed by her, specifically, saying no to this.

And it does intrigue me, how Kendall was so sure he would be able to get her on his side. What I imagine, and these are only half-formed thoughts, is that the liberalism of it (yknow, what you said about him possibly thinking she is a hypocrite betraying her so-called values that he "shares") for him and between them is only the surface of the tip of the iceberg. Because let's be honest how much does Kendall (and Shiv for that matter) care about it? Everything on the show points to "not much" being the answer, but there is a gray area of him (them) caring at least a little bit but not knowing how to care for it and, more importantly, doing it for the wrong reasons. Logan's conservatism is bad for business, Kendall is doing his sacred plan and he wants his ascension to be clean and up to the times (although it is true that he might think he genuinely cares to lie to himself about his true reasons for doing his move and as a crutch to help him keep saying he is doing the right thing). I can only see the view of this "betrayal" he felt that we're hypothesizing be about soiling their potential "climb towards the new age" and how, even though he saw some of the same drive in her, she is still under dad.

And it's actually great of you to mention the dinosaur cull line in Argestes because I immediately thought "where is my parallel gifset of Shiv saying that and Kendall saying back in season 1 about 'the dinosaur doing one last roar before the meteor wipes him out' in reference to Logan"?? He might have been dad's little bitch at that point, but I believe this moment, among various others, made him see his old self in her and thus we get to this ongoing shared identity struggle and "I'm the real you" "Sure, and I'm the real you" "Do you even care or it's all just ego?" "It"s you this time" and his certainty he could persuade her. And the pettiness and rancour comes out of her betraying the ideal that past Kendall would have, in his head, jumped to get a hold of (even though he completely ignores it took him a lifetime of unfulfilled number one boy feelings, years being jerked around the world with no reward, and the right self-excuse of being concerned about Logan's health before he decided to rebel).

I'm with you that it was naïve of him to not expect her to come against him full force after what he did. Kendall always thinks he can take far more than he can actually swallow or just doesn't think things through (another thing in common with Shiv hsbahahsbsha) and then the consequences of his actions come falling down on him. It remains to be seen how effective Shiv's letter will be with how the episode ended, but I think it's safe to say it's somewhat of a major hit for him, even though not quite as much as the FBI knocking on Waystar's door (lmao that was so funny).

Let me finish this by saying that while I'm completely on board with them destroying each other and doing some angry self-recognition through the other and continuing their clown on clown violence and mind games.... I keep wondering ever since I saw that trailer of Roman saying "I hear you tried to killed dad again, fatty. Do you have a fetish for nearly killing dad yadda yadda" who he is talking to. The editing of course says that it's Kendall and honestly it might very well be and it's what I'm thinking it will be. But there is a tiny tiny part of me that thinks it could be Shiv, especially when I think "who, between them, makes more sense for Roman to call fatty??". But this is more wishful thinking than an actual theory I'm behind (especially because it's not like Roman's insults have actual meaning). While it would be incredible to see a team up, what we are getting already makes me plenty happy.

#succession #kendall roy #shiv roy #kendall roy x shiv roy #kendall x shiv #kenshiv #messages #long post #i'm sorry for taking my sweet time with this but it was a lot to unpack #and i hope you can talk to me about the shiv/rava parallels. you can dm me if you want

[mermaidenisaacs]

isaac went to college and became a fratboy, part 2

the aftermath of hooking up with isaac lahey at a frat party includes: shame, regret, and the stupid thrill of leaving him on read 

TW: sexual language, sexist language, some impure thoughts

I finally saw Isaac again. 

After a fire alarm interrupted my study session at the library (some idiot burned Poptarts in the microwave again), I was forced to evacuate to a nearby dining hall. I was annoyed by the whole ordeal until the hunger pangs kicked in. 

I was waiting in line for tacos when I saw him. He was sitting at a table by the windows, laughing with his head thrown back while another guy, presumably one of his frat bros, playfully shoved his shoulder and laughed along. He was surrounded by three attractive boys, one of which I recognized from my political science class last semester. I remembered him because he was unnaturally attractive, with swooped brown hair and warm chocolate eyes, and also because he had saved me from the embarrassment of forgetting to bring a scantron for the midterm by offering me one of his extras. His fratboy status aside, he was surprisingly decent. His name may have started with an ‘S.’ Steven maybe? Sam? 

I couldn’t focus on him for long, not when Isaac suddenly turned in my direction and met my gaze. I froze, caught in the act of staring. The corner of Isaac’s mouth tilted upwards into a smirk, and his gaze dropped shamelessly to my legs and drifted slowly back up, and in that moment, all the memories of our night together came rushing back. 

It was the first time I’d seen him since that night he had invited me to a party at his frat house, where he unceremoniously fucked me head-first into his bedroom door, then kicked me out, leaving me to retreat with my hair disheveled, makeup smudged, traces of him between my thighs. Anyone who wasn’t too drunk or high could piece together why I looked absolutely wrecked. I’m sure many girls had been seen doing the walk of shame out of Isaac’s room, and now I really was just one of the many, another notch on his bedpost. 

Isaac succeeded in living up to his fuckboy reputation. After that party, he texted almost every other midnight, snapchatted borderline nude selfies of his shirtless chest or his hand palming his erection over his sweatpants, with captions like “wyd,” “you up,” or “miss this?” That last one always sent waves of arousal, tainted with shame, reminders of the way I let Isaac degrade me and use my body, the way I loved every second of it and craved to feel it again. 

So far, I hadn’t texted him back, but I couldn’t resist leaving him on read. I smirked at the thought that Isaac might feel the sting of my cold indifference. It wasn’t much, and it was stupid, but it was the only power I could salvage back for myself. I avoided him in class too, and nearly gave myself leg cramps every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to sprint across campus and get to class early so I could choose a seat far away from our usual spots. I sat towards the front, an area I knew he wouldn’t encroach in fear that the professor would see him dozing off during lecture. He even texted me dirty things during class to get my attention. It was taxing to ignore the distraction, but I ignored the buzzing on my desk, letting Isaac’s stare burn a hole into the back of my head. 

Eventually he got the hint and the texts stopped, and it left me with the somewhat bittersweet realization that we had reached the end of our… whatever it was. 

Or so I thought. Three weeks and one burnt poptart later, there he was, staring back at me with the knowing glint in his eyes that only comes when you’ve seen someone naked. 

The only available table in the dining hall was one near the windows, and I would have to walk past Isaac’s table to get there. With my tray in hand and my bag hanging off one shoulder, I steeled myself and walked in his direction. 

I hung my head, letting my hair drape my face from his view, but my attempt at hiding was useless. He called out my name anyway. I tried to continue in my path and pretend I hadn’t heard him, but he called my name louder. Begrudgingly, I stopped and turned around. 

“Isaac.” I said.

“So, she lives. I was starting to get worried. You never responded to my messages,” he said, subtly referencing his obscene attempts at luring me back into his bed. 

I rolled my eyes and smiled back tight-lipped. “I was hoping you’d take the hint and leave me alone, but clearly you’re too dense.” 

One of Isaac’s friends snorted loudly at my remark, the one I recognized from last semester. Isaac glared at him. “Sorry,” the boy said. “First time seeing a girl call you on your bullshit. I like her.” 

I smiled at him, bashfully tucking my hair behind my ear. “Um, I remember you, but I’m blanking on your name. Sorry,” I said to him. 

“No worries! I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Scott. We had political science last semester, right?” I nodded. “Yeah, you were the girl who forgot a scantron.” 

“Yes.” I chuckled in slight embarrassment. “Thanks for that, by the way. You really saved my ass.”

“Of course! I was happy to have an excuse to talk to the pretty girl who sat next to me all semester, even if it was just for a few seconds,” he said charmingly, flashing an adorable smile. I scoffed playfully at the compliment. His gentle flirting was a welcomed change from the texts I’d been receiving from Isaac, who I noticed was suddenly glaring daggers at me. “Hey,” Scott said, “since you’re here and you know Isaac, and now you know me too, why don’t you join us?” 

My eyes went wide and my mind blanked. I stuttered for an excuse. “Oh, th-that’s okay, I don’t want to intrude. Besides, there aren’t even any empty seats--” 

“Oh no worries, I got you.” Scott stood up and looked around, then approached a nearby table. He spoke a few words to the group of girls studying there, who giggled at something he said and nodded. Scott picked up an empty chair at their table and brought it over, proudly presenting his contribution. “There! Please, sit.” He gestured towards the seat and smiled at me so sweetly, I felt it would be rude to reject his offer. I nodded and gingerly perched on the seat. I set down my bag and my food, and cordially gave a tiny wave to all the other boys at the table, who exchanged knowing grins. 

~*~*~*~

Isaac couldn’t believe you actually accepted Scott’s offer to take a seat. 

Not that Scott had left you much of a choice. He had these big brown eyes that girls usually fell for. And then there was the way he so valiantly brought a chair over for you. Isaac chewed on the flesh inside his cheek, unable to plaster on his usual easy grin. He couldn’t help it, especially now that you were sitting with him and his friends, acting all cute and polite, playing the act of the good girl again. 

Normally, his pride would swell if he saw you act all prim and proper. He could bask in the satisfaction of being the only one who knew who you really were, what you really were. He knew your ticks, your kinks, what you looked like when you were coming apart all over his cock and begging him for more. 

He couldn’t enjoy that knowledge today, not when his friends were staring at you like that. To any outsider, they just looked three boys engrossed in chit chat, but Isaac knew better. Behind their friendly, clean cut facade, they were all thinking the same thing, and it was far from clean. Isaac didn’t care who his friends slept with, and on occasion they even passed around the same girls, those special ones who didn’t care who they fucked as long as they had a good time. 

But for some reason, the thought that any one of them, Theo or Liam, or especially Scott, laying a finger on you, made Isaac’s blood boil. Isaac tried to extract this ugly feeling, this primal possesiveness he couldn’t seem to shake when he saw another guy looking at you.  

Isaac somehow managed to keep his expression neutral as you giggled at something Liam just said. The kid had managed to endear himself to you already. He was young, and in the newest pledge class, but he was a quick learner. Isaac had taken a fondness to him and decided to mentor him, taken him under his wing and transformed him into his image. Liam’s arrogance and eagerness to prove himself was something Isaac remembered from his freshman year. What he didn’t expect was that Liam would hone Isaac’s techniques to make girls fall at his feet and use them on you.

You giggled again. “Oh my god, Liam, I can’t believe you did that!” Liam had just finished telling a story about the time he knocked over a TV trying to do a drunken keg stand. “You could’ve broken your arm or something. What were you thinking?” 

Liam shrugged sheepishly and grinned. “I don’t know. There was a girl I wanted to impress and she was older than me, so I just went for it ya know?” 

You smiled fondly at him. “That is adorable. How much older was she? And what year are you?” 

“She’s a senior and… I’m a freshman.” Liam looked down shyly and rubbed the back of his head, just like Isaac had taught him to. The lesson was to use your age to your advantage. Girls loved that cute shit. 

“Aww, Liam you’re so cute! And I’m sure she thought so too.” 

“You think so? That’s good. I’m kinda into older girls.” Liam bowed his head again and smiled, and Isaac would’ve been proud of how well he’d taught him, if only you weren’t on the receiving end of his little performance. 

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be working. You hummed casually in response. “Hm, I know what you mean. My philosophy professor last semester was so hot. She was maybe in her late 30s, and I still have no clue what she went on and on about, but it was my favorite lecture of the day.” 

Isaac inwardly grinned at the way Liam’s accomplished smile faded at your unaffected response. 

Theo snorted. “You had a crush on your female professor?” he drawled. “That’s kinda hot.” 

“Is it? It’s not really that big of a deal. Haven’t you ever found any of your male professors attractive? I feel like the place is swarming with hot male professors.” 

Theo looked at you in amusement, with a twinkle in his eyes that Isaac was all too familiar with. It was clear now Theo had his sights set on you, and usually when that happened, Theo got exactly what he wanted. “Can’t say I’ve had time to think about the men around here. I’ve been a bit too distracted with the girls.” 

When Liam flirted with you, Isaac could manage his jealousy, since the kid was still mostly innocent, all talk and no real game. With Theo, all bets were off. He didn’t have an innocent bone in his body and he wasn’t afraid to let girls know, and they were always very happy to know. Isaac knew he himself had strayed far from purity a long time ago, but Theo was something else. Isaac preferred you choose anyone over Theo, maybe even Scott, who was Isaac’s closest friend, if it meant you would stay away from Theo. 

“So, I’m curious,” Theo continued. “How exactly do you know Isaac?” 

Isaac noticed the way your eyes widened the tiniest bit. “Oh, uh, we um, have a class together,” you said. Isaac could hear the nervous wobble in your voice as you spoke, and his lip curled up in amusement at the realization that you were nervous because you were thinking about him.

*

author’s note: i came across a google doc of a draft i wrote 3 years ago. a continuation of a fratboy!isaac fic that made people feel some kinda way. the fic, along with all my other fics, got zapped when my old blog got terminated. but since i found the draft and remembered how many requests i got for a part 2, here it is (kinda). 3 years later. i’m sorry. 

#isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey smut #isaac lahey fanfiction #isaac lahey #teen wolf #hey it's mar

[quickspinner]

The Magic of You - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

Wandering the forest in search of a place with strong magical energy, Luka finds exactly what he needs--only someone else claims this particular spot, and she's rather shy. When Luka finally does meet her face to face, well...he's got a problem.

Marinette is content in her own little territory, until a human minstrel-mage wanders into it. She's not especially happy about it at first, but the more she watches him, the more she thinks maybe he's not that bad.

Warning for blood and injuries, and there will be some implied sexual content in Part 2.

Written for @bloody-no-kissu. Love you friend!

It was, at least, a lovely day for a walk, Luka thought as he wandered through the forest. He touched the pouch at his belt absently, though in this quiet part of the forest he could hear the crystals within clicking softly together as he walked, so he knew he hadn’t lost it. It was a habit, born of one too many incidents where he had to backtrack to find where it had slipped from his belt. 

He shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the strap of his instrument, and kept walking, listening as he went. It shouldn’t be too hard to find what he needed here; it was early summer, and the growing things were full of life. Luka was picky, though; it was part of what made his wares so highly sought. He’d know when he found the right place, and so he listened, as he walked, and let his intuition lead him. 

A little before noon, he reached a clearing through the trees—more than a clearing, a wide meadow, ringed by the forest trees but covered in grass and flowers. There was a gap in the trees on one side, and a cliff edge beyond where the land dropped away sharply, as if there had been a landslide here sometime in the distant past. Luka emerged into the meadow slowly, head cocked slightly as he listened. 

The earth was strong here, and it was a beautiful place even just on aesthetic level, dotted with flowers in clumps and groups—almost like a garden. Perhaps he had stumbled on the sanctuary of some magical creature of the forest? If so, he was grateful for their work. It was lovely.

It was dotted with large rocks, but one in particular drew him. It was largely flat, but slanted up on one side, and unusually smooth. Luka ran his hand over it thoughtfully. For a rock, it looked like it would make a comfortable seat, and reminded him in fact of the one-armed sofas he sometimes saw in ladies’ parlors. It didn’t look man-made, and didn’t have the feeling of a fey circle, but...Luka looked around the meadow again, and shrugged. Perhaps this was a tended place, but there was no one here now, and he saw none of the markers of ownership that he recognized. 

Well, he could protect himself well enough if someone returned and took offense. Right now, this was perfect for his purposes. He took his gittern from his back and set it down carefully. Then he knelt and drew a crystal from his pouch. He put it down in the moss, making sure it had contact with the earth beneath, and then reclined on the rock, stretching his legs along the length and leaning back against the raised side. Not exactly a lady’s divan, but certainly a more comfortable seat than he often found.

Luka reached and picked up his gittern from where he had set it, and strummed the strings softly, adjusting the tuning. When he was satisfied, he silenced the strings, and closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing, taking in the sounds around him, and centering himself in the rock beneath him and the earth beneath that. 

Then he began to play. First, the key tune that helped him fall into trance, and then, as the song of the earth swelled in his soul, he blended his tune with it. It was beautiful here, in this place, full of creation power. He played, separating the tones, the energies, he needed from the larger song, and drawing them up into the crystal resting on the ground, where they swirled lazily, unbothered by their captivity. Good. This place was good, its energies healthy and content, and willing to be coaxed into his keeping. The earth gave up its surplus without complaint, and he smiled. 

He continued playing, even after the crystal was fully charged, just for the sheer joy of it, and the beauty of the earth’s song in this place. 

Gradually, Luka became aware that he was no longer alone, and he opened his eyes. The meadow still seemed empty and still, but there was a new note in the song, and he tilted his head slightly as he listened to it, played alongside it for a time. It clearly belonged here; it meshed seamlessly with the song of this place, and added a richness to the song that Luka hadn’t realized was missing. It was lovely, and it didn’t seem hostile, only...curious. Possibly a little annoyed, a little afraid, but mostly intrigued. Perhaps this was its place, then, where he was intruding. 

“I mean you no harm,” Luka spoke softly, still playing. “It’s only that this place was so lovely, I had to stop here.” 

There was no answer, though surprise trilled at the edges of the song, tainted with a jangle of alarm, and...embarrassment?” That amused him and the corners of his mouth tilted up a little further. 

“You’re welcome to join me, or just stay and listen if you like,” Luka suggested, and closed his eyes again. He fell back into the earth’s song, resisting the temptation to probe the new melody any further. Whatever creature it belonged to, they were intelligent and emotionally aware, so he would respect their privacy unless he sensed malevolent intent. 

It was a lovely melody, though. Perhaps, if the being it belonged to lived nearby, one day they would show themselves, and he could learn more of them. For now, though, he’d best keep his mind to his work. He paused his playing long enough to slip a handful of crystals from his pouch, and lined them up on the ground below his rock seat. Then he sat back, and began to play again, beginning the slow process of charging the crystals. 

***

Marinette had been annoyed at first at finding her territory invaded and even her favorite sunning stone occupied, but the music the human mage made was so beautiful, that her frustration was short-lived. She understood the basics of human magic, but she’d never seen anyone use music to channel it before. She wasn’t upset when he returned a few days later, and came regularly every few days after that. Marinette stayed out of sight, hiding her nature from him, but he always seemed to know she was there, so she didn’t bother with much else in the way of stealth. He always sensed her, but never sought her out. He sometimes spoke to her, inviting her indirectly to show herself to him, but Marinette neither spoke nor ventured out of the shelter of the trees. She didn’t want to frighten him away, and she didn’t want to bring danger on herself. He was human, and a mage, and though she sensed no ill intent from him, it was only prudent to take precautions. 

He always brought a pouch full of crystals of different kinds. Marinette knew that human mages used crystals charged with nature magic to boost their own power, and she could see, or rather... sense, with an unconscious awareness intrinsic to her own magical nature, that he was pulling earth power from her meadow into the crystals. At first she couldn’t imagine why he needed so many, but eventually it occurred to her that this was perhaps how he made his living. That thought was distasteful at first, but he was so careful in the way he siphoned the power of her meadow, so attentive to the balance and never taking too much at once, that she began to reconsider. Better a man like this one, skilled and careful, should take the power and sell it, than clumsy, inattentive, careless mages tear it thoughtlessly from the earth. And he must, after all, find means to live somehow—Marinette herself made trade goods to secure the things she couldn’t make or hunt on her own—and there were many worse professions he could have chosen. 

Marinette had no magic beyond the inherent abilities of her kind, which were largely passive, and she had no use for the energy he took, which replenished itself before his next visit anyway, so she didn’t mind what some creatures might have seen as theft. He was polite and respectful, and paid her in music...and as she became accustomed to his presence, she began to feel he paid her in company as well. She wasn’t sure how someone she had never spoken to could feel like a friend, but she began to realize that her once-perfect meadow felt lonely when he didn’t come. The days when she found a warm, sunny spot in the trees and worked on her embroidery or jewelry while listening to his music began to be be dearer to her than the days when she lounged on her sunning rock in peaceful solitude, staring idly over her empty domain. She hadn’t thought she was bothered by her largely solitary life, being in the stage of her life where it was natural for her to distance herself from the family den, but his presence became welcome as it became familiar. 

As time passed she drew nearer, even slithering up a tree one day to watch him from the branches. She couldn’t venture out too far without being seen—or breaking the branch she rested on—but it gave her a slightly better view of him, his dark hair and angular features and soft eyes with their round human pupils that made him look perpetually surprised or—she blushed a little. He was handsome from the waist up, well-built and cleaner than the human traders she sometimes met with. 

And his legs weren’t... repulsive. They were muscular enough at least, in their own way, though without the sinuous grace and sleek lines of a naga’s tail. 

I’ve been without company too long, she thought with some amusement as she realized the direction her thoughts had taken. Well, this was also the time of life where she was meant to seek and take a mate, so it wasn’t so unnatural for her to be considering every angle, even if it was idle. She touched the tip of her long tongue to one fang and wondered what he would think of her, if he knew her. Probably whether or not she was beddable would be the last thing on his mind, she thought ruefully, idly scratching a chunk of bark off the tree with one long claw. 

Well, she could still think he was handsome, and if he had been a naga, she would have certainly introduced herself a long time ago. 

 ***

“These are good, Lu,” Juleka said, as he lined the crystals up on the counter in front of her. 

“I found a new spot,” Luka confessed, shaking the last few out of his pouch onto the cloth she’d put out to catch them. She had one in her hand, examining it. “I think some kind of parasite infected the trees at the birch grove, and it needs all its energy to purge the infection, so I figured I’d go looking elsewhere. The new place is strong and someone tends to it, so the energy is more ordered there and easier to work with.” He shrugged as Juleka looked at him with raised eyebrows. “I know, I can’t explain it very well, it’s just how it feels to me.”

“You’re the expert,” Juleka murmured, picking up another crystal. “I think these might fetch a higher price than what we’ve been asking.”

Luka nodded. “Just pay me the usual for now, and if you are able to get more, we can work out the split then.” He smiled at Rose as she brought him a box of fresh, or freshly exhausted, crystals. “Thanks.”  

“Are you being safe, Luka?” Juleka asked suddenly, and both Luka and Rose looked at her.

“Of course,” Luka smiled, and reached over the counter to ruffle her hair. “I wouldn’t make you guys worry over me. It’d taint the spells.” 

Juleka batted his hands away and rolled her eyes, smoothing her long hair back. “It’s just, you said this place is tended. You’d better not be getting on the wrong side of a fey just for stupid power crystals.” 

Luka shook her head. “She’s not fey.”

Both girls raised their eyebrows. “She?” they said in unison, and Luka snorted.

“She’s never shown herself, so I don’t know for sure, but I can sense her lingering nearby. The song feels female to me, so I think of her as a she.” Luka shrugged. “I’ve never sensed anything angry or hostile from her. If she doesn’t like what I’m doing, I assume she’d let me know somehow.” 

Juleka rolled her eyes. “Just make sure you don’t accidentally propose to some smitten fairy or something.” 

Luka laughed, and tilted his head towards Rose, who had wandered back to the corner of the shop she rented from Juleka, and was puttering around arranging her wares while she hummed. She looked very much like a true pixie in that moment with the sun streaming through the windows, gleaming on her golden hair and shining through her pink gauze dress. “I think that’s more likely to happen to you than me.” 

Juleka flushed deeply, dipping her head forward so her hair covered her face. “Get out of here,” she muttered. Luka chuckled, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

“Love you too, sis,” he winked, before taking his box and making a quick exit, lest Juleka decide to retaliate. 

***

This was a stupid idea, Marinette told herself, but she laid her small package on the rock and quickly hid in the trees. She needn’t have rushed; she was early and she had to frighten away more than one greedy crow before the man made his appearance. It was a stupid idea, and a stupid gift, Marinette scolded herself. It was stupid to give him a gift at all, but she could at least have come up with something better. She sharpened her claws on the dead log she leaned on in frustration as she fretted. It had been a whim, really, to save him a piece of her weekly baking, to leave an offering to thank him for his beautiful songs and his care for the magic of her meadow, but perhaps— 

He stepped out of the trees at the far end of the meadow, and Marinette gasped. It was too late now; she wouldn’t be able to retrieve the gift without being seen, and he was already heading straight towards the rock. 

Marinette slapped a hand over her mouth to keep back the agonized moan that wanted to burst out when he saw the gift and stilled, looking around. For a moment he stood and looked at it, and Marinette ducked her head into her arms. She couldn’t stop watching for long, though, so she peeked out again to see he had untied the package and was now sitting pensively looking at the little loaf of bread she had wrapped in the cloth. After a moment, he took his gittern from his back and prepared to play it. He began with that same tune he always used, like a keyword, she supposed, for the trance he entered to work his magic. Then he played a tune that resonated, not with the earth below her as usual, but against her own being. It made her gasp slightly.  

“Hello friend,” he said in his soft way, with a slight smile. “You seem to have left something behind today. I assume this is yours.” 

Marinette whined softly. How was she supposed to let him know that she’d meant it for him, in thanks for his music?

His head tilted slightly, and he smiled a little more. “A gift? For me? 

For a moment she was stunned. He wasn’t reading her mind, was he? Panic bubbled up.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said quickly. “I will stop if you wish. I only wanted to understand your intentions, and this way you don’t have to speak to me if you don’t want. I’m only…” he hesitated, forehead creasing slightly. “It’s hard to explain, but I can only sense your emotions.” He smiled slightly. “I’m an empath, not a mind reader, and I have to be in at least a light trance to get anything clear.” 

Her fear eased, at that. Empath...that meant feelings, right? She tried to concentrate on gratitude and welcome, and hoped he couldn’t feel her embarrassment too clearly.

His smile widened into something pleased and genuine, rather than the polite expression he’d mostly warm up until now. “Thank you, but...won’t you come out and share it with me?” 

No! She thought desperately. I’m not ready. 

He rocked slightly on his feet. “Do I frighten you so much?” he asked, his tone slightly mournful. 

No, she didn’t fear him, not really. Only...she just wasn’t ready. 

“As you wish,” he sighed, and the touch of his power withdrew as his song faded. He sat down on her rock, and picked up the little loaf of bread and the cloth and set it on his lap. He ate it, slowly and deliberately. “It’s very good,” he said, and Marinette was glad he wasn’t ‘listening’ to her, or whatever he did that let him sense her when he played. She didn’t want him to hear the pleased squeal she was trying to muffle. 

He ate half of the bread, and then took a cloth of his own out of his pack and wrapped up the rest. He put it bread in his pack, and took out his usual handful of crystals, laying them in a line on the ground as he always did. He picked up her cloth, shook the crumbs off of it, and folded it neatly before setting it out of his way. Then he took his usual place, lounging on her sunning rock almost like one of her own kind, and began to play. 

Marinette smiled, and her tight coils relaxed. She circled into a looser, more comfortable arrangement, and rested her arms on her body, picking idly at a bit of shed skin clinging to her pink scales and trying to contain her smile. 

To her delight, he stayed that day even beyond the time it took him to fill his crystals, and began playing something she’d never heard before. Not magic, she realized. It didn’t have the... resonance of the music he played to channel his magic, but it was lovely anyway. The thought that he was playing now solely for her pleasure brought a flush to her cheeks. She smiled, and felt the pressure of her fangs on her lower lip. Her smile dimmed slightly, as she brought a hand to cover her mouth. What kind of thoughts was she entertaining, anyway? He’d certainly be terrified if she showed herself to him, no matter how calm and accepting he seemed now. He surely had to know she wasn’t human or outright fey, but that still left many possibilities, quite a few less dangerous than she. He was soft and unarmored and she had claws and fangs and could easily crush the life out of him without using either. And anyway, what kind of reasoning was he seemed nice for revealing herself unnecessarily to a human—a human mage at that—this close to her lair? 

Not that she had any specific fears, really, it just...seemed unwise. There wasn’t any particular animosity between the two species, it was just that generally humans were annoying and more trouble than they were worth. 

No, better to keep things like this.

But...if he would play for her after a simple loaf of bread, then perhaps she ought to leave more offerings, and see if he would play more of his own music for her. Just...little things, and maybe not every time, but…she would try it, she decided. Her simple little offering clearly made him happy, and she liked that he was happy. She wanted him to keep coming back.

***

Luka was growing more and more intrigued about his mysterious host. She—he was growing more certain it was a she, if her species recognized gender at all—was the keeper of this little meadow, he was sure, but she seemed unbothered by his intrusion, and even grateful for his presence. 

Luka, in turn, was grateful, for of all the places he visited regularly this one was by far the most pleasant to spend time in and the easiest to draw from. It was tempting to come more often, but he didn’t want to overstrain the place or overstep his welcome with his shy observer. 

He was a little embarrassed by the gifts she left him, because to his mind if anyone owed anything, it was he that owed her for not driving him out of her territory, but he was also grateful and flattered that she enjoyed his music so much. He tried to respect her privacy and her desire to remain anonymous, but it was growing harder by the day, his awareness of her song growing as they spent more time together—if you could call it that. 

He wanted so much to meet her, but Luka had no choice but to be patient and wait for her to decide she wanted to meet him. 

***

He was early. Marinette had to dive into the trees when she sensed him coming. She could move quicker than sight when she had to, despite her size, and so she made it under cover before he could catch sight of her. Panting slightly from the fright, Marinette leaned on a tree to watch him, peeping through the leaves.

Something about the way he strode into the meadow bothered her. There was a...tightness about him she couldn’t quite describe, and while he didn’t stomp, he was not stepping as lightly as she was accustomed to seeing. 

He seemed restless, too. He didn’t sit on her rock and play. He picked up the little cake she had left for him, but merely set it down again, dropped his pack and his instrument in a pile next to the rock, and walked restlessly around the meadow.

Marinette drew back in alarm when he passed close to the trees concealing her, but he passed her without even looking in her direction, clearly agitated. Frowning, Marinette followed him at a safe distance, keeping hidden in the trees. The minstrel mage passed the ring of trees that marked the edge of her meadow and over to the cliff beyond, where he stood, looking pensively out over the forest below. 

He shouldn’t walk so close to the cliff, Marinette fretted as she watched from the edge of the trees. It was hard to tell from this side but that overhang wasn’t as sturdy as it looked, and it had rained only a few days ago— 

Even as she thought it, she felt the vibration in the earth, and heard the grinding of earth and loose rocks.

She didn’t even think. She just moved.

***

It all happened so fast that it was over before Luka understood what was happening. There was a rumble and a rush and he was falling, and then excruciating pain in his arm that tore a scream of agony from his throat. 

There was a rush of earth past him, below him, and his legs were dangling in midair; he was dangling, hanging only by the arm that hurt so very, very much. Luka looked up—and for a moment he forgot everything else in his shock. Everything else that happened was a blur, but he would remember the face above him for the rest of his life, he was sure. A woman’s face, pale with fear, fangs peeking from parted lips and blue, slit-pupiled eyes wide and staring. Midnight blue hair tumbled forward over strong shoulders, and one clawed hand gripped the edge of the cliff. 

The other, he realized, was the source of the pain in his arm. Understanding came to him; the cliff had given way beneath him and this woman—creature— being had stopped him from falling, but her long claws had plunged into his wrist. Blood streamed down his arm and dripped on the rocks below. Luka gasped as he looked down. His good hand scrabbled at the cliffside, but he had no claws to grip with, and his fingers crumbled the earth and slid off the rock where he grabbed at it. He kicked his feet, but that made his savior yelp, increased the pain in his arm, and he didn’t find any purchase, so he stilled, gasping and dizzy from the pain.  

Luka cried out in pain and surprise when the grip on his wrist tightened, but he bit down on it as he looked back up. Above him, his rescuer shifted her body a little more, bracing her free arm on an intact part of the cliff, and then heaved, pulling back from the cliff edge and dragging Luka along with her.

It hurt—oh, it hurt, so much that his vision went black for a moment—but Luka was enough in possession of his senses now to realize that he was dangling over a drop that would surely kill him, so he muffled his cries as best he could, and tried not to thrash too much. 

It felt like an eternity before she pulled him up high enough that he could see over the cliff and grab (uselessly) at the grassy top. He almost slipped off again in surprise when he got a full look at his savior. It had been obvious even in his confused state that she was not human, but he was unprepared to find that somewhere around her waist, her human torso tapered into the body of a gigantic serpent. Naga, some part of his brain supplied. No, female, so...nagi. 

She pulled him up a little farther, and when his shoulders had cleared the top of the cliff, she curled a loop of her tail—body? Around in front of him. “Hold on to me,” she told him, indicating that he should wrap his arms around her serpent body. He did so, clumsily and not very effectively with his wounded arm, but it was enough to keep him secure while she leaned down over the cliff edge again and grabbed his belt on either side of his waist with both hands, using it to haul him the rest of the way over the cliff.

That was not particularly comfortable either, but preferable to more claws in his flesh, and regardless, he was back on solid ground. He crawled on his elbows a little father from the cliff edge and collapsed, panting. After a moment he rolled on his side to look at the nagi. 

She was panting too, and her slit pupils had so blown wide they were almost round in her frightened face. Her expression was stricken as she stared at his blood on her hand, painting the long claws that had pierced his flesh. 

Luka rolled over and got to his knees. It made him dizzy—he’d probably lost a lot of blood. He put his undamaged hand quickly over the wound and began to sing, his voice quick and tight with pain but true. The undamaged hand glowed, and so did the wound. His savior shifted beside him, but Luka had no attention to spare for anything but the healing; it was not a magic that came easily to him, and it was difficult enough to concentrate past the pain and the fear of losing the use of his hand. 

It took longer than it would have taken his sister, but he was able to complete the healing, and when he flexed his hand he found that he had full motion and sensation. He still felt weak and shaky with blood loss and reaction, but all of that would pass. Luka breathed a sigh of relief and turned a smile up at the being who had saved his life. 

“Thank you,” he said warmly. 

She made a distressed sound, still holding her bloodstained hand out as if it didn’t belong to her.  

Luka wrapped his now-healed but still bloody fingers gently around hers. “A broken neck would have been much harder to fix,” he told her gently. “And so I thank you. I had rather lose the use of my hand than my life.” He smiled, tilting his head a little to look up into her face. “And as I have lost neither, there is no need for guilt or grief.” He unhooked his waterskin from his belt, and pulled out the stopper with his teeth. He took her hand again and poured the water over it, rinsing away his blood from both their hands. He would have rinsed her scales too where he had clung to her, but he feared that might be offensive, so he offered her the skin and let her do it herself. 

Some of the tension left her, and she sat back a little, sinking slightly onto her...tail-body. Luka tried not to let his glance become a stare. “Forgive me,” he said, tearing his eyes away and forcing them back up to hers, snake-slitted but so very, very blue. “I’ve never met a nagi before, and I don’t know your customs, so I hope it isn’t very rude to ask your name?” 

She smiled a little, the hint of fangs peeping from between her lips before she caught herself  and tightened the smile to hide them. “It is customary to give yours first, since this is my home,” she said, and Luka was vaguely surprised to hear only a hint of hissing on the sibilants. Prejudice, he scolded himself. 

“I do it gladly. My name is Luka.” He put a hand over his heart and bowed slightly. 

Her hand fluttered uncertainly to her chest, and she did the same, dipping slightly awkwardly as she swayed forward on her serpent half rather than bending at the waist as he had. “I am Marinette,” she told him, and then she blushed—a very human reaction that gave Luka an odd little thrill. “I have been listening to your music.” 

“Ah,” Luka nodded in understanding. “It is your song I have been hearing, coming to visit me,” he grinned, and Marinette’s blush deepened. Her tail shifted to coil beneath her, and he glanced down without meaning to, but caught himself quickly. Even so, something about motion spoke of discomfort, and he thought back to the fluctuations in her song when he’d spoken to her in the past. Without the trance he heard only faint echoes of her melody, but he thought he was embarrassing her. “I’m very happy to finally meet you. Thank you for the gifts.” 

Marinette looked away, the fingers of her clawed hands playing nervously across the scales of her tail like a maiden might twist her hands in her lap. “I only wanted to thank you, for your music. It’s...beautiful. I’ve loved hearing you play.”

“I’ve enjoyed having the company,” he told her honestly, and smiled at her look of surprise. “I always play better with an audience, even a shy one.” 

Marinette blushed and covered her face with her hands. Luka found himself reaching to touch her before he thought the better of it. Her arm felt very solid under his hand, but also very human. “Don’t be embarrassed. I truly did enjoy your presence, and I’m not offended that you chose to stay secret. The world is not a safe place, and you didn’t know me.”

“I did know you,” she said quickly, peeking out from her fingers—a sweet, childlike gesture, he would have thought it, though those deadly sharp claws were at odds with the image. “At least, I felt like I did, eventually. I haven’t been afraid of you for a long time.” 

“I shouldn’t think you’d be frightened of much,” Luka teased, tugging a hand away from her face and turning it so her claws shone in the light. “You’re very strong, for which I’m extremely grateful.” He winked at her, and she giggled. 

“You shouldn’t have gone so close to the cliff, especially if it’s rained recently,” she admonished, rising up slightly as her tail uncoiled from beneath her. Before he could blink it shot out like a whip, striking the edge of the cliff. A chunk of earth crumbled beneath the blow and he could hear the rocks rattle down the other side. “It’s not safe. It erodes underneath when the storms come, and then the edge is unstable.” She pointed at the pale purple flowers growing in the grass. “You shouldn’t go beyond where the asters grow.” 

Luka saw now, what he hadn’t before, that they formed a boundary that followed the curve of the cliff, but left a good size border. “I consider myself warned for the future,” Luka observed, shivering a little. Marnette moved closer to him, a hand hovering near his cheek.

“You’re so pale,” she fretted.

Luka sighed, and tried to stand. He swayed and Marinette had to catch him—gently, this time, keeping her claws from his skin. He smiled gratefully at her. Clearly he was going to have to do something about the blood loss, but he couldn’t focus unaided any longer. “I need my gittern,” he told her, and she slipped under his arm, pressing against his side. She raised her body up to a height comfortable for him, and then helped him back towards the meadow.

They found his gittern and pack where he’d left it. Marinette helped him sit on the rock and recline against it as he usually did. She wound around the rock, and hovered over him, pressing his instrument into his hands, her expression still worried. 

“I need to deep trance,” he told her, as he set shaking fingers to the strings and took up the plectrum. “I can sense you in trance as I did before, but I won’t have attention to speak.” He smiled weakly. “Please forgive my rudeness.” He glanced at her through only half-open lids.

Marinette nodded slowly. “Do as you must,” she said, sinking back a little and folding her hands across the bend in her tail that would have been a human lap. “I want you to be well. I want to be sure I haven’t harmed you badly.” 

Luka chuckled. “Lady, you saved my life.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to look into hers. “And whatever harm I have taken from it, I consider it a price well paid to have met you at last.” 

Marinette blushed like any human maid, and Luka smiled before settling his head back and strumming the tune that triggered his trance. He fell into the song of the earth then, drawing the power from it that he needed to speed his body’s recovery. 

After a time, he felt the rich tones of Marinette’s presence withdraw, and mourned their loss, but he wasn’t recovered enough to break trance to try and call her back. He was almost finished when her music returned, and he found it more beautiful than ever now that he had the proper context for it. 

When he opened his eyes at last, she was there, resting in a nest of loose coils on the grass near him, and pink tinted her cheeks again when he smiled at her. He sat up slowly, setting the gittern aside, breathing through the slight dizziness he felt once he was upright. It cleared quickly, to his relief. 

“I brought food,” Marinette said a little uncertainly. “I thought you might need it, after...that.” 

“I do,” Luka smiled. “Will you join me this time?” 

She gave a tiny nod and busied herself with the basket sitting next to her, so that he only saw the corner of her smile. Luka had been trying desperately to be polite but now that she was distracted he couldn’t help satisfying his curiosity. Her serpent half, sleek and muscular, was a deep pink, almost red, with darker, splotchy spots down her body. The scales reached to her human waist, and then became patchy as they gave way to human skin—he couldn’t see quite how far up the scales continued, since she wore a vest over her human torso, covering very human curves that he quickly averted his eyes from, not wanting to be caught staring at that any more than at her tail. The vest was pretty, a soft grey edged with pink, laced up the front rather than the back as he was accustomed to seeing on women’s clothes. It was embroidered as prettily as any maiden’s gown, with little flowers along the bottom hems and vines twisting up the front, and fitted very well, moving with her as she bent and swayed in ways that were definitely not human as she arranged a small picnic before him. 

He slid off the stone to sit on the grass instead, though he still leaned back against it. His weakness now was only from the exertion of healing himself, at least; once he had eaten and rested he should be able to stand on his own two feet. 

“...was something wrong?” Marinette asked suddenly, and Luka looked up at her in slight surprise. “When you went to the cliff...you seemed like something was bothering you,” she clarified.

“Oh, that.” Luka chuckled, taking another bite of his honeyed bread before he answered. “I was upset,” he admitted, a slight blush coloring his own cheeks, “but, ah...after the events of this morning, I’m finding my perspective has been altered a bit.” He grinned at her, and she giggled. “Now it hardly seems worth talking about. I’d much rather hear about you. You made this place?” He gestured at the meadow garden. “It’s beautiful, and the care you put into it shows.” 

“Thank you,” Marinette said, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear—her ear was pointed, he realized, and told himself not to stare.  “Eat,” she said, nudging a plate to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t have anything fresh, but…anyway, you should eat.” 

Luka tucked in to the smoked meat and bread gratefully, needing the fuel. Marinette only nibbled a piece of bread, watching him with quick glances. Luka’s subconscious had apparently been at work while he was in trance, and all the observations, all of the things he had sensed from her over the past few months, fell into place, and even though she was clearly not quite comfortable being in the open with him yet, she didn’t feel at all like a stranger. 

By the time he felt able to attempt the trip home, the sun was setting. No sooner had he gotten to his feet, though, than Marinette had risen up beside him and taken his arm in a careful grip. 

“I’m coming with you,” she said decisively. 

“That’s not necessary,” Luka told her, frowning. “I can make it on my own. You’ve already done more than enough. I don’t want you to risk yourself.

Marinette snorted. “There is nothing in this forest I need fear. You, on the other hand, are screaming prey right now.”

Luka winced. “I can protect myself.”

“If I am with you, you won’t have to,” Marinette said firmly. “Nothing in this forest will come near you while I am with you. There’s no point in arguing, because you can’t stop me, anyway.” 

Luka had to admit that was true, so he might as well be gracious about it. “Thank you,” he told her, and they started off on their journey.

Luka had good reason to be grateful by the time they reached the edge of the forest. He might have made it home without Marinette but it would have taken him a long time. The slightest obstacle was too much for him and without her support he would have had to stop and rest more often than he did. 

At the edge of the forest, though, he begged her to turn back. It was an easy walk from here, and not so great a distance, and knowing how careful she was, he didn’t want her to reveal herself without need. 

Marinette lost a bit of her bravado as she looked toward the human settlement in the distance, and reluctantly agreed. 

“It may be longer than usual before I can come again,” Luka admitted with a tired smile. “That is, if I would be welcome.”

Marinette raised her eyebrows slightly. “You never asked before,” she chided, but she didn’t sound very stern, and she didn’t let go of his arm.

“I didn’t know you before,” Luka reminded her. “I might push the goodwill of a stranger, but I would never trespass on the privacy of a friend.” 

Marinette looked away for a moment, and then laid her other hand on his arm. “A friend is never unwelcome,” she said at last, meeting his eyes, and when he smiled, she smiled back. 

“Then I will come as soon as I am able,” he said, laying his hand over hers. “Thank you for everything, Marinette.” He lifted her clawed hand carefully and kissed her knuckles lightly. 

She drew her hands back slowly and wrapped her arms around herself. “Be safe, Luka.” She turned quickly and disappeared back into the forest. Luka stood a moment longer, and then sighed, turning to make his own way home, where he was duly fussed over and scolded by his family for his late return and weakened state. 

At his request, the next day Juleka brought home every book she could find that mentioned nagas at all. 

***

She checked the meadow every day, even though he had said it would be some time before he could come again. She even started through the forest, more than once, to go and check on him herself. That was silly, though, since all she would have been able to do was hover at the edge of the forest, and the only way she would see him would be if he was coming to her anyway.

Not to her. He wasn’t coming to her, but to this place, but those two things now essentially meant the same thing, now that he knew of her. She settled for spending as much time in her meadow as possible, which wasn’t such a change from her usual routine anyway. Her lair was cozy but her meadow was the best place for sun and fresh air and the inspiration of nature’s beauty. 

Somehow, though, she got a lot less done than usual, unaware how often she interrupted her work to look in the direction that he would come, or to sigh and try to figure out how many days would reasonably pass before he would return.

***

Luka made his way to the meadow the first day that Juleka let him out of the house. Fully recovered now, he made his way to the meadow with none of the woolgathering and leisurely strolling that he usually engaged in. 

He could see her even before he stepped out of the trees, draped over the large couchlike stone in such a natural way that he couldn’t fathom how he hadn’t guessed her nature before this. Of course the rock was worn smooth, scraped daily by her scales, and wasn’t she beautiful, gleaming in the sun. She was half-asleep, fangs peeping through her lips as she smiled at some idle, sleepy thought. 

Luka thought to find a seat on the grass and perhaps play something soft, but Marinette woke before he had taken many steps into the meadow. 

“Oh,” she said, raising herself with a close-lipped smile. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was waiting for you, and the sun felt so good.” She stretched luxuriantly, and he watched in fascination the rippling motion that traveled the length of her body. 

Then what she said clicked in his mind. “You were waiting for me?” She hadn’t known when he would come. He hadn’t known, since he had wanted to come two days ago and Juleka threatened to tie him to his bed if he even hinted at doing any such thing. Surely she didn’t mean...she had been waiting for him all this time?

Marinette’s eyes widened slightly, and she blushed, and Luka had the distinct impression that she hadn’t intended to admit that. “Oh, well,” she waved her hand as if it meant nothing, and slid down from the stone to slither towards him. “You know I’m here, and now you know what I am, so…” She shrugged those strong shoulders, coiling her body beneath her. “It seemed silly to hide any longer. Unless you’d rather I leave you to concentrate.” 

That wasn’t really an answer, but Luka let it go. “I would hardly kick you out of your own garden,” he laughed, indicating the meadow with a wave of his hand. “If you don’t mind my presence, then I would be glad for your company.” 

“I’m glad to see you’re well,” she said, looking him over critically. 

“Thanks to you, and my mother-hen of a sister,” Luka chuckled. “Who kept me in bed at least two days longer than I wanted to be, despite complaining that I was ruining her business for the month by lounging in bed instead of working.” He grinned at her, leaning in slightly. “I’m afraid I may have to stay a little longer than usual today to make up for it.” 

The way her face lit up set his heart racing, before she composed herself and said, “Well, then I had best not keep you any longer.” She glided over to a basket under a nearby tree and took what looked like an embroidery hoop out of it, before looking back at him and raising her eyebrows. 

Chuckling, Luka went to the rock she had abandoned and readied himself as usual. Except now his seat was warmed from her body resting there, and he could look across the meadow at Marinette somehow working her embroidery despite her claws, and she could look up and meet his gaze.

And when he sank into the song, hers was there alongside it, vibrant and beautiful, still shy, but beautiful in its happiness. It seemed to resonate with his own, and it took effort not to follow it, to touch it and sense all that she was feeling.

Luka focused his mind on his work as best he could, and whenever paused to switch the crystals and opened his eyes, Marinette was there, as lovely as her melody, strong and fearsome, ten feet of muscle and grace that took his breath away, sweetly working on her own strangely domestic projects. When she sensed his eyes on her, she looked up to meet them with a small smile. 

When he finished his work, he played for her as had become his habit, though it was growing late and he would need to leave soon. Marinette put down her work and came to circle the stone where he sat, propping her chin on her arms as she looked up at him. 

At last, Luka had to pack up his things with a sigh and an apologetic smile. 

“You will come again?” she asked casually. 

“With your permission,” he replied, and she snorted.

“You always have that,” she said, and then blushed, ducking her head beneath her arms.

“Marinette,” he said, and she took her head from her arms, sitting up and lifting her body a little to look at him. “Will you smile at me?” he asked, impulsively. “For real?” 

Marinette put a hand over her mouth, looking distressed, and Luka shook his head slightly, smiling fondly. “Don’t hide who you are, especially if you do it for my comfort,” he told her gently. “I’m not frightened of you, no matter how fearsome your strength or your claws—or your fangs. You are lovely as it is, and I assure your smile will not make me think you less so.”

That crimson shade he was quickly coming to love spread over her cheeks, and though she was clearly fighting it, she did smile fully at him, for just a moment, before looking down at her hands. 

Impulsively, Luka put his fingers under her chin and lifted it back up to look at him, but he quickly drew his hand back, afraid he had overstepped. “Much better,” he said as casually as he could manage, sitting back, his stomach suddenly full of butterflies.

He got another glimpse of Marinette’s full, fanged smile, before she looked away shyly. Luka sighed to himself.

Oh, I’m in trouble.

#quickspins #the magic of you #lukanette #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #mage!luka #naginette #naga au #magic au #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #gift fic #lbsc secret santa

[slyttherins]

A Jily wedding | Wolfstar

Summary: Slices of life leading up to Jily’s wedding

Pairing: Sirius Black x Remus Lupin / James Potter x Lily Evans

Word count: 2589

-

James, Sirius and Peter sat at a table at the Leaky Cauldron, drinking beers and celebrating James' last days as an unmarried man.

''I can't believe you're getting married. Married!''

James rolled his eyes and finished the last of his beer. ''Shut up, Pads.''

''I mean, who would've thought you'd end up marrying Evans. All those years of trying and failing to get her on a date finally gave something.''

On the other side of the table, Peter snickered, remembering how desperate James had always been for her during their years at Hogwarts. Someone will without a fail mention it during their speech at the wedding. There were so many good stories about James Potter's grand flirting techniques - and failures -, it would be a shame to not share some with their guests.

''Moony, where are our beers?'' James called out to him.

''Coming!'' he replied from the bar, only now receiving the tall glasses. ''You're getting the next round,'' he told Peter when he sat down.

Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders and toasted to James - again.

''I don't get it. How can you be so calm about this? You're getting fucking married in twelve days, Prongs!''

The closer they were to their wedding day, the less nervous James was - unlike Lily who was a nervous wreck, planning everything with his mother. Sometimes, she'd ask his opinion on things like cake toppers or flowers, but James always told her the same thing: I don't care, do what you please. To some, it could pass like he was behaving like an ass, but he truly didn't care whether there were white or blue or yellow flowers on the table-centers. To him, all that mattered was that his beautiful fiancé would become his wife at the end of the ceremony. That Lily Evans would become Lily Potter. The rest...was just confetti.

.

''Is Petunia coming?''

Remus Lupin knew nothing about weddings, but, unlike the other marauders, he was helpful. He had come to the Potters' to help Lily with some last minute preparations like the final seating chart and making sure everything was in order for next week - and she couldn't be more thankful.

Lily looked down. ''No. She...she isn't,'' she replied, feeling her eyes welled with tears.

Remus pursed his lips into a thin line, now regretting asking. ''I'm sorry.''

''She made her choice a long time ago. I don't know why I ever thought for a second that she'd send a positive RSVP...''

''She's your sister. You're allowed to be upset.''

''I thought she could make an exception for one day, for my big day, and put her hatred against the wizarding world aside, but I guess not.''

Family was a difficult subject for Lily Evans. Mainly her relationship with her sister, Petunia. They used to be very close, but her witch abilities put a strain between and their relationship had kept deteriorating until they became completely distant.

Two years ago, Lily - alongside James - had attended Petunia and Vernon's wedding. Although they hadn't talked the whole night, Lily saw this as a step into rekindling their relationship, but Petunia had proven wrong when she didn't return the favor and checked the RSVP as 'no' for Lily's wedding.

''My parents cannot make it to my wedding either. It's so sad to think that on my big day I won't have any family there to see me walk down the aisle. I don't even have someone to give me away to James-'' She pushed her face in her hands, more upset than she let on.

Remus' heart broke at the sight of a crying Lily, five days before her wedding. She didn't deserve this. She deserved a beautiful wedding with all of her loved ones in the attendance. A wedding filled with love and happiness.

He squeezed her forearm. ''You have me. I can be your family for one day.''

At Hogwarts, she and Remus had become best friends - much to James' jealousy. Their friendship wasn't to the marauders' level, but they were very close - thanks to being both prefects, and studying and potion partners.

If James were there, he'd add that they were both bookworms too.

Lily raised her head, the couple tears she had let slip now visible. ''You'd do that?''

Remus nodded. Yeah, he'd do that.

.

This morning, a letter had arrived from Madam Malkin announcing that their robes were finished being crafted and that the boys could come in and try them on in the afternoon.

The accent color of the wedding was a rich purple-y red color which somehow suited everyone. When Madam Malkin revealed the robes to the marauders, they were pleasantly surprised and excited to try them on.

Everyone's robes were different while being cohesive, just like their personalities. The base of the outfit was simple: white shirt and black trousers - except for Peter who was the ring bearer. James, as the groom, had a cloak, a vest - matching with his best man - and a bow tie. Instead of a bow tie, Sirius and Remus had matching ties. Remus also had suspenders instead of a vest because Lily prefered that for him - and, according to Sirius, he looked fine.

''How do I look?'' James asked, standing in front of the floor length mirror and perfecting the cloak over his shoulders.

''It looks nice. But, won't you get hot in this?'' Peter replied, slouched in one of the chairs, munching on some snacks and leaving crumbs on his nice dress shirt.

''Probably. I'm only wearing the cloak for the ceremony, though. Padfoot? Moony, what do you thi-'' James turned around and groaned, seeing the two kissing in the corner. ''Bloody hell, can you two not suck faces for ten minutes?''

At James' voice, Remus pulled away and looked down, sheepish. ''Sorry.'' His lips were slightly red and a piece of his hair was sticking up at the back.

Sirius, on the other hand, was unbothered and still staring at Remus as if he was some bone to munch on. ''If Evans hadn't put Moony in bloody suspenders and fit trousers, it wouldn't be an issue,'' he defended, taking a seat beside Peter. ''Have you seen his ass-''

''I don't want to hear it!'' James interrupted before Sirius could finish, raising his hands to cover his ears like a child.

Madam Malkin appeared in the fitting area. ''Everything alright here? I heard screaming.''

''All good, Madam Malkin,'' Remus replied politely with a small smile, hoping she hadn't noticed his burning cheeks.

Sirius looked smug and Peter was snickering in his seat, amused by the situation.

''If one of you tears or stain anything before the wedding, you'll be paying for the repairs,'' James warned them - Peter included.

.

One week before the wedding, James did the unthinkable and walked in on Lily trying on her dress. It wasn't intentional - he didn't even know she was home -, but Mrs. Potter had shooed him out of the room quickly, screaming that it was bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding.

''I didn't even see the dress!'' he promised from the other side of the door. ''But, just so you know, I'd still marry you if you were wearing a pillow case.''

Lily had laughed. She was going to marry that idiot. ''And you better have a dress robes when I see you at the altar, Potter.''

.

''So...who's next?''

''Next what?'' Remus asked, confused.

''Who's the next marauder to tie the knot?''

''Well, Peter. But I suggest you take a seat because that's not happening for a long time. Have you seen him flirt with Dorcas? He can't even pick up that she isn't interested in boys!''

They both bursted laughing.

''It must be you, then.''

Remus choked on his tea, almost spittering it all on himself. ''You know Sirius and I can't get married, Evans.''

''Not now, obviously.''

''Even if we could, marriage isn't Sirius and I's deal. We love each other very much, but have no intention on getting married - ever.''

Although it could sound nice to call Sirius his husband, Sirius' view on marriage had been heavily tainted because of his family and blood purity obsession. In the Noble House of Black, you didn't marry out of love, but to keep the bloodline pure. Toujour pur.

A few years ago, his parents had even tried to force him into marrying his cousin, Narcissa. Sirius had found it morally disgusting and was very thankful when Narcissa married Lucius Malfoy.

''He might changed his mind for you.''

.

''How was your afternoon with Lily? Has she gone all bridezilla yet?'' Sirius asked when he heard the door of his and Remus' shared flat open and close.

Remus chuckled as he removed his boots. ''Surprisingly, no. She'd have all the reasons to, though. She received some last minute RSVPs and has nowhere to place them on the seating chart, the florists got the wrong colors for the arrangements and the Ceremony Official mixed up his dates and Lily and James' date isn't available anymore,'' he explained. ''If I were her, I'd be crying on the floor - but don't tell her that.''

Sirius laughed and went around the counter to greet Remus properly, abandoning the sandwich he was making himself. ''Your secret's safe with me, love.'' He kissed Remus who scrunched his nose, smelling a mix of exhaust and leather on his boyfriend.

''You've taken out the motorcycle?''

''Yeah. I went on a ride with Prongs. We came up with a genius idea to drive him to the altar on my motorcycle, but there's very small chances Lily will let us.''

''With reason.''

Much like Remus, Lily wasn't a fan of that motorcycle. Motorcycles itself were dangerous and had a high risk of fatalities, but Sirius' was huge and fast and could fly, which made it ten times more dangerous. Plus, James and Sirius were very reckless on that motorcycle and had once been chased by muggle authorities.

.

The ceremony went on smoothly - if you don't count Peter almost dropping the rings. James had shed a few tears when he saw Lily in her white dress and Lily didn't forget her vows, which she had been nervous about. Her memory wasn't the best under stress.

After saying 'I do', everyone had moved to the magically enlarged ball room for the reception. As expected, the place was beautiful. Rich purple-y red and white flower arrangements, chic drapes, floating lights and a massive cake.

Like expected, Sirius had filled his best man speech with embarrassing anecdotes of the couple - mainly on James' end. He did tease a bit Lily too - otherwise it wouldn't have been fair -, but he was harder on James, as expected. The guests had laughed and James was embarrassed, which was all Sirius wanted.

''You just wait for payback on your wedding day, Padfoot,'' James threatened as they shared a shoulder hug.

.

Lily might not have gone all bridezilla on her wedding planning, but she insisted on handing her guests a list of rules for the night. There weren't too many and they were simple and basic. No pranks. No gorging yourselves at the buffet table. No exhibitionism. No drunken speeches. No getting so wasted you can't walk. No white for the women attending.

Some were specifically hinted toward one or more people, but she figured that all their guests could use those rules.

Lily had joined Remus at a table as the guests danced to rest her sore feet. She had charmed her shoes before putting them on so they wouldn't hurt her feet from wearing them all night, but the charm must've worn out by now.

''Mrs. Potter,'' Remus greeted, nodding his head.

The redhead chuckled and took a sip of her champagne. ''That's me.''

''You look beautiful, Lily. Radiant.''

''I can't believe I'm married, Remus. Married! This is insane.'' She smiled and took another sip.

A few feet from them, Sirius' shirt was halfway unbuttoned and his tie was undone as he danced with James, a drink in his left hand. His hair was pulled into a messy half-up, too hot to let them down fully, and Remus watched with discouragement and endearment. They looked ridiculous.

''Seeing this makes me regret what I just willingly signed up for.''

Remus laughed. ''Worry not, we're in this together.''

''They look like idiots.''

They laughed and James held on to Sirius who's drink tilted and almost made a mess. Sirius brought it up to his lips and kept on dancing with his best friend.

''You think Sirius will make it till the end of the night? How many drinks has he had?''

At this moment, Sirius tripped on his own foot, making him vacillate and almost falling. More than he should've.

''I'll handle him,'' Remus assured.

.

When Remus decided it was enough, he pried Sirius from the room and led him to one of the couches in a secluded part of the ball room to - hopefully - sober up before going home.

Lily had offered them a sobering potion, but Remus had declined it, knowing Sirius would be annoyed and want to drink more after - which he really shouldn't if he doesn't want to get alcohol poisoning. It wasn't his first time dealing with a drunk Sirius - and he didn't really mind. He was easy enough to manage.

Sirius' head rested against the high armrest of the couch, sprawled like his bones had been replaced with jelly. Drunk and dazed, he reached out for his boyfriend and dragged him down with him, making Remus squeal in surprise.

Sirius took hold of his hand and brought it to his face and leaned into it as Remus sat on his lap.

''Where's your tie?'' Remus asked, not seeing the silky strip around his neck.

Sirius looked down and shrugged, only now noticing that it was in fact not there anymore. He shrugged, not caring much about the lost tie. It's not like he had planned to wear it again.

''You're very drunk.''

''And you're very pretty.'' Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus' neck and started kissing his jaw lovingly and drunkenly. ''I love you, Moony.''

In his last stage of drunkenness, Sirius Black was a needy and affectionate drunk - before blacking out, that is. Once he was past the goofing with James stage, he was the neediest person, wanting nothing else than to hug, cuddle and kiss everybody he knew - especially Remus.

He'd look around the room, searching for Remus just so he could wrap his arms around him and kiss his face and flirt with him. To love and be loved in return. It was all a drunk Sirius wanted - needed.

Remus tried to resist Sirius' kissing and pulled away, insisting on keeping his promise to Lily and following her wedding rules. He looked down at the raven haired wizard, seeing clearly how much of a mess he looked with pieces of hair were falling into his heavy eyes, a soft smile across his lips and the smooth skin of his chest on display from his half buttoned shirt.

''Shall we go home?'' Remus took a piece of Sirius' hair and twirled it around his fingers.

Sirius shook his head in protest, feeling the effects of alcohol dissipate a little. ''Wanna stay a little more,'' he said...only to change his mind less than a minute later, which made Remus laugh.

''Let's go say goodbye to the newlyweds, first.'' Remus helped him get up from the couch and walked back to the party area.

#wolfstar #wolfstar fic #jily #jily fic #sirius black #remus lupin x sirius black #Remus Lupin #james potter #lily evans #harry potter fic #marauders era #wedding fic

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [16]

Masterlist

~^*^~

~^nine months later^~

After you had buried Zoe, and you and Jack had tasked Renfield with properly disposing of Dracula’s body, moving on became a difficult task in London. It seemed that Lucy lurked around every corner and whenever you went off to work, you’d somehow find yourself looking amongst the towers of concrete and finding the window that once belonged to the undead Count.

The temperature dipped. Christmas came and went and when it felt like the year only dragged on, despite moving into a new decade, you decided in unison to move back up north. Instead of going back to Whitby, where even more memories of the vampire tainted almost every street, you decided to move to that secret haven you had visited so long ago.

Nine months down the line, Robin Hood’s Bay was in the climax of its tourist season. July was blessing the northern coastline with an abundance of hot days and blue skies and both Jack and yourself had secured jobs.

After the trauma of your dealings with the vampire, you both decided to hand your notices in at the Foundation and find more domesticated lives. They suited you well. Talking to normal humans, leading normal lives - it suited you both so well. You had grown much closer in this time. Jack had learnt to forgive you after Lucy’s death; you had grieved for the vampire man that had stolen your heart and had moved on.

Things were finally no longer dark. Life regained its magnificent colours.

Walking along the beach, parallel to the rolling waves, your hand brushed against his - an innocent mistake. The cooling breeze soothed your skin where the sun beat down. You looked left, taking in the sight of the families far out in the rock pools with their neon nets, most likely looking for little sea creatures to fish out to inspect. Every now and again, a small child would squeal in excitement at finding a dead crab and their father would laugh and explain that it had been eaten by the birds who had left behind the shell.

You then looked right, a soft and loving smile came upon your face. Jack wasn’t paying much attention. He was looking ahead (most likely at the two dogs currently racing for the tennis ball their owner had just thrown). To say that you were surprised at your sudden budding feelings for your old friend would be a huge understatement. You had come to appreciate him for all that he was - plus you suspected that living together (platonically, of course) had something to do with it.

Jack had somehow become your home. He was the only person who could truly say ‘I know what you’re going through’ and mean it. Something about having such an intimate secret with him seemed to tie your bond ever closer.

The walk on the beach lasted a little longer, before you silently agreed it was time to head back. There would be an influx of tourists soon and you definitley didn’t want to try and battle for somewhere to sit on the sand. Besides, standing up at the top of the cliffs gave a beautiful view of the sea.

Robin Hood’s Bay was infamous for its steep hill winding up from the beach to the top of the cliffs. It was hard to walk down without feeling like you were about to topple over and roll the rest of the way down, and it was even more painful trying to get back up. There was a searing pain in your thighs as you took broad steps to try and scale the monster quicker.

You could hear Jack’s laughter behind you at the ridiculousness of your walk, but you ignored him. Hopefully living here would soon provide you with thighs of steel.

The feeling of victory that overcame you when you reached the top was worth every second of torture working up that hill in the heat. You turned to see Jack a few metres away. He grinned up at you and when he made it to your side, he was gently panting.

“Well, let’s agree to never climb that damn hill in the middle of one of the hottest days again.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna dive off the cliff and take a quick swim after that.” You joked.

“Let’s get going. I could do with some lunch.”

Slowly walking, you made your way back to your small shared cottage. It was cool inside. You took your seat at the dining table, eyeing your leather sofa with disgust. You knew that you’d stick to it if you went anywhere near it.

As he made himself a little lunch, Jack flicked on the TV in the living room and turned it up so that you could both hear from in the kitchen. The afternoon news was just beginning. It was the usual political issues, a virus outbreak in Southeast Asia, another tragic stabbing in London.

“A body was recovered from the Thames river two hours ago after tourists spotted a floating figure in the middle of the water just south of the Millenium Bridge. Scotland Yard have just released a statement in the last few moments confirming that the cause of death appears to be the same as those deaths reported last autumn in Whitby and in London.”

You looked at Jack. He had frozen halfway through buttering his second round of bread.

“CCTV footage shows a man, as you can see, and the police are urging for anyone with information on the suspect to call the number on the screen.”

You leapt up, rushing into the living room with Jack hot on your tail. The image was blurry but you knew that face anywhere. Dear Lord, couldn’t he have been bothered to dress a little differently than usual?

“The lawyer?” Jack breathed.

“Since when did Dracula drink his blood?”

That was the first time you had uttered his name in nine months and you’d be lying if you said that speaking it didn’t spark a little pain in your chest. You missed him so much. You expected a text message or a phone call every day, until you reminded yourself that you had changed your number. Even if by some miracle he was still out there, you’d probably never see the vampire again.

That was how it needed to be. You needed to be safe.

Your mind began to wonder. Had Dracula been drinking his blood back in London? And if so, had it simply taken this long for him to turn? Dracula’s finest bride, it seemed, would never be seen by its creator. You knew there was more to that lawyer’s loyalty than just contractual.

“Thank god we aren’t in London, huh?” Jack mumbled and made his way back to finish constructing his sandwich.

“Yeah...”

You trudged back to your own seat, beginning to rearrange the flowers that day in the middle of the table.

That night, you seemed to have a fever dream. A hot, burning fire, and between the flames, a tall figure. It seemed unharmed by the licks the fire gave it and as you reached forwards, the orange forms split to make way for your appendage. Before you could make contact, it whispered your name in a distorted voice. It sounded somewhat familiar. ‘[First]...’ it hissed as if imitating the sound of the fire, ‘where are you, [First]?’

You tossed and turned as the dream began to die away and you spent the rest of the night in a dreamless darkness. The next morning, the dream lingered in your mind. When Jack promoted you to confide in him, you opted not to tell him. It wasn’t like any of it mattered.

He didn’t press too much on it, but decided that he wanted to try and cheer you up.

“Why don’t we go into Whitby for the day?” He suggested, “only if you’re ready, of course.” He quickly added before shoving another spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth.

You thought about it. You hadn’t been to Whitby in nine whole months. Truth be told, you missed it. But you couldn’t decide if that was because you also missed Dracula. You scoffed. You had to be the only person to have grieved for a vampire. Except for maybe Mina Murray - but she didn’t count because her fiancé had been human for most of the time she knew him. Dracula had always been a vampire since the moment you had met him.

“Nah, it was a stupid idea, right.” Jack supposed your scoff was of disbelief that he’d suggest something so utterly stupid.

“No, I think we should go. I’d like to watch the boats.”

Jack watched as an absent-minded smile took hold of your lips as you thought about the harbour.

Well, two hours later and you were sitting by the bandstand, facing away from the structure as you looked out to sea. The pirate ship that took tourists out to sea a little and back again was coming back into the harbour. Some children not too far away from you excitedly jumped and waved and the pirate steering the ship waved back.

It was comforting to hear the whirl of music from the arcades, to get a whiff of both Whitby’s famous The Magpie and Quayside fish and chips, to see the lighthouse, and of course, to look over and up at the abbey.

Oh, how you had missed it here.

“Should we go over the bridge? I’ll buy you a sugar dummy.” Jack offered.

“Sure, why not?” You shrugged and swung your legs over the bench to turn and stand.

You froze.

Standing across the road, outside of the RNLI centre was him. Your jaw dropped. You had to be hallucinating. It couldn’t be! The yellow tourbus whizzed past and when it revealed that side of the road again, he was no longer there.

“[First]?” Jack broke your absolute disbelief, “you alright?”

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @cryiner @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @greeniemoon @blueinkblot @tefymorgan @misfitgirlwrites @lokiphan @newheart97 @middlespellman @bratty-sweetheart @dipsylou @lilmou5ie @the-fangirl-life10 @enchantersnight @imthedoctorlove @haleyea @hoefordarkness @divinemoonsters @dragosdaughter @certthekilljoy @asianbuttcheek

#hi i love to torture you guys #so much #anywho hope yall enjoyed #something different #dracula #bbc dracula #netflix dracula #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader #netflix dracula x reader #claes bang #dolly wells

[potatopossums]

Your comment is getting deleted but I'm gonna clarify it once, and then not anymore, because I will not be discussing gatekeeping after this, regardless of your intentions. Oh, you're blocked anyway, because I know you're an infamous lgbt gatekeeper who delights in telling people they're not actually what they say they are, like you're some kind of expert. I guess that's what a gold star gives you.

But for everyone else who wants to understand, here we are:

Non-binary lesbians exist. They are a wholly valid identity and concept. We are not dumbing ourselves down for anyone, we are using the language we have available to us (and creating new language as well) to express our sexuality and our gender. Lesbianism is not and never has been limited to the binary understanding of gender, and lesbianism has always always ALWAYS been intrinsically connected to gender non conformance.

The experiences of nonbinary lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of trans-nonbinary lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of he/him lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of they/them lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of pansexual lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of bisexual lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experience of asexual and or aromantic lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of all nonbinary / gender non-conforming people, regardless of their gender identity, are VALID AND REAL.

However someone expresses and understands their gender and sexuality within the complex context of sexism, heteronormativity, compulsory cisgenderism, religion, etc. is entirely valid, doesn't concern you, doesn't take away from cisgender lesbians in the slightest, and will ALWAYS be valid.

I will not tolerate anything less, and I will not be discussing this further.

Secondly, I'm going to be very clear.

Gold star lesbianism is misogyny in fancy new clothes. Yeah, I've seen your name floating around. You conveniently show up and start gatekeeping arguments on innocent lgbt positivity blogs, and I'm not going to tolerate it. I know I am gay enough, and I've struggled enough in my own goddamn life to come to terms with who the fuck I am. I don't have to justify my sexuality and labels to anyone, and especially not you.

You are pathetic for daring to enter other people's safe spaces, completely unaware of their upbringing and understanding, and imposing your vague, sexist, misogynistic views onto vulnerable, oppressed people who are part of your community. And the fact that you don't see it that way, the fact that you think you're protecting yourself and your "true" lesbians from appropriation is absolutely asinine. You're delusional from the beginning, down to the core, if you think doing this helps you.

You're proud of the fact that you're a gold star lesbian. Have your pride, celebrate who you are, but don't you dare come after people who haven't come into their identities the same way you have. Don't you dare insinuate that bisexual people or lesbians who don't fit the gold-star standard are somehow tainted because they've been touched by a man. You're a misogynistic, puritanical snake.

The lgbt community is for people who don't fit within the prescribed cishet cookie cutter expectations. Just because you can't fathom us belonging doesn't mean we aren't who we say we are. And if you're going to refuse to take someone at their word when they tell you who they are, you're no better than our oppressors. You should be absolutely ashamed of yourself.

Don't ever make the mistake of coming onto my blog again. I know what misogyny and purity/virginity politics smells like, and you absolutely reek of it. Go jerk off to your gold star somewhere else.

Now get the fuck off my page. And stay away from my friends. Likewise, any like-minded people can join them. You and your intolerance is not welcome here.

#lesbian #gay #nonbinary #trans #enby #lgbtq #sapphic #gynephile

[chanyeolyh]

aight i’m gonna have to request that none of you look really hard at this account because it is -75% finished and it’s ugly and that’s just not my aesthetic, i swear. i’m stella and i am always late for everything and if you cannot accept that as who i am then... honestly i understand i'm tired of my shit, too. i'm bring this charismatic asshole, chanyeol, to everyone. he's difficult and it's okay if you want to fight him, i understand. message me or like this if you want to plot and i'll come knocking at your inbox door!

* — ⌜ kang1, yoon jeonghan ⌟  ↝  has anyone else seen the kang heir walking around the hill lately ? their name is CHANYEOL and they are the kang’s oldest child. they’re twenty-four and currently a graduate student and paralegal, making their parents proud, i would hope. i heard they can be very playful but lately they’ve been quite manipulative. don’t tell anyone, but someone told me he’s just like his mother. i wonder if that’s true ?

trigger warning: mention of death

∽ to be quite honest chanyeol is the time to taunt you while your parents aren’t looking and get you in trouble while smirking and sticking his tongue out behind your parents back. he’s that bad kid that parents love and compare their children to. doesn’t really really have a reason for being two-faced. blame it on his mother, after all he learnt from the most two-faced person of all. ∽ grew up with a great father (who was kinda absent in his life??? usually busy??? but chanyeol loved his dad and understood) and a not so great mother who crushed him under her expectations. kinda feel like he had it worse growing up, because at first he was the shining star and then after his younger sibling was born, he was deemed a disappointment and the other sibling was promoted for shining star. chanyeol understands. he was better and naturally talented. chanyeol was the type who had to work hard to be acknowledged. thought he’d love no longer being under his mother’s thumb, but turns out he’s a normal kid and still craved his momma’s love and attention. ∽ surprisingly, and probably to his mother’s disappointment, he’s never hated or envied any of his siblings??? even if he was no longer the favorite and his mother had pretty much written him off as “no longer the best”, he freakin’ loves his little buddies and honestly views them as the best things that happened to him??? give him big brother of the year award, will 100% kill for his siblings. ∽ do not get him wrong, he knows just how twisted he can be and is… he hates being compared to his mother, but he’s more like her than he’d ever care to admit, and he blamed her for trying to mold him into a mini her. literally was told that no one in the world mattered except himself, and people were obstacles he had to climb over and use. ∽ does his best to make sure his siblings do not end up like himself or his mother because his own dynamic is toxic and bad and being a manipulative son of a bitch is the last thing he’d want them to be. a little hypocritical because he will adamantly insist they not do something and then turn around and do it himself, but he’s already tainted so he doesn’t see it as a big deal. ∽ siblings can do no wrong in his eyes??? don’t talk bad about him or he’ll make your life hell. king of spreading rumors, but usually has a good reason as to why he’s spreading them… for furthering his own goals or revenge. yep. good fantastic reasons. ∽ the death of his father kinda made him worse??? his father was always telling him not to do this, to consider other people, etc. but he doesn’t have that influence any more and his mom??? she plays so dirty??? silently at war with her, but damn do they look like a perfect mother - son out in the public eye. his mother was probably indifferent toward him at first, however since he’s been snooping around she’s also trying to bring him down. unfortunately for her, he’s a better snake than she is. ∽ the local polite thinks he’s a bad son, however, because he straight up accused her of doing something fishy but all they saw was a heartbroken woman sobbing loudly about losing her husband. they were old and quick to jump to a damsel’s defense, so the case is closed but he’ll pry it back open with his teeth if that’s what it takes. ∽ was going to pursue a career in music (in fact graduate with a degree in music), however now he’s interested in law. doesn’t plan to be a prosecutor, however being a paralegal has its perks and he’s learnt a lot. working to become a private investigator because as long as he doesn’t get caught, he can be as dirty as he wants. ∽ has his own place, but depending on where his siblings are located (if they also live alone/with him/with their mother), he often stays at the family home to be closer to his siblings. might be a dad bit paranoid something might happen to them. but behind closed doors, his mother has begun to threaten him and the easiest way to attack would be his beloved siblings. doesn’t have a fear that their lives are in danger, but wouldn’t put it past her to try and turn them against him??? ∽ actually really likes investigating things and the prosecutor he’s a paralegal for really let’s him be hands on so he’s learnt what he can’t do, what he can do and what he can’t do but can so long as he doesn’t get caught. ∽ honestly, chanyeol is a snarky and sarcastic guy, but it’s not hard for him to make friends either??? somehow charming and affable, but it’s really hard to know whether or not to take him seriously??? also have to be mad careful what you say around him, he's very interested in drama and he will spread things around if it benefits him or he simply does not like you. :) ∽ naturally flirtatious but 95% of the time he’s just trying to have fun and doesn’t really mean anything. noncommittal af. has had maybe one or two serious relationships and in those he either broke someone’s heart or someone broke his. and yet his bedroom is a revolving door so. honestly hooks up with people as a stress reliever but at least he’s up front about it, if you catch feelings it’s not on him; he’s surprisingly against leading someone he’s sleeping with on. unfortunately, he is not against leading someone he's not sleeping with on. ∽ surprisingly playful??? likes laughing at others??? really likes riling others up, if you give him a good reaction you’re just gonna be a target for him. usually not malicious, it’s just entertaining for him. ∽ veryveryvery private. he’ll ask a hundred questions about your personal life, but his lips are sealed in regards his. cryptic af and also very flippant??? his mind can change on a dime??? ∽ confrontational??? kinda??? but more as a source of entertainment… he’s got issues. ∽ very fake. very much a chameleon in that he changes colors to fit any situation. a pathological liar, kinda??? lies a lot. ∽ kinda just a bad guy. but it’s because he has hard time opening up to others and being vulnerable??? his mom really messed him up so he’s a less put together version of her. less lethal as well, as in he’s actually capable of loving and caring about others. 

give me enemies. people who can't stand him and people he can't stand. did he start a rumor about your muse? can't stand his fake persona? someone who got in trouble as a kid or teenager? couldn't stand your parents constantly compared you to saint chanyeol? maybe he's jealous of your muse for some reason? called him out on his mommy issues and struck a nerve so now he's trying to get back at you?

give me an ex best friend who everyone was like, "if you see one, the other isn't too far behind" and then one year they were at each others throats??? why??? what happened??? no one knows, but everyone knows it had to be big.

there's a rumor going around that you're dating. ironic because the two don't even get along??? but he loves getting under your skin so he's feeding the flames and subtly suggesting that the rumor isn't baseless.

need a convincing fake boyfriend??? chanyeol volunteers for tribute, but you owe him one. :)

a best friend or two??? "chanyeol your a son of a bitch, but that's okay", you can see past the grime and know he has a heart of... well, not gold, but it's shiny! that bestie who goes out and gets drunk with him and listens to him wax poetic about his piano. probably one of few who know he actually really did love the piano.

someone who thinks he's crazy for quietly investigating his own mother??? probably doesn't have all the details on his family life, and because you're taking such a "noble" approach he can't stand you. 

general friends??? ride or dies??? partner's in crime??? friends only when drunk, anything but when sober??? soft friends he must protect??? a squad of manipulative assholes???

he doesn't do relationships and that's probably because you broke his heart. :(

absolutely no one is surprised he broke your heart, everyone told you he was bad news but you didn't listen. what happened??? do feelings linger??? or just bitterness??? does he feel bad or not???

friends with benefits. no strings attached so it's all cool. or maybe you're getting attached??? or, what the hell, he's getting attached???

you two fist fought once. and you'll do it again.

someone who wants to help him with his investigation??? honestly, he might show it, but it'd mean so much to him.

aspiring pianist or just a curious hobbyist who is bugging him to help them learn how to play??? for some reason, he just can't say no.

someone very unlikely that he has a crush on??? no one would guess he'd ever fall for this person and even he's super confused??? 

people with cute, innocent crushes on him. he'll either think it's really cute or he's about to tease the hell out of you if he finds out.

an ex, but it's complicated??? they keep coming back to each other and then swear it won't happen again. 

a childhood friend who misses the sweet boy he used to be??? chan's very uncomfortable around them because they remind him of a better version of himself and he doesn't think he can ever go back to that.

need a rumor spread about someone??? go to chan. i will literally have him spread it in threads.

rivals!!! for any reason. 

a good influence that is soft and nice to him and brings out his sincere smiles!!!

you dislike one of his siblings and he's just Not about that??? or maybe he likes you but you hate his sibling(s) so he's conflicted??? to be friends or not to be???

idk really anything

i'll make a sexy list of sexily written plots when i get this mess of a blog under control

i'll also do a stats and bio pages

forgive me i am slow and lazy

#yhintro #ooc tag tba #this is ??? but it's something and that's all that matters

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 46: Thorns

[Sorry for the lack of updates, life has gotten busy lately. But I’m back and I bring some big bad interactions!]

“Of course, Anaïs,” the pureblood agrees. “Walk with me.” Though he politely offers his arm, it is more of an order, one I do not dare to disobey. I look at William for reassurance. There is no playful smile on his face, no witty comment. Oh, no. Instead, all he gives me is a slow, serious nod. All the words in the five languages I speak are not enough to express how wrong this feels.

“Alright,” I finally sigh, taking a hold of Vlad’s arm. It feels surprisingly robust under the sleeve of his coat, dark and billowy, which only ads to his already mysterious air. Usually, that is a quality I would appreciate in a man. Right now, however, it just makes me want to run for my life.

“Come,” he says, “I want to show you my garden.”

To my surprise, neither William nor Charles follow us out of the room. They know not to question the pureblood’s authority. I make a mental note to do the same. Vlad guides me down a hallway, and then another. The deeper we go into the building, the warmer and better lit it becomes, it seems. I was wrong about this church. It is far from abandoned, let alone decrepit, and it is certainly a lot bigger than I previously estimated. I think he lives here. As much as I dislike the idea of a murderous vampire in such close proximity to the city and all the people I have come to care about, I can at least appreciate that he is taking good care of the place. Even if the hairs standing on the back of my neck prevent me from enjoying it.

We come out through the other side of the building, where I am met by the sight of the beautiful city below us. The neighbourhood of Belleville, perched atop a hill on the North East edge of the city, is - and remains, even in my time - mostly inhabited by immigrants and the working class. In my present, most of the buildings, including Vlad’s church, don’t exist anymore, having been demolished and replaced by housing projects.

While the temple itself is nothing special, safe for it’s larger than usual size, I can’t help but mourn the inevitable disappearance of something so beautifully old, of all the history that will be wiped out from this place in favor of modern gentrification. I can see why Vlad chose to make his home here. Ironically, I doubt he knows what will happen to it.

“Ah, I see you enjoy the view from here as much as I do,” he chuckles, breaking my distraction. I nod, suppressing the chill his calm voice sends up my spine. “This way, Anaïs.”

Despite the majorly bad vibes I get from him, I let him guide me around the back of the building. We come to a stop on its side, where the sparse rose bushes along the wall become dense and frequent, melting into a lush garden that even the one in the mansion couldn’t compete against.

“It’s breathtaking,” I mutter, looking down at the vast expanse of white roses before me, flanked by a myriad of flowers of every shape and color. I glance at Vlad. He smiles, satisfied. “May I...?” I hesitate to let go of his arm and step onto the narrow path that cuts through the vegetation.

“Go ahead,” he nods. I do not like the smug smile on his face, but even I have to admit he has a right to wear it. This garden is... Wow. Just wow.

I walk ahead of him, marvelling at the pristine state of every single petal that has yet to wilt under the impending summer heat, but slow to a stop when I spot a plot of unfamiliar buds near a corner. They look like a bizarre cross between dandelions and arnica, only bigger, unlike anything I have ever seen. It is not until I approach them that I notice the thin mesh cage that has been built over them. Despite their odd shade, white with a slight blue tinge, they seem too unassuming for such measures to be taken. Most of the species they resemble tend to be considered weeds, not treasured and protected like these are.

“What are they?” I manage to ask quietly. Though I do not take my eyes off their striking petals through the mesh cage, I hear Vlad’s footsteps settle beside me.

“I presume you already know what blanc is, correct?”

My eyes widen in surprise, and I crouch to get a better look. I knew they were rare, but I was not expecting these little things to be the only source of nourishment to vampires. They look so... plain. Ordinary, even, were it not for my knowledge in the topic. There is nothing magical about their appearance at all.

“I have never even drank blanc before,” I say from the ground. “I have tasted it, though, and it is disgusting.” I scrunch up my nose, making Vlad laugh.

“I have to agree, Anaïs. But that is not why I keep them. I prefer my food fresh,” he concludes, leaning over me. His voice is somehow menacing and detached at the same time. I purse my lips, unnerved, but give him a questioning look. “They are extremely prized, which I enjoy. Besides, they have a certain beauty to them, don’t you think?”

“I guess they do,” I shrug before standing up again. I have been distracted for long enough. He’s good. “So now I know why you keep those flowers, but what about your friends back there? Why did you bring back Salieri?”

His eyes become a darker shade of red, almost like blood, though his expression remains unreadable.

“Be careful how you address me, fetiță.” His tone is cold, a mortal warning. I am quick to throw my open hands in the air between us in an attempt to appease him.

“I mean no disrespect, but you do kinda owe me an explanation.” He narrows his eyes. Shit, I should not have said that. I take a deep breath to calm myself before I go on. “Look, I might be new to all of this, but I am not stupid,” I say slowly, taking a step back. He responds by taking a step forward. “I know that you could tear me apart without breaking a sweat. All I want is to understand you, so I can avoid doing something that will get me killed a second time, okay? Please, at least give me that.”

My plea seems to make him relax, and I smile, relieved.

“I suppose you have a point,” he concedes. “I will do my best to answer your questions.”

My smile grows wider as I hold onto his arm once again. He wanted to walk, so let’s walk.

“Let’s start with something easy,” I muse, breaking the ice. “That word you called me just now... What language is it?”

“Romanian,” he answers as we begin to stroll through the garden. “It means ‘little girl’.”

“Of course it does,” I chuckle under my breath. Our height difference is more evident now that he is standing by my side, towering over me. Then again, most people do. “Wait. Romanian? Did you fight against the Ottoman Empire, by any chance?”

“So you’ve heard the stories too,” he sighs. I hear a tinge of amusement mixed in with the resignation of being found out. “I have not used this name in a long time. I suppose history never forgets...”

That confirms my suspicion, and I must admit, I really hoped to be wrong about this one. But no, I happen to be casually hanging out with the man whose notorious cruelty inspired Dracula. Funnily enough, at least Bram Stoker got the vampire thing right. I wonder how the author would react to finding out they are real. He’d probably lose his mind, and I would not blame him. I almost did too.

“Okay, next question,” I move on, eager to change the topic. I must get to the juicy stuff before I get distracted again. “Why are you going after Saint Germain’s people? I mean it’s obvious that it is him you are trying to get to, but I would like to know the reason for that. Weren’t you friends or something?”

“Something.” From his deadpan tone, I can tell Vlad does not want to talk about their relationship. However, he did promise me answers, and I intend to get them or die trying. Again. “That door of his, the one he brought you through? He is selfish with it. Collecting some of the greatest men in history for... what, exactly? It is such a waste...”

“What would you do with it, then?”

“Put that talent and influence to good use, of course,” he laughs, as if it were obvious. “As you must have figured out by now, I have a door of my own at my disposal. However, it is... tainted. Unstable. I have tried to convince your sire to let me use his on multiple occasions, to no avail. Alas, even our centuries long friendship is not enough to sway him. I believe we could see eye to eye if I could show him the truth. Maybe then he would not look down on my ways as he does now.”

“And by ‘your ways’, I guess you mean sending your henchmen to kidnap me so you can use me as bait?” I can’t help but retort. “You say you want to put these men to good use, but what does that even mean? For what?”

“You shall find out soon.”

I open my mouth, but my stomach grumbles loudly before I manage to voice my protest. Worst timing ever.

“Would you like some rouge? I am feeling rather peckish myself,” he cheerily offers. There goes the conversation, along with my chance to discover what he’s up to. I am forced to nod, however, as I have not eaten since early this morning. As much as I hate to cut the interrogation short, I am starving.

I follow Vlad back into the church, resigned, and we make our way to a hallway on the second floor. I smell the scent of human blood before I notice that the voices I can hear behind a closed door are new. There is a man, whom at first I mistook for Faust, but he sounds too cheery. And too French. I hear a woman too, giddy and nervous due to Shakespeare’s charming approaches.

I want to ask what is going on, but I am not sure I want to know the answer. I have a bad feeling about this. Vlad opens the door, revealing the sitting room on the other side. Along with William, the other two vampires I met are there. Faust stands to the side, merely observing, as Charles chats with the young couple, seated around a coffee table. They are unmistakably human. I can only think of one reason for them to be here, and I do not like it in the slightest.

As the now familiar feeling of bloodlust shoots through my veins, I clench my hands behind my back and smile politely. Vlad ushers me into the room, closer to the group, and soon lets go of me to offer his hand to the woman, motioning for her to stand up.

“This one will do,” he murmurs, stroking her cheek. She looks surprised for a brief moment, but any expression immediately disappears from her face when she locks eyes with the pureblood. “Listen to my voice. Relax.” The woman’s arm goes limp and falls to her side. “Good, good. Take of your necklace.”

She obeys. Is she... hypnotized? Can he do that? When the lady’s choker falls on the floor, the reality of what is about to happen sets in. The man I assume to be her husband does not react. He is looking at the woman, but his eyes are out of focus and his face blank, nothing but an empty shell.

The king of the castle eats first, of course. Vlad pulls the woman close and leans down slowly, almost tenderly, as if he is going to kiss her neck. He stops short of touching her skin before violently sinking his fangs into her. The horrible, wet sound her flesh makes causes me to bite my own lip in an attempt to hold back. I shuffle closer to William and lean over the back of his chair.

“I can’t do this.”

“It would be improper to deny your host’s food, my nightshade,” he says nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I won’t be able to stop, Will. I can’t-”

“You can’t what?” Vlad calls out. “It is your turn, come. Don’t be shy.”

Fuck. I am not in a position to reject that offer for two reasons: the first one being my hunger, and the second being that he might kill me if I offend him. I cough and begin to turn away, but feel William’s reassuring hand over mine. I hope I can trust him to stop me in time. If I end up killing this poor girl, he’s going next.

I exhale a shaky sigh as I hesitantly make my way to the center of the room, where the woman stands frozen, a lifeless doll. She is slightly taller than me, so I hold her body close and stand on my toes.

“Lo siento muchísimo (I am so very sorry),” I whisper in her ear. I don’t know if she can even hear me, but if she could, I doubt she’d understand my foreign words. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, expectant. Vlad clears his throat behind me. He is starting to lose his patience.

But so am I. Just like that, any control I had over my body fades when my eyes catch a glimpse of the two fresh puncture wounds on the woman’s neck, of the twin drops of blood oozing down from them. I make sure to bite over the same spot.

The familiar wave of relief that comes from feeding washes over me, but this time it is much more intense, much sweeter. Everything disappears around me. There is just me and my prey, her blood pulsing into my mouth as I barely have to exert any effort to drink it. But it is not enough. I bite harder. It is dripping down my chin now, and I hold onto the yellow satin blouse, now tinged with red, like my life depends on it. I cease to exist in this moment. There is only blood and my pure, unadulterated thirst for it.

“...Anaïs.” I vaguely recognize my own name being spoken. “That’s enough.”

“Come on, let her have her fun,” another voice says. I can barely tell who’s who.

“Anaïs, stop,” I hear again, this time more sternly. Strong arms pry me off and pull me into a tight hug, restraining me until I come to my senses. “That’s it, my nightshade. Well done.”

“Will?” I manage to pant, leaning back into his chest. “Shit, is she okay? I didn’t drain her, did I?” My voice wavers with dread.

“No, my dearest,” he softly says. “Thou stopped in time.”

“Thank you,” I sigh in relief. Still holding onto William’s arms around me, I glance at Vlad. He does not look pleased.

#ikemen #Ikemen Vampire #ikevam #IkeVamp #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire vlad #ikevamp vlad #ikemen vampire shakespeare #ikevamp shakespeare

[shannaraisles]

Fidèle de la Cœur - Chapter 1

In Regency era Thedas, the second family of a deceased Bann are forced to uproot themselves and build a new life far from the place they called home. Invited to live in Kirkwall by the Viscount - an old friend of their dead father - the two Lavellan sisters discover two very different paths to understanding the merit of a truly constant heart.

A Sense and Sensibility/Dragon Age mash-up, in which Brandon gets the right girl, and no one gets married before they reach the age of twenty.

Next Chapter - OR - Read on AO3

Chapter One

The sonorous tones of a melancholy piano echoed through the family wing of Ostwick Keep, lending voice to a grief that must be heard and accepted. Servants kept to themselves, speaking in hushed tones out of respect for the family so recently bereaved, yet forced to be about their business thanks to the arrival of the new Bann and his wife. It seemed to those women who could no longer call this place home that no sooner had word arrived of the old Bann's death than the new Bann Trevelyan had arrived hard on its heels, greedy to take up his position of respect, authority, and wealth. 

Johannes, they could have tolerated without much issue. The piercing gaze of his wife, Lady Goldanna, was an insult that could not be borne, and yet must be ignored for the sake of peace. She had made it quite clear that she had never approved of her father-in-law's second family, and now she fully intended to see them out of the only home they had by filling it with her ostentatious tastes and offensive personality. That her in-laws were elven appeared to make her poor manners ever more unfriendly, a fact that the servants were very quick to note. Her announcement upon arrival that her brother, Mr. Alistair Theirin, would soon be arriving to spend the winter with them was simply one more headache for the household to absorb.

The Lavellan women - for such they would now be called, no longer entitled to their half-brother's family name nor expectant of any support from him - were forced to accept this unwelcome change so soon upon the tails of the former Bann's death, and each reacted to the pain and inconvenience in their own ways. Ellana, the now Widow Lavellan, a handsome elven woman no more than forty years of age, had given way to her grief so wholly since the death of her beloved husband that she barely stepped from her rooms, weeping inconsolably as though she might never look upon the world with dry eyes again. Her somewhat romantic and dramatic view of their new circumstance was transmitted to her younger daughter, Lanise, who now chose to spend hours in the music room, playing the saddest of music at the highest of volumes, determined to cloak the house in the mantle of her grieving sixteen-year-old heart. And then there was Eralen, the elder Lavellan daughter who, though as heartbroken and saddened by their loss as her mother and sister, showed the world a calm face and gentle manner, taking on the burdens of running the household, making Goldanna and Johannes welcome in their new home, and consoling her mother during the worst of her fits of grief.

"Mamae, there is no need for this," she said, watching as her weeping mother swept about her private rooms, tossing keepsakes and personal items haphazardly into an open trunk. "Johannes will not simply toss us out onto the street."

"Yet he was quick to arrive and take charge of the estate," Ellana snapped back at her daughter. "And sending that woman ahead of him to hurry us along! Vultures, the pair of them, taking stock and inventory, laying a price on every precious memory we have made here. I will not stay to be a stranger in my own home, I will not -"

Yet here she crumbled, collapsing onto the stool by her vanity, her tears renewed with a wail muffled only by the press of her handkerchief to her mouth. Eralen bit her lip, moving further into the room to lay a gentle hand on her mother's back.

"I will start making enquiries to finding us somewhere else to live," she said quietly, not knowing what else she could say in the face of her mother's distress. "But until we have somewhere to go, you will have to bear it, Mamae."

Ellana groped for her daughter's hand, pressing her wet cheek against Eralen's knuckles.

"What would we do without you?"

Eralen smiled faintly, bending to kiss her mother's hair. As she straightened, the sonorous music faded for just a moment, only to be replaced with a melancholy rendition of a song the late Bann had dearly loved. Eralen winced just a split second before her mother burst into tears once again, throwing herself fully into her grief for the loss of the husband she had loved. 

With an imperceptible sigh, the elder Miss Lavellan left her mother to her weeping, calling for Orana to bring Mrs. Lavellan a cup of tea and sit with her a while until she was calm again. As the young maid nodded and hurried away, Eralen turned her face toward the music room, steeling herself to enter the whirlwind of dramatic emotion that was her younger sister. 

Passing one of the drawing rooms, she paused at the sound of voices, tilting her head toward the cracked door to briefly overhear what her half-brother and his wife were discussing. 

"Really, my dear, three women can live comfortably enough on the annuity granted by the terms of your father's will without putting you to the trouble of overseeing such a thing yourself," Goldanna was saying. "Indeed, they will be quite set up for life. And, of course, when the mother dies, the girls will receive ten thousand between them, which is not a sum to be sniffed at."

"My dear Goldanna, I made a promise to my father that I would see them cared for," Johannes answered, but even Eralen could tell he was being persuaded by his wife's greedy reasoning. "What do you say to the occasional gift of fifty gold every now and then?"

"And what would they spend it upon?" was Goldanna's reply. "In their situation, it would be more an insult than a help, I am sure, and we must think of our sweet Henry's inheritance. I feel certain your Papa never meant for you to help them with anything so vulgar as money; indeed, you need only give them the assistance they shall need when it comes to their relocation."

"No, Fanny, I must be plain on this case. My stepmother and sisters may remain here at Ostwick for as long as necessary to secure them a comfortable living."

"Of course, my dear," Goldanna soothed her husband in syrupy tones. "Yet one cannot help feeling that they cannot be allowed to engage in polite society with us. Miss Eralen is, I concede, acceptable in appearance and manner, but your stepmother and Miss Lanise are simply out of the question. Such violence of emotion cannot be allowed to stand and taint our reputation with the memory of the former incumbent."

"Oh, I quite agree on that point -"

Forcing herself not to frown, Eralen continued on, anxiously sweeping her hands down along the soft wool of her dress. So Goldanna was already working to have them gone with no inconvenience to herself; that was no surprise. She was saddened by Johannes' attitude, however. She had thought her half-brother stronger of spirit than this, yet it seemed he would bow to his wife's will. They could not expect any assistance from him. It was disappointing. But they would manage. Eralen had kept the books and helped run the household for several years now; she could keep her mother and sister from living beyond their means somehow. 

She opened the door to the music room, a sympathetic cast to her gaze as she looked upon her sister, not more than four years her junior. Lanise's eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks glistening with tears as she watched her own fingers dance heavily over the keys before her. The music was beautiful, yes - Lanise had always had a gift for it - but the heaviness of emotion she instilled into it was enough to make anyone's heart break for her. 

"Lanise, da'len," Eralen began, moving into the room to catch her sister's attention. "Could you play something else? Mamae has been weeping since breakfast."

Lanise sighed tearfully, her fingers stilling on the keys, and for a long moment, the sisters simply looked at one another - one openly passionate in her grief, the other calm and composed in spite of it. Then the younger nodded, lowering her eyes to begin playing once again. This tune was no less melancholy than the last, though lighter in sound and complexity.

"I meant something less mournful, da'len," Eralen said, but she knew she was defeated before she began.

She loved the passion and fire in both her mother and sister, envying them the freedom to express whatever they felt in any moment. Yet in grief, they fed off one another, each one plunging the other deeper into more violent expressions of loss, until she herself felt inadequate in her own pain. No doubt Lanise thought her cold in many ways, but Eralen knew one of them had to keep a calm head in this trying time. If the conversation she had overheard was any indication, the sooner they were gone from Ostwick, the better things would be for all of them. 

#FdlC #regency crossover #dragon age fanfiction #sense and sensibility fixit #lanise lavellan #ellana lavellan #eralen lavellan

[litteratured]

William Burroughs—Why I Stopped Wanting to be President (1975)

A piece written by William Burroughs for Harpers' Bazaar in 1975. 

Full text: 

 Both in this life or any previous incarnations I have been able to check out, I never wanted to be President. This innate decision was confirmed when I became literate and saw the President pawing babies and spouting bullshit. I attended Los Alamos Ranch School, where they later made the atom bomb, and bombs bursting in air over Hiroshima gave proof through the night that our flag was already there. Then came the Teapot Dome scandal under President Harding, and I remember the unspeakable Gaston Means, infamous private eye and go-between in that miasma of graft, walking into a hotel room full of bourbon-drinking, cigar-smoking lobbyists and fixers, with a laundry hamper. "Fill it up boys, and we talk business." 

 I do not mean to imply that my youthful idealism was repelled by this spectacle. I had by then learned to take a broad general view of things. My political ambitions were simply of a humbler and less conspicuous caliber. I hoped at one time to become commissioner of sewers for St. Louis County--$300 a month, with the possibility of getting one's shitty paws deep into a slush fund--and to this end I attended a softball game where such sinecures were assigned to the deserving and the fortunate. Everybody I met said, "Now I'm old So-and-so, running for such and such, and anything you do for me I'll appreciate." My boyish dreams fanned by this heady atmosphere and three mint juleps, I saw myself already in possession of the coveted post, which called for a token appearance twice a week to sign a few letters at the Old Court House; while I'm there might as well put it on the sheriff for some marijuana he has confiscated, and he'd better play ball or I will route a sewer through his front yard. And then across the street to the Court House Café for a coffee with some other lazy bastards in the same line of business, and we wallow in corruption like contented alligators. 

 I never wanted to be a front man like Harding or Nixon--taking the rap, shaking hands, and making speeches all day, family reunions once a year. Who in his right mind would want a job like that? As commissioner of sewers I would not be called upon to pet babies, make speeches, shake hands, have lunch with the queen; in fact, the fewer voters who knew of my existence, the better. Let kings and Presidents keep the limelight. I prefer a whiff of coal gas as the sewers rupture for miles around--I have made a deal on the piping which has bought me a $30,000 home, and there is talk in the press of sex cults and orgies carried out in the stink of what made them possible. Fluttering from the roof of my ranch-style house, over my mint and marijuana, Old Glory floats lazily in the tainted breeze. 

 But there were sullen mutters of revolt from the peasantry: "My teenage daughters is cunt-deep in shit! Is this the American way of life?" I thought so, and I didn't want it changed, sitting there in my garden, smoking the sheriff's reefers, coal gas on the wind sweet in my nostrils as the smell of oil to an oil man or the smell of bullshit to a cattle baron. I sure did a sweet thing with those pipes, and I'm covered, too. What I got on the Governor wouldn't look good on the front page, would it, now? And I have my special police to deal with vandalism and sabotage, all of them handsome youths, languid and vicious as reptiles, described in the press as no more than minions, lackeys, and bodyguards to His Majesty the Sultan of Sewers. 

 The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. Then I met the gubernatorial candidate, and he looked at me as if trying to focus my image through a telescope and said, "Anything I do for you I'll depreciate." And I felt the dream slipping away from me, receding into the past, dim, jerky, far away--the discrete gold letters on a glass door: William S. Burroughs, Commissioner of Sanitation. Somehow I had not intersected. I was not one of them. Perhaps I was simply the wrong shape. Some of my classmates, plump, cynical, unathletic boys with narrow shoulders and broad hips, made the grade and went on to banner headlines concerning $200,000 of the taxpayers' money and a nonexistent bridge or highway, I forget which. It was a long time ago. I have never aspired to political office since. The Sultan of Sewers lies buried in a distant 1930s softball game. 

 What would you do if you were in the President's place? You would be inexorably pressured by the forces and the individuals that made you President, and by your own desire to be President in the first place; so you would wind up doing just what they all have done. It's enough to stop any sane man from wanting to be President.