#curses her and everyone else that’s in the ballroom at the time

[avirxy]

beauty and beast au but Claire’s the one cursed because she’s the only one I can see literally pissing a sorceress off enough to get cursed. (If we’re going off the original movie Jim would probably offer them a hot meal and a room for the night, knowing him he’d make everything super accommodating)

[nikkisheep]

To Be Alone With You (Part 4)

Anthony Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader (soon)

mentions of Benedict Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader

Warnings: cheating (Anthony is engaged to Edwina), SMUT!!!!!! oral (f), fingering, over stimulation, sexual tension, cursing, body worship, jealous Anthony, biting, angst at the end, hair pulling, breeding kink

I'M SO SORRY IT GOT TO BE SO LONG :)

Summary: Anthony finds out about your art session with Benedict and means to remind you who you belong to as you remind him who he chose to belong to.

Songs to listen to while reading: **= smut part, *=angst

**Amantes: Esme (song is in Spanish but is very soft and sets the mood)

**Take Me To Church: Hozier

**I Wanna Be Yours: Arctic Monkeys

**Shameless: Camila Cabello

**wRoNg: ZAYN

*The Great War: Taylor Swift

*Say Don't Go: Taylor Swift

Tag List: @shealuna, @m-rae23, @littlepeanut03, @aellabridgerton, @sydney-m, @faatxma, @wildthoughtnananna, @uraesthete, @themadhattersqueen, @sydney-m, @theantiquehobbit

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME

You watched the Lady's maids get you ready in front of a large mirror. When it came time for you to get your hair done, your best friend, Phoebe, ushered the other maids out. Phoebe was the daughter of your mother's Lady's maid. The two of you grew to be fast friends as you grew older. Phoebe hoping for marriage and you planning to find a man worthy of her.

"If you are not careful, the others will know what you and those two Bridgertons are up to," She said as she pulled your hair off your neck, revealing the bruises from your "art" session with the second son.

"Phoebe!" You gasp. "I told you that as you are my best friend, not for you to use it against me."

"Darling, I am not using it against you nor am I blaming you. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position?" She giggled as she put your hair in the tight bun that it needed to be in.

"I would rather not be in my position if I could help it," You said while looking down at your hands.

---

The Bridgerton house was covered in their signature baby blues. There were flowers, candles, and other decor everywhere to be seen. All the Bridgerton brothers were decked out in their fancy suits with those beautiful neck ties. Benedict's was a soft yellow and Anthony's was a dark blue. The others wore white.

Dressed in your family's dark purple color, your mother had the neck line deeper than what is normally accepted. You knew that she just wanted to help you find a man but the only man that you really wanted was one who was engaged to marry your sister.

Moving to the drink table, you grab a cup of water. You notice that nearly everyone else had chosen the lemonade. When you turned back around from the table to the ballroom, one Colin Bridgerton was making his way to you.

Giving a short bow, Colin moved to stand beside you.

"Do tell me, Miss Sharma, how have you enchanted my two idiot brothers?" He asked with a sly smirk on his face.

"Why, I do not have the slightest idea," You reply, hoping that he wouldn't pressure.

"See, I don't know if I can accept that answer, Miss Sharma," Colin said. "It seems that their eyes have not left you since you walked into the room."

With that he left your side, only for one Anthony Bridgerton to step into his place.

"Evening, Miss Sharma."

"Viscount Bridgerton." You nod.

"How have you been?"

"I've been fine, my Lord," You quip. "How has your engagement been?"

He looked at you with a flash of hurt at the sudden mention of his engagement to your sister.

"How was the art session with my brother?" He said with a jealous undertone in his voice.

"It was wonderful. I learned a lot. A lot that some men can't teach." You walked away at the end of your sentence as you moved to the dance floor with Anthony.

The way his eyes looked at you with such passion and desire at the same time nearly dizzied you as his left hand came to rest on your waist and his right holding yours. His warm skin melted through the soft white fabric of your glove and you could feel his warmth through your gown.

Your bodies moved in waves of motion as you stared into each other's eyes, mapping out every hue of color as though this will be the last chance you would see each other. After all, this will be your last chance to see Viscount Anthony Bridgerton unwed. The last chance to be with Anthony Bridgerton. Your Anthony.

"Your gown is exquisite, Miss Sharma." Anthony moves to turn you so your back is pressed against his chest, his arm holding yours across your chest. His lips near your ear so you are the only one to hear, his warm breath fans over your exposed neck and the top of your chest as it rises and falls with the sheer excitement and nervousness that came to being this close with the Viscount, your lover in the darkest nights.

"Thank you," You said. "You don't look to bad yourself, My lord. "

"Anthony," He said. "I have told you to call me Anthony."

"My lord, I have only called you that in private." You began to become flustered with the memories of your night meetings before his engagement.

"You seem to be flustered," He says as he pulls you closer as the music stops, his lips directly beside your ear. "Tell me, do you still think of me when you are with my brother?"

You pull back quickly with surprise. You go to say something, anything but you can't seem to find the words.

"It's okay, darling. My brother is a worthy lover, however, I must make you remember who you belong to." He says before squeezing your dress to walk away to greet a man by his mother.

---

You sit in your room, looking out the window at the small lake outside. The night reminds you of when you first let Anthony touch you.

His skin against yours in the cool water as he moved his lips against yours in fever as he wanted to consume your every thought and replace it with him. The way he picked you up out of the water and laid you on that dock. The way he ravaged you with hunger and lust as he picked you apart and put you back together with pleasure being his glue.

Your hands start to wander up and down your body as you remembered the ways that he touched you, making you feel immense pleasure that you had never known until that night. You shake the thoughts away from your mind as it started to thunder outside, signaling a thunderstorm was about to hit. Just as a loud crash of thunder clapped, a small thud against your window sounded so much louder in the howling wind and rain. You open the window to find Anthony Bridgerton soaked head to toe in water. His hair was stuck to his face and his clothes were stuck to his body. He waved you down and you went.

"Have you gone mad?" You whisper shout.

"Mad? No. In love with you? Yes." He smiles.

"You don't mean that, My lord."

"But I do."

"You made me believe you loved me only for you to propose to Edwina. My sister!"

"I never meant to actually fall in love with you!" He yelled, hands coming to be thrown up in the air.

"So it's my fault that you love me? Is that what you are trying to tell me?"

"No! Yes! I don't know how I fell in love with you." He stared at you as the rain continued to pour around you. "I just know why I love you. Let me show you how much I love you."

"What about Edwina?"

"What of Edwina?" He asked, confused at the even mere mention of her. As if the mention of his fiancee was left a bad taste in his mouth. Not that she wasn't a lovely girl, but because she wasn't you.

"What has happened between you two?" You tremble at the thought of the two of them doing the things that you have done together.

"What do you mean by that?" He asked. "Nothing has happened."

"Have you kissed her?"

"No."

"Have you held her body close to yours?"

"No."

"Has she been given the same pleasures that you once gave me?"

"You are the only one that I have ever wanted to be with that way in a long time. I do not care for Edwina that way. When I told you that I only feel this way about you at the lake, I meant it." He said, moving to grab your hands to pull you closer to him.

His brown eyes bored into yours as he scanned your face for any resistance. He pressed his body against yours as he bent his head down to press light kisses on your neck.

"I desire you so deeply I feel it in my bones."

"I believe that may be the cold and the rain."

-----

You lead him into the house, quietly to not wake anyone, and held his hand as he followed behind you up the stairs. As he stared at you with want, you lead him to your bedroom. He helped you run a warm bath as the two of you had been in the rain for the last hour.

You step closer to him, hands coming up to cup his jaw as you pulled him down to you level and kissed his lips. He gasped at the chill of your lips which lead you to slipping your tongue inside his warm mouth. You moaned as your hands wandered his wet body and started to slip his waistcoat off his shoulders to reach his shirt. His own hands came up to start unbuttoned his shirt before you ultimately ripped it off him.

"I quite liked that shirt," he said with a smirk.

"I'll buy you a new one," You said as you unbuttoned his pants and stripped him bare before you.

Your hands came up and started to touch his body as he kissed you, removing your wet clothes for your body. The two of you laid in the tub as the warm water surrounded you both.

Your head on his chest and his chin on the top of your head gave the two of you the feeling of closeness that you needed.

"I love you," he whispered into your hair.

"I know. I love you too."

You turned to kiss his lips and hold him close to you. Your tongues move together as if they were dancing, in secret promises of love and lust. Your hands explore each other's wet bodies as you lay in the warm water. Anthony's chest tickles your back lightly and you can't help but sigh at the thought of being like this forever.

----

Anthony dried you in the white fluffy towel and wrapped you up before grasping your face to kiss your lips once more. His kiss was slow, exploring your mouth as though it would be the last time, not knowing if there would ever be another time he could touch you like this, to taste you like this.

His arms came to pull you flush against his bare body as his hands caressed every inch of your skin, wanting to memorize the feel of your skin underneath his hands, to feel your warmth radiating from you.

He walks you back to your bed, never breaking the kiss until he pulls away long enough to gently push you back so you fell onto the mattress softly, swiftly landing on top of you, connecting your mouths once more. It felt like your air was stolen right out of your lungs and your body set aflame. Your legs spread to allow him to lay in between them as his hands ran down your sides as he kisses your thoughts and air away from you.

Anthony's scent filled your nose as you breathed him in. His touch washed any thought away as his lips ventured down to your neck, kissing and sucking lightly, making you sigh in content as you felt Anthony's tongue gently soothed over any bites that he left as he moved down your body.

Quiet whispers of "You're so beautiful" and "I love you" slipped into the night as Anthony kissed down your stomach and met your hips. Brown eyes met yours as he looked at you for permission. You nodded for him to continue and you closed your eyes as you awaited the blissful pleasure of his mouth on you but it never came.

"Words," His eyes said. "I want to hear you say it."

"Anthony, please! I need you!" You moan as you try to grind your hips into his face.

"I love you," was all he said before he held eye contact as his mouth opened and his tongue touched your pussy. His lips came to your clit as he closed his eyes at the sweet taste of you. He moaned softly into your cunt as you gripped his hair with one hand and the other, the bed sheet. Your hips rolled against his mouth as he pleasured you. You noticed that the bed was moving slightly as you opened your eyes and saw that he was staring at you as he ground his hips into the mattress to relieve himself some of the pressure that was torturing his cock.

"Oh my Lord!" You nearly shout as you clasp a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself.

"Do not bring my title into this bed," He grunted against your body.

You moaned at the sheer feeling of his fingers slipping into your hole, stretching you for the later events with his dick. He looked at your with admiration as he played your body like a violin. Anthony slipped from your hips as he moved himself to rest his face above yours.

"So beautiful."

"Anthony," You gasped into his mouth, panting to catch your breath.

"Does this feel good?"

You moan as his fingers brush your g-spot before curling there and massaging it.

"It does feel good, doesn't it?" He smirked. "So pretty. My pretty girl."

"Anthony," You keen. Your stomach tightening. "Please."

"My sweet girl, you don't have to beg." He looked down at your soaked pussy. "Cum."

Your orgasm wracked through you as Anthony continued to finger you through it. Waves of pleasure washed over you as over stimulation started to set in.

"Anthony," You whine.

"One more."

His fingers sped up as his search for another orgasm from you became desperate.

"Such a good girl," He praised. "My good girl. Doing everything that I tell you. Thinking that she can just fuck my brother but look who has her now. Look at how good you are being for me."

Your back arches as you let out a moan and Anthony clasps a hand over your mouth to silent you. You cum once more before Anthony moves in between your legs once again to line himself up with your entrance.

"Gonna fill you up so good," He groaned as he sunk into you. "Gonna see you so full of me, going to be dripping me for days."

You groan as he starts slowly moving against your walls as you clamp down on him, slowing his movements even further.

"I want to feel you," You moan as your arms wrap around his shoulders and pull his weight on you. You hand goes to his hair and you gasp when he thrusts deeply.

"Oh, Anthony."

"Yes, moan my name. Forget my brother. Forget any other man but me. I am the one making you feel this good." He groans into your neck as he starts to pick up pace.

"Only you, Anthony," You moan, back arching off the bed and your hips rising to meet his. "Only you make me feel this good."

His lips find yours and swallows your loud moans, keeping them for himself and only him. His hips move faster as he starts to get near his release. His thumb moves to your clit and starts to circle it as he kisses your neck and move down to your breasts, sucking softly.

"So beautiful," He moaned. "My pretty girl."

Your orgasm hit you like a train and you bite down where his shoulder meets his neck, earning a hiss from Anthony as he moved over you quickly, jack-hammering into you, trying to reach his end. You hands pull at his hair and his lips find yours.

His warmth spills inside you, your eyes rolling back as you feel him fill you completely. He falls on top of you, trying to catch his breath. You look at him in the soft moon light shining from your window. The rain was still coming down hard outside.

"I love you," You whisper.

He turns to look at you, smiling at your words.

"I love you too."

You smile before sliding closer to kiss his lips. His arms come around your body and pull you closer to his body so your legs tangled together.

"I wish we could be like this forever," You sigh, drawing circles on his chest with your finger.

"I know, I know." He sighed as he relaxed against you. "I wish it wasn't like the way it is."

You turn to look at him with a frown.

"When do you need to be back home before one of my sisters find us?"

"I can leave in about an hour," He said, looking into your eyes before kissing you softly.

"I can work with that," You smile before turning over to sleep against his chest.

"I love you, Miss Sharma."

----

You awoke with the other side of the bed cold. You turned over, hoping, wishing, that Anthony was still there. That he had chosen to stay, to risk being caught just so he could wake up next to you. You remember the feeling that you got when he used "Miss Sharma" rather than your name when he told you that he loved you. It was too vague for your liking. There were three "Miss Sharmas'." You sigh before getting up to start your day.

You look at his side and realize that there was a letter on your bedside table.

My Dearest, Miss Sharma

I awoke with a perplexed train of thought as I watched you blissfully sleep. I love you as deeply as the deepest parts of the oceans and even further than that. I wish there was a way for me to sleep in the same bed as you. To stay in the same home with you, to hold your love as close as I can until it was the only thing that I knew. I wish there were a way for me to undo everything that I gave done. I struggle with words compared to Benedict which on the subject of Ben, I give you my full permission to pursue him. Just because you can not find the happiness that you deserve with me, does not mean that my dear brother can not full fill that void that I have caused to be created in your soul.

I love you, Miss Sharma. How I wish I were able to say, "I love you, Mrs. Bridgerton. My viscountess." Perhaps in a different reality were I didn't propose to your sister, it would be you who I am marrying. Someone that I truly love despite that being everything I did not want when I was looking for a bride.

Yours true and with my deepest love,

A.B.

[topguncortez]

Trust Issues - B. Bradshaw

main masterlist || whumptober masterlist || previous day

prompt: "You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back"

synopsis: Bradley is forced to go to the annual TopGun ball, but will he be able to put past demons aside, or will he be forced to deal with what he has done

warnings: mentions of character death, mentions of sabotaging a plane, guilt, betrayal, cursing

word count: 1.8k

Bradley hated these things. He loved his job as an aviator. He loved flying at supersonic speed and doing the damn near impossible. However, he hated the glitz and glamor side of being the best of the best. He hated getting dressed up in his puffy whites and shining his shoes and making sure his ribbon rack and golds were in perfect alignment. He hated having to go rub elbows and smile and act like everything was fine. 

He used to be able to get through these things, but that’s when he had her, by his side. Ever since the accident, she had distanced herself as far away from the Dagger Squad as she possibly could. She had been found not at fault for what had happened, the committee board summing it up to an accident. But no one had seen it as that, especially not the members of the Dagger Squad. If it were up to some of them, her head would be on a spike in the middle of this decked out ballroom. 

Bradley mindlessly swirled the brown liquid around in his glass tumbler. He had only agreed to come to this ball because of the free booze, and Natasha basically dragged him by the balls to show up. 

“It’s in honor of Bob,” Phoenix had said, giving him those big brown eyes he could never say no to. They had always been close, but ever since the accident they had gotten closer. Call it survivor’s guilt or whatever, but Bradley felt even more protective over Natasha. 

“She’s got some balls,” Jake muttered, pulling Bradley out of his bored daze. Confusion danced on Bradley’s face as Jake nodded his head over towards an all too familiar face. Across the room, dressed in a black satin dress instead of her uniform, Y/N stood amongst a group of officers. 

Bradley’s brown eyes drank her in. She looked better than the last time he had seen her. The bags under her eyes looked less noticeable, her smile brighter, but still not reaching her eyes like it used to. To anyone else in this room, she looked like her old self, but Bradley knew that she would never be her old self. 

“Damn right,” Phoenix scoffed, taking a sip of her drink, “She fucks up and gets someone killed and then waltzes back in here like nothing fucking happened.” 

The same pang of guilt hit Bradley right in the chest. He would never say it out loud, he would never admit to what had happened that day or in the following moments. To him, and her, it was better if none of them said anything. However, it was moments like this where Bradley hated their arrangement. 

“Being ostracized by the whole aviator community isn’t punishment enough?” Bradley asked, with a simple shrug of his shoulders. 

Phoenix whipped her head around so quick, Bradley was worried she gave herself whiplash, “Are you fucking kidding me, Bradshaw?” Bradley shrugged again, “My fucking wingman is dead because of her!” 

Bradley winced at her words, as Phoenix slammed her glass back on the table and walked off into the crowd. It had been months since Bob’s death, but the reminder of the loss hadn’t faded one bit. Natasha took it the hardest out of everyone, she blamed herself even though it wasn’t her up in the sky flying that day. At the last minute, Y/N had booted Natasha out of the drivers’ seat, claiming she needed more sky hours and her plane was down. Natasha, unknowingly agreed to let her take charge, and Bob, the ever faithful wingman, agreed to be her backseater. 

It kept Natasha awake at night, wondering what would’ve happened if she never let Y/N fly the plane. If she could’ve saved Bob. If there was something she could’ve done differently that Y/N didn’t do. To Natasha, all the what if’s were worse than having to deliver the notification to his parents. 

“Nix,” Bradley tried calling towards her, but it was too late. He dropped his head in defeat and looked over at Jake, whose green eyes bore into his, “She made a mistake that any of us could’ve made.” 

“Yeah,” Jake shrugged, “But we didn’t. And we haven’t. She knew better.” 

“She was found not at fault,” Bradley argued. 

“She had no business getting into Phoenix’s plane like she did.” 

“She needed more flight hours, you were there when she was at the defense board. It was an accident.” 

Jake lifted his hands in surrender, “Fine. Whatever, she wasn’t at fault for the accident, but she still made a stupid mistake and it got someone killed. Pardon me, if some of us aren’t going to welcome her back with open arms.” 

Bradley clenched his jaw, working his back teeth against one another as Jake walked off towards Natasha. 

As the night went on, Bradley found himself hiding in the back of the room, close to the bar. If someone came up to him and talked to him, he was cordial, but he wasn’t going out of his way to make conversation. All he wanted to do was go home and drink himself to sleep like he had done most nights since the accident. It was one of the only ways he could assure himself that he would get a peaceful eight hours of sleep. 

“If everyone could find their seats, we are going to begin the awards part of the night,” Cyclone said as he stood on stage, looking just as uncomfortable as everyone else did here. Bradley was starting to believe that not a single person in the military liked coming to their annual battalion balls except for their dependas. 

Bradley sat down at the table, sandwiched in between Jake and Natasha, right across from Fanboy, Payback and Coyote. It almost felt complete, but the empty chair with a single red rose and a pair of glasses in front of it was a sore reminder of who was missing. Bradley felt the familiar burning sensation in his eyes as he looked back at the stage towards Cyclone. 

“First, I want to thank everyone for attending tonight,” Cyclone started, “Tonight is a night for recognition of the accomplishments of the battalion and to recognize those who we have lost.” 

Bradley’s heart started beating rapidly in his chest, his hands tingling, and his throat constricting his air flow. Was he having a panic attack? He couldn’t even remember the last time he had one, probably when he was a child before his mother died. 

“Earlier this year, we lost a bright, smart, weapons systems officer in a training accident.” 

Bradley sucked in a breath as he looked over towards the empty chair. The scent of burning jet fuel filled his nose, making him feel nauseated. The tingling in his hands got worse to the point where it was painful. His vision was getting blurry as he tried to focus on anything to get his mind off the fact he couldn’t breathe. 

“Robert Floyd, callsign Bob, was a member of the legendary Dagger Squad.” 

Bradley stood up, all eyes in the room snapping towards him. He felt like he was drowning on dryland, his throat dry, his eyes burning with unshed tears, his lungs aching for air. He took one glance at the empty chair, before making a break for the closest exit. 

The moment he stepped outside, the fresh air slammed into him like a brick wall. His brain tells his lungs to take a deep breath of the crisp night air rolling off the ocean. He leaned back against the exit door, his head tilted up towards the sky. Bradley closed his eyes, slowly breathing in and out, trying to make his heart return to a regular rhythm. 

“Panic attack?” A voice sounded out towards him. Bradley opened his eyes, looking towards the direction of the voice. Y/N sat on the ledge of the balcony, a cigarette in her hand as she looked towards him. 

Bradley nodded his head, “Yeah,” He cleared his throat, “Haven’t had one in years.” 

“Welcome to the club,” She stubbed out her cigarette. Y/N stood up, fixing her dress and grabbing the black clutch in front of her, “I’ll leave you alone to panic.” 

“Why aren’t you in uniform?” Bradley asked. It had been a question on his mind since he first saw her. She was probably one of the only people he knew who loved putting on the dress uniform. She loved ironing it, and shining her medals, and getting all dressed to impress. 

Y/N let out a depreciative laugh, “You didn’t hear?” 

Bradley shook his head, “Mav said you were coming back, desk duty.”

Y/N scoffed, “Yeah, that’s what they said. But I have been officially ‘relieved of my duties’”, She said in air quotes, “A nice way of saying they’re kicking me out. I’m supposed to get an accommodation award but I told Cyclone to blow me.” Bradley chuckled, knowing those were probably the exact words she said to their commander, “Like hell I’m getting on that stage. The squad probably has some snipers ready to take me out.” 

Bradley licked his lips as he walked towards her, “You know that’s not true. Everyone is just. . . healing still. You should’ve accepted the award.” 

“Bold words from you,” Y/N scoffed, “Don’t worry, Commander Bradshaw, none of this is coming back on you.” She patted Bradley’s chest as she walked by him, “Congrats on the promotion, by the way. Taking out the competition really helped.” 

Bradley grabbed her wrist before she could walk off, “It was an accident. You know that.”

“Was it?” She tilted her head, “You got away with the crime while the knife is in my back.” 

“I didn’t ask you to get into the plane that day.” 

“No, you didn’t ask for me to get in that plane. But what was I supposed to do? Let Nat get up there unknowingly? Go run to Cyclone and be all, ‘Hey Sir, I saw Bradshaw fuck with the gasket cover on Nat’s plane and that’s what lead to the tailspin and to the failed ejection?” Y/N asked, Bradley’s grip on his wrist tightened, “It would’ve ruined your career and you know that. But instead I took the fall, like a fucking idiot. I was stupid enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, you cared about something other than your career and would come to tell the truth.” 

“Y/N, I would have if-” 

“You realize Bob is dead-” 

“I know!” Bradley shouted, causing Y/N to visibly jump back. Bradley huffed out a frustrated sigh, letting go of her wrist, and running his hand through his hair, “I know, okay. I know Bob is dead because of me. I just. . . how do I make this right? How do I repay you for this?” 

“You don’t,” Y/N whispered, “You keep your mouth shut and keep going on about your business. The guilt of blood on your hands will kill you soon enough.”

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[surielstea]

Ballroom Secrets (pt. 11)

Based on this request.

Read pt.I here.

Pairing: Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Cassian finds out about readers secret relationship with the High Lord of Autumn.

Warning: Angst | Slight description of depression | hurt/comfort | happy ending

5.6k words

A/N: Sorry this is so long 😭😭 I just really wanted to get the angst right so it got long quick, hope you enjoy! :)

I sat in the sitting room of the river house cuddled up next to Morrigan who was splitting a bottle of wine with me.

"Where'd you get this?" Mor asks, pinching the silk of my new dress between her hands. "Oh I'm not sure, it was a gift." I smile, remembering the way Eris handed it to me for no particular reason other than the fact that he wanted to take it off of me. "From who?" Feyre asks in her own chair, Rhysand standing beside her, leaning against the arm rest. My mouth goes dry.

"It's a male, look at the way she's blushing." Azriel hummed, leaning back against the wall. I cast him a glare but he only returns it with a soft smile. "The same male that gave you this?" Mor points to my neck. "Gave her what?" Cassian perks up from his sprawled out position on the couch, Nesta's feet in his lap. "Yeah, what?" I look to Mor confused. "A hickey." A smirk curves her lips and I slap my hand over where the mark lies.

"By who?" Nesta sits up, gods even she was interested. "No one, I don't know— just some guy." I stumble over my words, cursing myself for my horrible lie. Azriel nearly laughs and rightfully so, his shadows were probably picking up on every nerve that tensed in my body.

"Is that why you've been missing training?" Cassian raised a brow and I can't will the words to leave my mouth. I've always been a horrible liar, Eris has tried to teach me his ways of deceit but it was no use when every time I tried to be quick witted or malevolent it failed miserably and I made a fool of myself. "I've been missing training because you schedule it for the asscrack of dawn." I grumble, half truths however were my forte. Cassian narrows his eyes on me and I swallow thickly. "Oh leave her alone already, let the girl have her fun." Amren speaks up and I silently thank every god I can think of. "Cauldron knows she's had the three of you Illyrians hovering over her shoulder since she was born." The eldest of us finalizes and the conversation thankfully ends there.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

I was in the middle of reading a novel in my bedroom of the river house when a note fluttered down onto my chest, appearing from thin air. A soft smile comes to my lips as I close the book and pick up the note, recognizing the handwriting immediately.

Will you be home soon?

I twist my lips to the side and dwell over the question before flipping on my side to grab a pen from my nightstand. I quickly write back and watch the note disappear from my hands.

I'm waiting for everyone to fall asleep, we're all night owls evidently.

It takes only a minute for him to reply and the words on the paper make me audibly giggle.

Drug them. I miss you, and I'm tired.

Can't sleep without me?

Apparently not. I smile widely at the sentiment. I'll leave soon, just for you.

Soon isn't soon enough

I roll my eyes at his childish impatience but a smile forms over my face as I write out my retort.

Shut your whining up, I'm trying to read

You're so mean to me (I like it)

I don't write back, deciding that if I say anything else he might winnow here himself just to take me back, which wouldn't be good. I opened my book back up but as soon as I was getting back into the story there was a knock at my door. I sigh and use Eris' note as a bookmark before shutting it. "Come in." I call, sitting up.

Cassian enters, taking up the whole entry way as he shuts the door behind him. I smile at my brother as he looks to me with his warm hazel eyes. "I thought you were going to bed?" He creases his brows skeptically and I roll my eyes. "I say that, and then I read my romance novels." I lift up my book and it was his turn to roll his eyes, taking a seat on my bed.

Cassian isn't my brother by blood, but he might as well be. I can't remember a time when he wasn't taking care of me. When he was only seven years old he offered me shelter in his tent. I was six and lost, my parents deserting me, or so I presumed. He tucked me under his wing and shielded me from the rain until arriving back to the tent. He snuck me food from Windhaven and even stole maids clothes off of laundry lines. If it weren't for him I most likely wouldn't be alive today, ever since then he's been particularly protective of me, even towards friends from other courts. I wasn't Illyrian either, but he always said I acted like one. Perhaps that was an insult, but I took it as a compliment.

"What's up?" I shift in my bed so my legs dangle over the side and he's right beside me. "We haven't talked in awhile, I miss you." It was true. It feels like it's been months since it's been just him and I. Realization dawns upon me that all of my free time has gone to Eris, he's my mate sure, but that doesn't mean I want to leave the rest of my family in the past.

"I know. I'm sorry." I lean my head on his shoulder. "I've been busy." I murmur, fiddling with my hands.

"Alright, Who's the lucky guy— or gal, I don't discriminate." He hums and my heart drops. Gods I did not want to expose my relationship with Eris right now. Not ever. "Can we not talk about this right now?" I say, my voice gentle and pleading. "C'mon, you used to tell me everything." He groans and I lift my head from his shoulder, my hands coming to my knees to stop from fidgeting. "This is different." I shrug.

"How so?"

His question is met with silence, I was weighing whether or not I should just kick him out and tell him I'm tired. He'd leave if I asked. But I didn't want him to, just didn't want to talk about this.

"I'd like to meet who's got my sister glowing like this." He bumps my side with his. "Doubt it." I grumble, then curse myself for letting that slip. "What's that supposed to mean?" He snorts a laugh and I look at him nervously, gripping my knees tighter as his smile slowly drops. "I've met him?" He arches a brow and all I can do is slowly nod. Is this it? All that sneaking around summing up to this very moment? "Do I like this guy?" He guesses like this is a game and the health of our friendship isn't in my hands. "Not really, no." I answer honestly, lying is impossible and staying silent will only cause his thoughts to drive him mad.

"Well if he's got you this happy, I'm willing to reevaluate." He shrugs, carefree. He clearly doesn't understand the situation. "It's not that simple." I shake my head, looking away from him and back to my lap. "Talk to me, I won't judge." He reaches over, placing his calloused hand on my clenched ones. "Promise." He gives them a reassuring squeeze. A pit forms in my stomach. My nails dig into the skin of my knees and he understands, pulling his hand away. My eyes widen and I can only pray he doesn't hate me for this.

"Before I tell you, try not to be too mad okay?" I crease my brows, swallowing thickly and looking to him. "Uh, okay?" He looks at me foolishly. "I'm serious." I stress with wide eyes. "Okay, okay, I won't be mad." He promises and I force myself to take a deep breath. This truth that I've been hiding for nearly a year now about to be exposed. All because I forgot to glamour a fucking hickey on my neck. Gods how could I have been so stupid?

I realize the quiet has been dragging on for far too long and that if I don't tell him now I never will.

"Eris."

Silence. He doesn't make a sound and he doesn't move. A weight lifts from my shoulders and for a second it's bliss. "What?" His voice lacks emotion and a new weight envelopes me. Fuck. "Eris is the male I've been secretly seeing." It comes out in a pitiful whisper. "Are you mad?" I was quick to ask, but he doesn't reply for a long moment. Allowing me to think of everything I've done. All that I've risked just to be with my mate, to be happy.

"Please tell me you're talking about another Eris." He tries to remain calm but I can hear it, the quiver of his voice, the clenching of his fists. I shake my head no and I swore I could feel the heat radiating off of him, pure anger. "You promised you wouldn't be mad!" I stand to look at him, a fire in his eyes that is pure rage.

"Well that was before you let that bastard into your bed." He stands and my neck cranes up to keep eye contact, the power dynamics making my legs wobble. Gods I felt useless.

"It's not like that—" I try to defend but he doesn't let me finish. "What? Don't tell me you think he's in love with you?" He scoffs like it's the most improbable thing on the continent. Tears well in my eyes at the idea. "You don't know him." I defend. "I don't want to, for all I know he's probably using you for a good fuck—" He starts. "Stop it." I demand and he clamps his mouth shut. "He's better than you think." I will my voice not to break. "Has he brainwashed you? You can't be serious." He nearly laughed at the idea. I don't say anything, allowing him to get his anger out before I plead my case.

"Or have you forgotten what he's done to Morrigan?" A shutter racks through me and I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes. "That story isn't true." I rasped but I doubt he hears me. I must sound insane to him. "Do you know who his parents are? How you'll be treated if you ever married him?" He goes on but it's not true, none of what he says is true. "You'll be a fucking brood mare, forced to give sons over and over again. Do you understand that?" His hand comes to my shoulders, squeezing tightly. "He's not Beron. We've talked about it, he doesn't even want kids unless I'm willing to give that to him." My words are just above a whisper and he lets go of my shoulders like he's repulsed, as if I hold a virus and he doesn't want to get infected.

"It doesn't matter. Eventually you become parents." He whispered. "You really believe that? Tell that to Rhys. To Morrigan, or Azriel. Tell that to fucking Nesta." I grit out, whipping my head up to look at him and his hypocritical statements. I allow him to see the fury in my eyes, the tears streaming down my cheeks. "Leave her out of this." He narrows his eyes on me.

The first argument to this level we ever had was over his mate. I hated her, loathed every part of her and what she made my brother go through— and now she's one of my most trusted friends and one of my favorite people. A laugh escapes from my body. I must've looked crazy finding amusement at a time like this. "It's the same thing." I bring my hands up to wipe my tears. "Gods were so fucking predictable." I sigh out. He looks at me confused, eyes analyzing my body language. "Nesta is just like him, and you know it." I narrow my brows at him. "This is different." He clenches his fists at his sides. "How so? Give me one good reason as to how this is different?" I will him. "Eris hurt Mor." He says the crime like it's dirt in his mouth. "Nesta hurt Feyre." I reason with him. He grits his teeth. "He hates Illyrians. He hates you and I because of where we come from, do you understand how fucked that is?" His hands come to my wrists, as if pleading me to listen.

"His father hates Illyrians." I correct. "And stop saying I'm an Illyrian I'm not." I pull at his grip but it's iron. "Fine. But he hates me, are you picking sides right now?" His brows crease like I've betrayed him. "No! I—" My breath gets caught halfway up my throat. "I don't want to pick sides, I want both." Tears continue falling and I don't bother wiping them away anymore. "And Nesta hated the Fae entirely, don't be so certain that makes them different." I seethe out at him and he narrows his eyes at me. "We're mates. Nesta and I are cauldron willed, you can't ignore something like that." He says and I stare at him unwavering, not bothering to say anything but rather dropping my glamour around the mating bond connected straight to the high lord of Autumn.

His eyes widen and his grip on my wrists loosens but I don't pull away. "No," His voice is a whisper. I nod. "Reject the bond, you deserve better than him I don't care if you love him." He rules. "I already accepted it, nearly half a year ago." I expose. If I was going to be honest I might as well lay it all out. "Half a year?" He rasps and I nod gravely. "You've been lying to me for half of a fucking year?" His tone is louder, more angry. "I don't understand why you care so deeply, I gave you my reasons now leave it alone." I match his lever of voice. "Why I care? I've always cared, you're my family—" He begins and I tear my wrists from his grasp. "You're not even my real brother!" I yell at him and I swore the world stopped spinning. Pain flashes across his eyes and he stumbles back, his mouth falling open before he clamps it shut and swallows thickly.

"Cass I didn't—" I try. "No." He looks at me like he's never seen me before. "You've made your point clear." He walks to the door. Every fiber of my being wants to beg him to stay. But my feet can't move and I stare aimlessly as he leaves, the door clicking shut with a gut wrenching softness. Leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I use whatever remaining energy I have left to winnow back to my apartment. Where I knew Eris impatiently waited for me to return. I land wobbly on my feet, tears slowly cascading from the wells of my eyes. Eris who was laid on the couch with a book sat up alarmed. I remove the walls around our bond and allow the misery that overwhelmed me to flood into his end of our connection.

He rushes toward me alarmed, fire raging in his eyes but not toward me, toward whoever made me feel this way. "Eris," I murmur, I was sure I was going to collapse. "My love," He brings a hand to my waist, keeping me steady but that didn't stop a choked sob from escaping me. "What's wrong?" His other hand comes to my cheek, wiping away my tears. "Talk to me." His brows crease and this feels so wrong, seeking comfort in the very reason Cassian is mad at me in the first place.

"He knows." I whisper. "Who knows?" His brows crease in confusion, before they relax with realization. I grip his shirt in my fists, looking up at him like a lost animal. "I'm a horrible sister." I confess, my voice breaking on the final word. "No," He shakes his head, pulling me into his chest, holding me close and warming me up. "No love, don't say that." He whispered into my hair, his arms tight around me.

Another sob racks through me but he doesn't shush me, he allows the dam of tears to break and every emotion I've kept bottled up for the past half year comes flowing out.

I tell him everything. From the moment Mor noticed the hickey to the point when Cassian left my bedroom. My voice shook when telling him of what I said to my brother. "And now I'm here and, and I don't know what to do." I sobbed, looking up at him as he ran a hand through the ends of my hair. "I see." His voice is soft, caring. "I was so mad, I wasn't thinking and with all the words he said about you I just— I hated him at that moment." I cup my mouth at the realization. I never wanted to hate anyone, especially not someone I love so much. I never want to feel that uncontrollable emotion ever again.

"It's not your fault." He stresses. "We'll figure this out together alright?" His thumb traces along my cheek and I nod, blinking away my final tears. "But what if he never wants to talk to me again?" I whisper. "What if he hates me?" My lip quivers at the thoughts, I don’t know how I’d live with myself if Cassian ever hated me. "Your brother loves you too much to ever consider that. Alright?" His hands grip my face slightly as if to stress his point and I nod meekly, slipping my hands around his waist again and hugging him tightly.

He releases a deep sigh and hugs me back, his touch warming my skin in a way that comforted me more than he could ever know. In the hug I begin to wonder how he feels about the world knowing. I hoped he knew how much he’s helping me, how much I appreciated that he’s here for me. Then I realized that he might be thinking of leaving for my benefit, so I can return to Cassian and tell him everything he said about Eris was right and I can stay with my family. I didn’t want that. Gods, why can’t I have both? The cauldron must’ve been playing a cruel joke on me. "Please, don't leave." I beg of him. He bends down and places a hard kiss to the temple of my head. "Never." But he would, if I asked.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The next few days were long. I barely slept, every time I tried I'd be reminded of the words I spat at Cassian. I couldn't face him, didn't dare go back to the River House, much less the House of Wind. I stayed in bed, staring out the window of my bedroom, watching the sunset shining against the Sidra, the water refracting in rainbows as stars awakened in the sky. Another day passes.

I felt hollow, my limbs heavy and my stomach a pit. I knew I'd have to face Cassian soon, see him and the others. I wonder if he told them, warned them all to no longer speak to me. All because of who I'm in love with. Anger consumed me for a few days, thinking him deserving for what I said. Who was he to pick who I can and cannot love? I spent hours cursing him as a hypocritical bastard, spewing lies to convince myself I was in the right.

I slowly came to, deciding I needed to stop avoiding my own fate and face what truly lies at the root of the problem. The rest of the days of my solitude was spent in grief.

Feeling sorry for myself wasn't any better than the raging nights. It was truly pitiful how I ended up here.

There was a knock at the door frame. I didn't have to look to guess it was my mate. "I'm not hungry Eris." I say plainly, continuing to stare out at the river. "Have you eaten today?" I don’t expect his voice to be behind me as he slithers into the bed beside me, curling an arm around my waist. “I had a bowl of soup not too long ago.” I answer, flipping onto my side to look up at him. His golden eyes that rolled with sadness, he couldn’t help blaming himself for my situation and I hated that he did. “Okay.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I have to return to Autumn later tonight, high lord stuff.” He grumbled and I groaned, tucking closer to him. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He promised. I huff, wrapping an arm around his torso and burrowing into his chest. “Unless, you want to come with me?” He arched a brow and I look up at him, my head propped up on his chest. “To the Autumn court?” I ask. He nods, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

I haven’t been to my mates court since Eris’ coronation because it’d raise suspicion if a girl from Rhysand’s inner circle began to roam the markets of the foreign court. But I suppose that didn’t matter now if our secrets out. “You think your people will react well?” I ask anxiously. “After my father ruled over them they’ll take anything they can get, and if a pretty high lady is an option I think they’ll be over the moon.” He offers me a gentle smile. “High lady?” I can’t help but smile at the idea of ruling a court together. He nods. I fantasize about the idea for a moment, until the thought of Cassian finding out about me proudly wearing an autumn court crown settles over me. He’d fall into a fit of pure rage and I’d never forgive myself. “Can we wait?” I ask. “Just until all this is resolved with Cass, and then yes. I’d love to be your high lady.” I nod. He gives me a comforting expression. “Of course my love.” He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. I him against the action and kiss him back. Wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer. His lips slotted perfectly against mine and the feeling that bloomed in my chest when kissing him filled the pit of my stomach and the hollowness of my heart. I felt lighter. A knock sounds at the front door, loud and demanding. My ears perk at the sound and I pull back, he seems to want to chase my mouth back to his but he freezes too when another impatient knock rings through the house.

I sigh and sink down into the bed. "You can answer it." I say, removing my arms from his neck. "Are you sure?" He asks, his own warm arms slipping from my waist and I wished they didn’t. "They all know by now, what's the point of hiding it?" I grumble, and he nods as he stands from the bed, my eyes watching him as he does so. "Alright." He nods. “If it’s not Cassian I’m not interested.” I voice. He glances to me and only nods in reply.

He leaves the room and my eyes go back to the window. I strain my ears to hear for the voices in the living room but I can only hear Eris.

"She doesn't want to see you." He said. A mumble of a voice replied, it was soft, must be female. My hope diminished when I realized it's not my brother. "In the bedroom." Is the next thing I hear from my mate and I mentally prepare for whoever is about to walk into my room.

The door creeks open but I don't move. I stay looking out the window, watching as dusk now takes over the sky. "Gods its dark in here." Nesta.

I don't have the energy to reply, giving her enough of an answer with my silence. "Look, I know I'm not who you want to see, but he's in a similar state as you." She hums and that fact settles deep into my bones. I adjust, sitting up and facing her, leaning back against my headboard.

"He throws up every night too?" I ask with a wry sense of humor. Nesta tossed a glare toward Eris who stood at the doorway like a guard.

"No, much worse. He won't stop training." She hums, crossing her arms and sitting on the edge of the bed beside my thighs. Her eyes go distant as she thinks about her mate. "He's spent more time in the training ring than sleeping as of late, he doesn't joke anymore, and I haven't seen him smile in a week." She confesses, her brows creased in concern.

"Are you telling me this to try and make me feel better?" I murmur, avoiding her gaze.

"You know me better than that." She scoffs. It was true, Nesta is one of my best friends. The three Valkyries all are, but especially the eldest Archeron. I remember all the things I said about her, how I boiled her down to all of her faults. The hollowness returns and another thing I will never forgive myself about forms. "I care about you, but I care about him more." She stands up, Eris growls from the doorway but I wave him off, understanding what she meant. "And I just need the two of you to figure your shit out so he goes back to his usual self, it’s so quiet at the house." She crosses her arms over her chest defensively but her tone is soft. "He misses you." She reveals. "He won't admit it but he wants to see you, stop by the house, please." She finalizes, before turning on her heel and walking towards the door.

"Nesta," I call, she whirls around to look at me. "Thank you." Is all I can get out. She nods, then turns back around and exits the way she came.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The house of wind was emptier than I expected it to be. Eris offered a dozen times to come with me last night, saying that he’d cancel his meetings in the Autumn court so he can offer some sort of support but I told him he had to tend to his own court, that I had to do this on my own. So here I was, about an entire day after Nesta's speech, ready to face my brother. Or at least I hoped I was.

I wandered the halls, stretching ny hearing for any sound but I was met with nothing. I remember Nesta mentioning the training ring so I ascend the steps to the roof.

The clang of metal swords clash loudly as I welcome myself onto the landing, staring at my brother and Azriel who were sparring just to get frustration out. Cassian was sloppy with his moves, not breathing through each step the way he usually did. And Azriel was going easy on him. It was rare for the competitive shadow singer to sympathize but in this instance he was working Cassian like a charity case. The general knew it too and only fueled more of that anger he held in each of his swings.

Azriel and I make eye contact and his movements freeze, shadows pooling at my feet as Cassian struck him down and pinned him with his sword. "Again." My brother demanded, reaching his hand out toward the spymaster. Azriel remained looking at me and with the distraction, Cassian whirled around to look at me with narrowed eyes that quickly turned wide.

His sword clattered down onto the mat as he let it slip from his hand. "Cass." My voice is a rasp. He takes a step out of the training ring until he's right in front of me and I'm looking up at him again.

Tears well in my eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said I just—" I tried to speak but was cut off by his large arms wrapping around me tightly into a warm hug. I melt into it, releasing a soft sigh of relief and hugging him back. "You were right." He confesses. "I was just hurt and wasn't thinking about how you might be feeling." He mutters into my hair. "No you were right to be mad," I shake my head. "I kept it a secret from you for a long time, I should tell you everything." I admit and he backs away from the hug.

"I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me things, I reacted poorly." He sighs. "I did too, the things I said about Nesta were uncalled for. You know I love her." I say with tearful eyes. “I know, it’s okay.” He reassures, squeezing me tighter and lifting me up off the ground slightly with his height. "But, I'm not sorry for being with Eris." I assert as he places me back on the ground and he backs away. His eyes soften and he wipes a stray tear from my face. "I know, it'll take some time for me to get used to but I want you to be happy." He utters and that's all I needed to hear. "I can't promise he'll be invited to all the family dinners." He scratches the side of his neck and I offer him a relaxed smile. "That's okay," I nod my head. "I doubt he'd want to come anyways." I shrug. "The prick should consider himself lucky for even being able to look at you." Cassian grumbles. I give him a reprimanding look and he puts his hands up like he's been caught for a crime. "Sorry, I'll be better." He promises. "Thank you, brother." I pull him closer into another hug. "Means the world to me." I mumble and he presses a kiss to the crown of my head the way he's always done for the past five hundred years.

"You're sweaty." I grimace, breaking away from his hug. I lean to the side of him to see Azriel waiting impatiently for him to return to the training ring. "Do me a favor?" I look up at him. "Anything." He hums without hesitation. "Kick Az's ass for me?" I arch a brow and a menacing smile curves his lips. "I heard that!" Azriel calls from a few yards away, dammed shadows.

I look at the blue siphoned male glaring at me as Cassian retreats back to his sword. I blow the spy master a kiss and he waves me off. I smile contentedly and winnow back home.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Eris leaned against the kitchen counter with a furrow in his brow, waiting impatiently for me to return. I was surprised at his early arrival, he said he’d be home tonight but the sun had barely left the horizon. I suppose he wanted to return as soon as possible. He pushed off the counter and looks at me expectantly. A bright smile curves my lips and I jump into his arms, he catches me without so much as a stumble back, his warm hands coming under my thighs and heating me up like a cozy fire. "Everything's okay?" He asks worriedly, I don't reply and instead bring my hands up to his sharp cheekbones and pull him in for a kiss.

It was soft and lasting, like he was afraid I was going to tell him to leave after this ends. That Cassian somehow convinced me my mate was some maniacal creature who didn't deserve love. He wouldn't blame me, he'd go if I asked him and that fact is tearing at me. So I deepened our kiss, pulling him closer with a hope to reassure him.

"Please tell me everything's okay." He begs against my lips and I nod. "Everything's okay." I whisper with a small smile and he releases a hefty sigh, the weight of a world lifting from his shoulders. "Cass said he'd try his best. But then he followed up by saying you're a prick so?" I scrunch my nose at the way it sounds and he grins widely. "Sounds about right." He nods, placing me atop the countertop.

"Thank you." I say, wrapping my legs around him. "For what my dear?" His brows crease. "You took care of me when I was at my worst, I appreciate it." I softly say, his eyes glaze over for a moment but the sheen quickly disappears after he blinks. "You would've done the same thing for me." He shakes his head, leaning closer and pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of my lips. "I think I'll miss sneaking around with you." He admits and I chuckle. "Me too, but think about all the things we can do now that we don't have to be a secret?" I grin wildly at all the possibilities. His eyes light up and a smirk curves his sensual lips.

"What?" I ask him nervously when he doesn't say anything. "How would you like to be crowned high lady now?" He suggests and my cheeks heat. "But you've already been crowned, can we still do that?" I tilt my head. "It's my court love, I can do whatever I want." His arrogant tone makes me roll my eyes. "And what do you want?" I tilt my head, running my hands through the tufts of his deep auburn hair. "I want you on my throne." He purred, pressing a kiss to my jaw. "That can be arranged." I grin, throwing my arms over his shoulders.

"Anything else high lord?" I give him a seductive smile and he gets the hint. "I also want to fuck you by the fireplace." He confessed, pressing light kisses up the side of my face. "Then what are you waiting for?"

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[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 27: ~

No Hard Feelings:

And, here we are, the final chapter for season 1. Yes. You read that right. There will be a season 2, but it won't begin until after Christmas. Until then, I have another announcement and I'll be focusing on my own project as well.

I also want to thank everyone who's been following this story, and hopefully will continue to do so going forward.

The glow from the fire pit greeted Suze and Rennick. Caz waved them over as Trots and Simon began to serve everyone. Suze headed for her husband and took her spot on the steps. Rennick awkwardly sat between Gibbo and Roy, unable to look them in the eye. He wanted to be with Suze. In just ten minutes, she had become a source of comfort for him. Letting out all his feelings and washing away his 'King' façade, which was both a blessing and a curse, because now he was just Davey Rennick. But, who was Davey Rennick?

Gibbo handed him a bowl of casserole, which he took with a quiet 'thank you.' He could feel everyone's eyes on him. Soon, they all took their seats around the firepit. Small chatter filled the air. Rennick stared at his food. He didn't have the appetite. One last thing weighed on his mind. Now, it was his turn to be brave.

'I know,' everyone stopped and turned. They saw the anxiety in Rennick's eyes. Too late to go back now. 'I've been more than a shit manager to all of you. And, what I did has caused us all to be here. Because of me, you lot,' referring to the infected. 'Will never be the same again, and I can't fix that. You all had to deal with who I was for so long, and, looking back, I'm surprised you didn't throw me overboard.' An empty joke no one laughed at, but Rennick made another empty chuckle. It was his way of finding strength. 'And I'm sorry you had to deal with who I was for so long. I just...' A sigh. 'I dunno. Turned into something you all had to see.' He paused to catch his breath. 'I don't want to be that man anymore, but I don't know where to start. And-'

'And we want to apologise.'

Rennick flinched when he felt someone touch the top of his head. It was Gibbo. That surprised Rennick. He thought Gibbo would never speak to him again. The last time he did, he split his cheek and brow open.

'...F-For what?'

'For not supporting you. You got us here, and we never thanked you for it.'

'No. You don't need to-'

'We're also sorry for not noticing how you've been feeling,' Brodie interrupted. 'We're in this together, and we should have seen what you're going through.'

Rennick was stunned. He glanced to Gibbo, then to everyone else. He didn't understand. He saw their kind eyes, causing his to widen. No one's looked at him like that in a long time. He didn't know what to say.

'Ah, King Rennick,' Roy hummed, breaking the silence. 'Well, if he's officially gone, then...' He moved to grab a beer, opening and handing it to Rennick. 'I'm happy to finally meet you.'

He accepted with a small yet genuine smile. 'Let's hope this one isn't a prick, eh?' They tapped the bottom of their bottles together before taking a swig. Still weaker than piss. The robin flew and perched on Rennick's arm, softening his eyes. Everyone noticed, and seeing their manager smile, whilst different, was nice to see.

'Okay then, Davey, tell us a bit about yourself?' Trots smirked.

'What?'

'Oh God,' Caz snickered under his breath.

'We do it with anyone who joins the friend group.'

It took Rennick a moment to realise what they were saying, and he just laughed. Yet again, it was different but nice to see.

'So, we know you like to laugh,' Trots joked. 'Good to know.'

'Oh, and what about you, Campbell?'

'He's trained in ballroom dancing,' Simon answered without hesitation, causing Trots to snap his head to his lover and nudge him in the arm. Everyone except O'Connor, Mary, Gibbo, and Irene was shocked. They knew he was into classical music from the 40s, but he never told anyone that he swayed around on the dance floor.

'And you never told us,' O'Connor teased, causing Trots' face to go red, who now realised he's been played at his own game.

'So, you do have a personality outside of a Union,' Gibbo continued.

'Come on,' Addair encouraged, putting on a terrible Scottish Accent. 'Do a little jig.' For once, everyone agreed with him.

'Okay, next!' Trots yelled a little too loudly, making Simon laugh, earning another small nudge. 'You're on the naughty list,' he whispered.

'Oh, you tease,' Simon whispered back, before sneaking in a small kiss on the cheek.

'Well, actually...' Raffs got to his feet and went inside the house. Rennick didn't expect anything and just thought the young lad was going to get more drinks. Until he returned with a dart board in his hands. 'We'd like to know if you can play?'

For some reason, that got Rennick to laugh again. He didn't know where it came from. Was it nerves? Maybe. But, the man was happy, and his smile grew wider.'Got any darts?'

The crew and their families had learned three things about Davey Rennick.

One; He loved to laugh. Sometimes, it fell into a mischievous giggle, which was rather infectious.

Two: He adored the bird. A tendril was always stroking the top of the robin's head, and she didn't seem to mind. Roy, however, had a feeling he was an animal lover. The food he always gave him would quickly vanish with a clean plate, knife and fork, and seagulls loved to perch around his office.

Three: He was really good at darts, beating Brodie's score with flying colours, causing everyone to cheer and hug him. Something else for Rennick to be surprised by, freezing up his body and just allowing it to happen. His mind wandered back to the final night on the rig, when Caz confessed what he did to Billy. Although he wasn't there, he completely understood Caz's feelings and the high spirits everyone felt. It then flashed to when Brodie won the darts. Again, he understood the feeling. How wonderful it was. No wonder he was jealous. Thankfully, it wasn't a mosh pit, but he, too, had to hold back his tears again.

'Alright, get off. I need another beer.' That wasn't going to be so easy. Muir, just like he did with Brodie and Caz, lifted the man up above his head as if he was holding a cat under their arms. Rennick yelped in surprise before begging to be put down. Wish granted. He moved away from his crewmates, who were now setting the dart board up for another round, because Brodie wasn't losing his title after working so hard to get it.

With a content sigh, Rennick sat near to the firepit and watched from afar. The robin landed on his nose. A beer came into his peripheral vision. He turned. It was Caz. Rennick accepted whilst the leccy pulled reposition a chair and sat beside him.

'Thanks.'

'Nae bother.' They tapped the bottles together and took a swig. 'I see Suze got through to you.'

'Aye. You chose her well.'

'Nah. She chose me, and I nearly fucked it up.' Caz felt Rennick wrap a tendril around his shoulder for support. 'But, I think we're back on track now.' He then noticed the robin still resting. 'What's her name?'

'Still debating on that.' They watched the bird fly and nestle on the crown of his head. 'But...' Rennick didn't have any personal memories of her, but the name was fitting. 'I like the name Ruby.'

'Ruby it is then.' Another tap of their beer bottles. 'See, Rennick?'

'What?'

'Does this mean we're okay, like? No hard feelings?'

Rennick was quiet for a moment. He looked at Caz. Deep down, he expected some feelings to bubble to the surface. The hatred and anger he felt when he read the letter. That feeling of betrayal from someone he did respect. His blood boiling. How he wanted to give the leccy the same treatment he gave Billy during their 'meeting.' How he wanted to crush every bone in his body when he chased him throughout Administration. But, none of that happened. Not even the pain from transforming entered his mind. The man was content. Finally at peace. The pair turned back to watch the darts game.

'Aye. No hard feelings.'

[talesofesther]

sweet calamity | ch 7

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that’s destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it’s easier said than done.

A/N: This chapter was going to be even longer, but in the end, I thought it was best to split it into two, next chapter should be out as soon as I'm done writing it. Anyway, Wednesday is head over heels in love and I'm not even sorry for it.

Masterlist | Read ch 6 here

Saturday's sun set to what seemed to be an ordinary night, but it was nothing of the sort.

Principal Weems could be seen speed-walking from one side of the big ballroom to another, gesturing wildly to where the fairy lights should actually be placed because someone — Xavier — got her instructions wrong.

The school was royally decorated to the nines; golden lights and a few wooden ornaments contrasting with the white tablecloths set the theme for this year's Rave'n. There were sweet flower arrangements on top of each table too, kindly made by you when Weems told you she wanted something that resembled a new beginning. Everything was ready to receive the students and their plus ones.

While everyone was getting ready, Wednesday sat in front of her typewriter, the sharp sounds of each letter she pressed resonating through the dorm room.

Since last weekend, Wednesday has been dedicating extra time to her writing. It meant she was either really inspired or frustrated, and from the permanent scowl on her face, Enid assumed it was the latter.

The werewolf stood in front of her mirror, her manicured hands adjusting the last details of her white velvet dress to perfection.

"Wednesday?" She started, shooting a side-eyed glance to the back of her roommate's head, "aren't you gonna get ready?"

The typing halted for half a second before it resumed again, "I won't be going."

Enid frowned at her reflection, tucking her hair behind her ears before stepping away. Her heels thudded against the wooden floor as she walked up to Wednesday. "What do you mean you're not going?" She asked as if the mere idea was absurd.

"That I am not going," Wednesday responded sharply, her eyes fixed on her writing.

If this was about anything else, Enid would've dropped it, she knew better than to test Wednesday's patience. But she has been seeing firsthand just how much your absence is affecting Wednesday — and herself, consequently, because living with a moody Addams could be considered torture — even if the girl herself still refuses to admit it.

"So you're giving up?" Enid placed both hands on her hips, knowing very well that her words would get a reaction out of Wednesday. "Just like that?"

Wednesday's frown deepened and she hastily got up from her chair, making it scratch the floor. "I'm not giving up on anything, I never give up."

"You're giving up on your soulmate." Enid dared say.

Wednesday's eyes widened the slightest bit, her posture going rigid. So Enid knows. She didn't know if it was you who told her or if Enid figured it out on her own, but either way, she knew the werewolf would figure it out sooner or later.

Wednesday gulped, trying to keep her features impassive. "I never wanted her in the first place," her voice isn't as strong as she wanted it to be for that line. Wednesday turns around and walks away to look out her window, far down, she could see students already making their way inside the ballroom.

Feelings have never been easy for her. Enid softens as soon as she hears the melancholic undertone behind Wednesday's words.

"But you do now, don't you?" It's not necessarily a question, Enid already knows the answer.

And because of that, Wednesday doesn't say anything. Though her silence is answer enough in its own way.

"You don't need to beat yourself up for it, Wednesday," Enid continues, "it's not a bad thing to have feelings for someone, I mean she is your soulmate."

"That's the problem, Enid!" Wednesday snaps, turning around and taking a few steps closer with urgency.

There's a glistening to Wednesday's eyes that Enid has never seen there before, it gets her own words stuck.

"If I am to-" Wednesday stumbles out, words thick with an emotion she herself can't name yet, "to love her," she tries to take a deep breath, but it turns into somewhat of a sob, "I want it to be my choice."

Wednesday blinks away whatever tears were trying to escape her, "and not some cosmic force pushing us together," she closes her lips in a flat line, the outline of her eyes and the tip of her nose becoming reddish the more she holds everything you've ever made her feel.

She's fighting against herself, against her own heart that beats erratically in her chest. And it was a losing battle from the start.

Wednesday breaks in the form of a single tear sliding down her cheek as a shaky breath comes out. The truthfulness of her own words cutting deep before she even says them; "I want it to be real."

A beat of silence passed and Wednesday finally looked up at Enid, only to see tears shaping her friend's smile and starting to ruin her makeup. The Addams girl scoffed, hastily wiping her cheek, "why the hell are you crying?"

Enid shook her head with a teary chuckle, quickly closing the gap between the two. She circled both arms around Wednesday's shoulders, pulling her in with a strong grip, "how can you be so smart and so clueless at the same time?"

Excuse me? Wednesday thought of saying. She didn't return the hug but did rest her head on Enid's shoulder, though there was a confused frown on her features.

Enid pulled back, resting both hands on Wednesday's shoulders to hold her in place, "just because she's your soulmate, doesn't mean you're gonna love her no matter what, silly."

"What are you saying?" Wednesday asks, and it's the most vulnerable Enid has ever seen her be.

It's endearing.

"I mean, sure your souls are linked and most of the time you're predestined to meet, but your feelings are yours," Enid's smile could be felt in her words, she spoke easily, sincerity overflowing her tone, "they're yours, Wednesday. You're not… predestined to have them or whatever, that would be impossible."

Wednesday keeps silent, her hands balled into fists at her side.

"I've heard so many stories of people who met their soulmates and rejected them, or either tried to be together but the spark was never there," Enid kept going and Wednesday realized she was quite the enthusiast. Not really a surprise; she'd kill for a love story, good or bad.

"Just because you're bonded doesn't mean you'll end up together," Enid shrugged, squeezing Wednesday's shoulders once, "as much as I'd love to believe that everyone who meets their soulmate lives happily ever after, that's as much of a media construct as anything else."

"How did I not find anything about it when I looked it up?" Wednesday asked one of the many questions swimming in her mind.

"That's because you're awful with technology," Enid grimaced, gaining a glare from her roommate.

She took a deep breath in as she let go of Wednesday; "the universe might point your person to you, but it doesn't have the power to control your feelings for them. Wednesday, if you do have feelings for her, they're yours. And they're real."

—

It was with careful steps that Wednesday walked down the stairs that lead to the ballroom, her hands smoothed out the fabric of her black dress and she could already hear the party's obnoxious music.

With much reluctance, she had taken Enid's words to heart and decided she owed it to both of you to at least try.

Because that was it, wasn't it? Somewhere along the way, Wednesday had developed feelings for you.

She closed her eyes, nails digging into her palms and almost drawing blood to try and feel anything besides that. To no avail and she knew it.

The ballroom was already filled with people when Wednesday walked in, it was dimly lit with blinking lights all around and questionable drinks.

Her eyes skimmed over the crowd as they always did, finding Enid dragging Ajax to the dancefloor, Bianca trying to get a hold of Xavier, Yoko and Divina doing a poor job of being sneaky when stealing from the snacks table, and… you. Wednesday's lips parted in a quiet sigh, the scrunch of her eyebrows softening at last when her eyes finally set on you after what felt like ages.

The feeling that you always brought to her chest washed over her, and Wednesday realized that try as she might, it would never go away. You had ruined her, killing her slowly the further away you went; because she knew what bliss it was to have you close even before any cosmic bond came to light.

It was the universe that, for some reason, decided that your light complimented her darkness. But maybe, it really could be her choice to call you hers if she wanted to.

You had a drink in your hands and a smile on your glossy lips — a smile that's directed at a certain boy but Wednesday doesn't think about that. The dress you wore was a dark shade of purple, almost resembling black when the shadows covered your body.

You were enchanting, bewitching.

Wednesday doesn't see beauty in this doomed world too often, but she seems to always find it in you.

And it's a realization that could be the death of her. But she does. She does want to call you hers.

She just doesn't know if it's too late for that now or not.

Shaking herself off of her trance, Wednesday makes her way to the drinks table, taking a glass of the blueish beverage. She raised it to her lips and took a generous gulp, grimacing at the sweetness of it.

What happens now? Wednesday wonders to herself. What's the next step on this?

Murder mysteries are infinitely easier to solve than dealing with feelings.

"Wednesday," Weems' voice caught her attention. "I'm so glad to see you here."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Wednesday stated as she turned to face the principal, her half-full glass held between her fingers, "I can't wait to see what disaster will end tonight's festivities."

Weems chuckles but there's no humor to her tone, "there will be no disasters this year, rest assured."

Wednesday hummed, her gaze focusing behind Larissa's figure to where you were standing; you talked animatedly with Yoko while Andrew had an arm around your shoulders and it made Wednesday grit her teeth, "the night is young still, I can think of a few ideas to make it memorable," she huffed.

"Don't force me to expel you a second time, Miss Addams," Weems warned with a raised brow, but there was a teasing tilt to her tone. She laid a hand on Wednesday's shoulder with a smirk, "enjoy your night."

Weems walked away and Wednesday paid her no mind, because she was suddenly underwater, the more she tried to gasp for air, the more her chest tightened. She was drowning, slowly sinking, going down and down and it's all your fault.

Your hand holds onto Andrew's as he drags you to the dancefloor, silver lights are shaping the curves of your dress as it hugs your body. You're grinning, swaying gently to the song that's playing.

Getting stabbed was way less painful, Wednesday decides, because she could physically feel her heart shattering and it almost made her drop her glass.

Because you're hers. Not his. Not anyone else's.

Your touch doesn't belong to him, your smile doesn't belong to him. It belongs to her.

Her urge is to walk up to you and punch the boy in the face for his audacity. But she refrains — begrudgingly, but she does — for the first time, Wednesday wants to do it right. You deserve as much.

"You can still turn this night around, you know."

Enid had materialized beside Wednesday, taking her by surprise and making her flinch; she curses you for her lack of awareness.

Wednesday scoffed, discarding her drink, "how? She looks sickeningly happy to be dancing with that moron."

Enid bumped Wednesday's shoulder with her own, smiling fondly, "I beg to differ, you don't know how miserable she's been because of you."

It gets Wednesday grimacing, her features falling slightly. "How is that a good thing?" She asks incredulously.

"No, my point is-" Enid shook her head, realizing how badly she had worded her thoughts, "uh I'm pretty sure she would rather it be you and her instead."

Wednesday hesitated, "I wouldn't be opposed," it was quiet, so much so that the music almost muffled the words.

Enid shifted so she was standing in front of Wednesday, blocking her view with a determined look, "then let her know that, ask her for a dance."

"She already has a partner," Wednesday tries weakly, trying to find good reasons to not do it, yet coming out empty.

Enid raises a brow, her eyes shifting to you as the song reaches its last notes. "When did that ever stop you?"

The song ends, and to the many present couple's delights, a slower melody comes in its place.

Your skin is hot and prickly under your dress because of the exertion, it's been a while since you've let loose enough to dance like that. "I could really use a drink," you breathe, pushing your hair behind your ears.

"Sure thing, I'll grab us some," Andrew smiled, his hand going to the small of your back as he leads you to your table before making his way to get the drinks.

You leaned back on the table, your gaze following him for a moment. He's always been nice, and you're thankful to have him with you to take your mind off of things tonight, but try as you might, you can't bring yourself to feel anything for him besides friendly affection. Your heart apparently had already chosen its owner, as much as you wish it hadn't.

Andrew returns, handing you your drink to which you mumble a thank you before taking a much-needed sip. You watch as your friends dance together, dry ice moving with their feet and shaping the lights into something magical. You get lost in it, and in some ways feels like a fairytale.

"Do you still have a dance left for me?"

The sudden voice almost gets you choking on your drink, it's one you'd recognize anywhere and the fluttering in your stomach is nearly instant. You can't decide if you're dreaded or relieved to hear it. You set your glass down, turning to face her.

She has her dark hair up, only a few rogue wisps framing her face; the black dress she wears fits her body to perfection; there's light makeup shaping her eyes and the outline of her lips, it's a darker shade of burgundy than what she normally uses, you think for a moment about how many times you'd have to kiss her for it to wear off. She's hauntingly beautiful, and you think you should be breathing but your brain seems to have forgotten how.

"I thought you said you weren't coming," you managed.

"I wanted to see you," it's a quiet confession from Wednesday, words a little tight because of how much effort it took for her to force them out.

You avoided her eyes, nervously tapping the table with your nails. "Don't do that." You shook your head, "not here, not now."

Wednesday could see your distress and knowing that she was apparently the cause for it brought her considerable discomfort. "Do what?"

An indignant scoff escaped you. You ran your tongue over your bottom lip before looking at her; "you have to stop giving me hope for something that's not there, Wednesday." Your gaze roamed over her face, and the sudden tenderness of Wednesday's eyes was so unfair. "Even torture has a limit," you mumbled.

With an annoyed huff, Wednesday cursed under her breath.

What would it take for you to see that, even if she didn't want it in the beginning, there always has been something there.

It didn't help that Andrew had watchful eyes boring into her. Wednesday wanted this moment to be yours and hers only, yet there's a crowd of people around and a parasite attached to you. Oh, she was hating every second of this.

"Please, I want to-" Wednesday hesitated for a beat, "I do want to try this." She extended a hand for you, praying to a god she didn't believe in that this would be enough for you to see.

Maybe you were a fool, but the soft lights were reflecting against Wednesday's dark eyes, and there was no denying the faltering in your heartbeat; trying to mimic her own, trying to tell you what you already knew. You glanced back at Andrew, silently asking if this was okay, to which he responded with a kind nod, and you took the hand Wednesday had extended to you.

No matter how many times you touched her, your skin would always fill with goosebumps when colliding with hers. Her hold on your hand wasn't light, almost as if you could escape her grasp anytime; it was dangerous how well her hand fit with yours though, almost as if they belonged. Touche.

Wednesday took you to the middle of the dancefloor and turned to you without letting go, placing her free hand on your waist; tugging you closer.

Your own hand hovered before settling on her shoulder. This felt too intimate, like crossing an invisible line with no way back.

When Wednesday started to sway your bodies from side to side, following no particular rhythm, you finally asked; "what is this, Wednesday?"

Wednesday's eyes didn't leave your face, the hand she had on your waist squeezed the fabric of your dress there. Your perfume is clouding her senses, something that reminds her of lavender. You feel warm under her touch, alluring; if she leans closer, and you don't pull away, your noses might brush.

For a fleeting moment, she caught herself wanting to.

Wednesday doesn't get nervous, but the twisting of her stomach was something very close to it. "This is me trying to tell you that… though it is true that I never wanted to have a soulmate, it was before I knew it was you." The words got Wednesday closing her eyes for a moment, she hated saying them; she's awful at this and part of her thinks she's doing a terrible job anyway, but words are what hurt you in the first place so they're the ones that also need to fix this.

"I couldn't hate you even if I wanted to, and it's not because the universe said so, it's because-" Wednesday tried to continue. She felt you squeezing her hand and at the same time that it helped it almost left her speechless. "You make me feel… a way I never did before. And though it's not always pleasant, I don't want it to stop. I want to make it up to you, if you'd let me."

Her eyes lazily glance at your lips, and she dares to intertwine your fingers; "and maybe we could start with this dance."

You could cry. You could kiss her. Part of you wanted to do both. But Wednesday's breathing fanning over your lips was worryingly unstable, her eyes couldn't find a place to focus on you, and her hand had a death grip on yours. This scared her. Being this vulnerable, it terrified her. It was a delicate line you were threading on, but you knew you'd never let go of her.

You settled for tentatively pushing those loose wisps of hair behind her ear, letting your fingertips touch her cheek while doing so; the gentle act spoke volumes for itself. "Okay."

———

Sunday's sun was setting to a peaceful night, everyone was still tired because of last night's partying. Nevermore has never been this quiet.

You had your eyes on the sky, appreciating how the usual blue took on shades of orange, pink, and purple; clouds highlighted by the strong colors. It was nice to have the gardens all for yourself; and as you walked towards the greenhouse, you couldn't help but think about last night.

Did she mean it? Did Wednesday really have feelings for you?

You'd be stupid to say she's lying, considering the toll her own words took on her yesterday.

Only the mere thought of it got your heartbeat skyrocketing and your hands sweating. You wished you could dive in head first into… whatever it was she wanted with you, but what if she's not there to catch you when you fall?

Another blow and your heart just might not make it.

The glass doors of the greenhouse opened with a creak and you breathed in the familiar scent of flowers and freshly watered dirt. It was so quiet you could hear the fluttering of the wings of the wandering butterflies if you focused enough. Some lingering rays of sun still managed to seep through the glass walls, molding shadows from the leaves around you.

Parties were cool, but nothing could compare to this.

Walking inside, you first spotted the familiar little orchid you've been taking care of; "hey, you're looking lovely today, miss," you smiled, allowing your fingers to run over its petals and give it just a tad more color.

It was routine for you to give a once over each plant whenever you were in here alone. As you did so, you slowly made your way to the teacher's desk to find what you came to get.

Passing by a cactus, you had to double-check; the poor thing had been neglected of water. "Oh this won't do at all," you grumbled, placing your hands around it, careful to not touch the spikes. The yellowish tone went away, being replaced by a vivid green that got you smiling; "that's much better, you deserve love too."

Finally reaching the desk, you opened the drawer that contained flower seeds yet to be planted. You sorted through the name tags until you found the one you came for. "Gotcha," you whispered, biting your lip as you stashed the seeds in your pocket.

"Y/N!"

The sudden call of your name almost got your soul leaving your body with the way you jumped. You placed a hand over your racing heart, looking up at the culprit.

"Holy shit, Eugene, you almost gave me a heart attack," you exclaimed.

The boy chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, "sorry, wasn't my intention, I'm just glad I found you."

You pushed close the drawer and walked around the wooden desk, stuffing your hands in your hoodie's pockets. Cold, and no gloves again. Very smart.

"What's up?"

"So, I actually came here looking for those lavender flowers you got me last time," Eugene adjusted his glasses, a sly grin coming to his face, "but since you're here, maybe you could grow some for me?"

You smirked, turning around to grab the seeds for him, "so the bees liked them?"

"They loved it, you have no idea how much," he told you excitedly, gesturing around, "even the new ones I rescued are looking chipper already."

Picking up an empty pot and filling it with fresh soil, you placed the seeds on top, easily making them grow and bloom into beautiful purple flowers. "I'm glad they did," you then handed it to him and made to walk outside.

"Thanks, you're awesome," he told you, truly meaning it, he stopped outside as you closed the greenhouse doors.

You shook your head and waved off his compliment, "it's nothing, really, I'm here whenever you need."

Eugene turned to go to his bee shed and you to the quad, but before you went too far, he called out again.

"Oh and, Wednesday was asking about you."

It got you stopping in your tracks, your cheeks instantly warming up, "she was?"

"Yeah," the boy nodded, his eyebrows furrowed as he remembered it, "I think she wanted to see you," he shrugged and waved you goodbye; "thanks again."

"Yeah, no problem," you mumbled, though he couldn't hear you anymore. The thought of Wednesday actively looking for you got your skin filled with goosebumps, maybe you'd find a way to go see her without being painfully obvious.

Reaching the quad, you kneeled down in front of the flowerbed you'd been renovating for the past few weeks. Various flowers were already in place, their colors mingling with each other nicely, one complementing the other; all around a big maple tree you managed to grow in the middle. It took a lot of energy from you and you could still remember the metallic taste of blood on your lips, but it was worth it; the tree was divine.

Burying your fingers on the rich soil, you found the perfect place for the last flowers to go in. And with a press of your fingers, they bloomed. Dark petals standing out amidst the sea of colors.

You could see them becoming your favorite.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 8 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

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[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

Alright everyone, buckle up. My Susan post talks about what happens to her after the story unfolds.

But what about the rest of the Pevensies?

Today, Lucy. ________________________________________

Lucy misses Narnia with every breath she takes.

England holds no magic, nothing as exasperating as the call of the fauns, the thrill of battle, the lightness that comes when she drinks too much meade.

Lucy comes back to an England in the middle of a war, is told to put up and shut up. Gone are the country days; Lucy is prepared for a normal life. And she manages. Mostly.

Because despite the quick wit and the inner light, that has only grown stronger, England can make little sense of the girl. A girl much wilder than the rest of them, much more polite.

Lucy takes to boarding school like a fish takes to dry land. No teacher ever sees the girl watching the board, and yet she never misses a word. Other girls do not understand her, this girl that only speaks in riddles and never wears shoes when it isn't mandatory.

Lucy, full of Aslan's words and eager to make something of herself, tries, really tries, to be friends with her schoolmates.

But her maturity goes far beyond being ahead on the school material. Her sense of morals and silver tongue do not allow for the backstabbing, gossiping girls that every boarding school has to cast her out, but she doesn't really belong, neither.

Everyone knows Lucy always listens. Few stay in her company long enough to figure out she also understands. No 13 year old girl should know that much about the war economy. Or about anything, really.

She's wild. Her books are full of drawings, her speech contains figures of speech no one has ever heard.

At school they take self-defense lessons one day -the war could come to England, after all- and Lucy cleaves a wooden block clean in two.

Her partner doesn't even see her move her leg.

Lucy always lifts her finger when drinking tea, has never broken a promise. She sits straight up in her chair, doesn't make a single error when she speaks. She doesn't get into fights with other girls, no matter how hard they try. It is impossible to outmanouver her verbally.

Everyone wonders if her brothers taught her to curse along with the debate training she has obvioulsy had.

Well-behaved isn't the word; Lucy is peculiar.

The only one who gets it, aside from Susan, is her dancing instructor. The man had taught royalty, ages ago. He moves four times the pace with her as he does with the rest of the class. There is an elegance to her, once you get used to the wandering eyes and the bare feet.

Lucy moves like a hurricane on legs. He teaches her tango, ballroom. Soon he has nothing to offer but better instructors. Lucy never misses a step. When dancing, her eyes are blazing. She is a district champion before the age of 14; on course to be a world champion before 18.

The old man does tell stories, however. Of when he was a young man, when he taught the queen. Lucy only feels alive then.

She moves through the years normally. In time, girls come to respect her maturity, learn not to ask who taught her how to ride horses and dance and throw knives. Lucy is always positive, rarely without a smile. She's not diplomatic like her sister. People come to her nonetheless. It feels impossible to remain somber in her presence. Yet she stays ahead of her peers. She isn't mature earlier, but rather just more.

Like she's lived another life.

The boys take notice, too. She has an inner light that shines very brightly, seems to believe in and embody magic. They try to woo her during gala's and dancing competitions, making bets among themselves who can get her to dance. Rarely do they succeed; Lucy sees through them almost instantly. Only when true and without ulterior motive does she accept invitations for dinner, drinks or dancing. And not without reason; a kiss from her is a nightcap unlike anything else.

Lucy's and the Pevensies' personal history becomes somewhat of an urban legend. Everyone has a theory, no one ever knows. One of the girls gets the bright idea to steal Lucy's diary from her room when she is away, but the stories are in a language none of them can read.

The next day, the girl doesn't show up. She's suddely gotten acne so bad she needs to take medication for it. Lucy's diary remains untouched for the rest of her years in the boarding school.

She has strange friends. Old professors, middleaged women, younger acquitances. They are all wild and like her. Among themselves they speak a language no one understands. Everyone thinks it must be an As(l)ian one.

The bond with her sister deteriorates over the years; at the end of her time there they are not close like they were at the beginning. Every girl in her dorm has a crush on one of the Pevensie brothers, however. They visit often, seem taller than they should.

Lucy smiles and dances and flirts and lives. But she is the one that misses magic the most. She sees the looks, feels the distance. She is the sun, but while everyone feels her warmth, none come too close.

When the spectre appears to warn them of problems in Narnia she finally feels like herself again. A queen of old, called on for aid. She jumps at the chance. She finds the rings, gets on the train.

When it crashes, she is thinking of Narnia.

[bylerbigbang]

The Briar King

Fic by @birdfrenchforbird | Art by @solisevart

Rated Teen | 14k words

Once upon a time, there was a little prince born under the light of a waning crescent moon. He was second-born to the Briar throne, and thus the future king...

After a vengeful faerie curses the heir to the kingdom of Bellwood, his mother hides both her children in a neighboring kingdom. Will, the cursed heir, works in service to Prince Michael, unaware of his own noble past. However, he cannot escape his curse forever. An ancient evil still lurks in Bellwood, and it is calling his name.

(or, will is sleeping beauty and mike is prince charming. true love's kiss will save the day.)

Warnings: Violence, manipulation, nightmares, blood, sword-fighting, ambiguous dark imagery

Read on Ao3 | View Art

Read an excerpt below:

“I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Ding.

The second tallest tower of the castle began to toll with the chimes of midnight. The girl leapt to her feet. The fabric moved slower around her body than it had been a few moments ago.

Ding.

“Did I do something wrong?” Michael asked, standing with her, reaching a hand out to her arm.

Ding.

“I have to go,” the girl replied, not an answer at all.

“Wait—”

Ding.

“It was lovely to meet you.”

“Hold on—”

Ding.

The girl kissed him on the cheek. She pulled away, and under the light of the moon Michael saw tears in her eyes. He couldn’t find the right words to say.

Ding.

The girl turned on her heel and started running. Down the steps in the garden, toward the drive of the castle, faster than Michael could make his thoughts catch up.

The bell tolled six more times. By the time Michael reached the castle drive, the night was silent, and he saw nothing moving among the crowd of carriages besides impatient horses. One of the horses was bent over and making a feast out of a pumpkin that must have fallen out of a farmer’s wagon repurposed for his daughters.

Michael dragged a hand over his face and moved to go back inside. A sparkle of light caught his eye as he turned: one of the girl’s slippers sat, fallen on its side, abandoned at the bottom of the stairs.

In one of the halls surrounding the ballroom, Michael came across Will. He grabbed the squire with a frantic hand.

“I need you to do something for me,” the prince said.

“Of course, your highness,” Will replied. His breath was stolen away. “Anything.”

“There was a girl at the ball tonight. She ran away at the first stroke of midnight. Your family—your mother is the best tracker in the land. You have to find her for me. She left this behind.”

Will did not acknowledge how his stomach sank at the mention of the girl. He knew, just as much as everyone else in the ballroom, who Michael had been spending his time with. He took the glass slipper from the prince’s hands and stared at it with a confused reverence.

“You have to find her,” Michael repeated. “I will title your family, anything you ask. Find her and keep her at your family’s home. I will visit her there.”

Then, the prince disappeared back into the dancing masses.

[immortalbutterflycos]

More Ballroom Dancing AU brain rot:

James's first dance partner was Lily and he was in love with her. She actually thought she was in love with him too so they dated for a while until she realized that she just loved dancing with him.

They broke up, it was amicable even though it secretly broke James, and they continued dancing with each other competitively for a couple more years until Lily decided that she would rather do it recreationally. (this is where she met Pandora who would eventually become her dance partner.)

Since James lost his dance partner, he kind of felt lost for a while, dancing with a few different people over the years;

His stint with Marlene lasted 6 months (I'm pretty sure that's how long a competitive season lasts?) and ended because she simply hated the sparkly gowns she had to wear

Dorcas lasted a year and 1/2, and their partnership ended because she danced with Marlene once at a random pair-up at a party after she and James won their second competition, and they were just way too compatible to leave it at that. She and Marlene end up becoming a permanent pair after Marlene realizes that she gets to wear the suit this time~

Then James ended up dancing with Benjy and that was fun! Until they admitted that they had wanted to dance with Peter the whole time... They lasted 2 months.

James is like this accidental matchmaker. Everyone he dances with ends up with someone else who they usually meet through James in one way or another. Like, it's bad. It's actually gotten to the point that rumors are going around the dance community that James might have a similar reputation to Barty, in that he's just too hard to dance with since he can't seem to keep a dance partner for more than a few months at a time lately. He genuinely thinks he's cursed now.

[ithaquasbbg]

Almost done yay.. then I’ll find myself some more prompts sk I can stay active (I’m proud of myself)

Won’t you stay, my darling? - Ithaqua x reader

Pairing : Morningstar! Ithaqua x reader

Experimented with the idea of a very down bad, and very touch starved Helel here. Also with the idea that under his persona he shows the world, he’s still the same scared young man he was before his exile.

VERY loosely inspired by the song “curses” by the crane wives

….

The king was utterly obsessed with you, to say the very least. From the way your eyes had a lovely shine to them, to your smile that made his heart flutter every time he saw you; a sensation he believed he’d no longer be able to feel. Every single part of you made him weak at the knees, you were his dream. Though, he could never bring himself to say anything. You were like a fire in his mind, per say, and try as he might, he couldn’t put that fire out.

None of the towns men or women could enthrall him the way you did, make his heart skip a beat like you. Every day he spent without you, it was like the fire of longing in Helel’s mind and heart would grow more and more. It was embarrassing to him, the way he, the king of a utopia had fallen so head over heels for a mere commoner such as yourself. The way he was more than willing to forget his position and do everything to please you was humiliating!

But it’s not until he hosts a ball for all the townspeople to attend he speaks to you for the first time. “My, you look quite lovely tonight, my dear.” He muses, corners of his lips peeking up in that confident smile he’d show to the public, eyes hidden from the world by the mask he’s adorned. You look nervous, getting ready to boy to him before you feel a hand gently grabbing your chin, tilting it upwards towards his face. “No need to bow to me, really, just tell me your name.”

All this time of watching from a distance, and Helel didn’t even know your name! Though you didn’t know of his admiration, and seemingly thought he was looking for another person. “I’m (Name), your majesty.” His smile brightens upon hearing your name, mumbling it to himself in a tone that sounds almost adoring. “That’s a lovely name, really.” His remark causes your cheeks to heat up, a smile creeping onto your own face.

By the end of the night, you find yourself in the ballroom with the king after everyone else had left, even his guards. You had only seen him in his speeches, an imposing ruler in those circumstances. Though, when he was here in front of you now, he seemed awkward to an extent, smitten, that couldn’t be towards you.. could it? Helel’s smile never leaves his face, he can think so much clearer when you’re with him, like the flames had calmed down in his mind, though the longing for you still remained.

And that’s why he finds himself reaching for your hand as you turn to leave that night, holding onto it like a lifeline as you look back at him, a curious expression on your face. “Won’t you stay with me, my darling?” He asks, his normal smirk replaced with an anxious, almost pleading look. Though he’s overjoyed when you nod, a soft smile adorning your lovely face that he loves so much. “Is there any specific reason?” You inquire, to which Helel quickly answers, embarrassment visible on his face afterwards; “I don’t want to be alone tonight, please.”

You think it’s a little strange that the king, one who had seemed so fearsome before this, is begging somebody as low as yourself to stay with him. But something about him makes your heart beat faster, gives you the feeling of butterflies every time you see his genuine smile, not just the smirk he shows the world. A maid walks up to you two as he walks you through his palace, a smile on her face as she asks if she could get the two of you anything.

“Just a nice change of clothing for (Name), if you will” he replies, voice hardening a little more in front of her, though there’s still that hint of gentility he doesn’t have to the public when addressing her. She nods and comes back shortly later with some of the finest clothing you’ve ever seen, handing it to you with a smile. “Tell me if you need anything else tonight, my dear.” She tells you, before walking away, likely to tend to her other duties.

Helel shows you to a room and allows you to change. You meet him a moment later when you step out of the attached bathroom, seeing him sitting on the bed slowly undoing the braids in his hair. “Here, let me help with that.” You whisper, not knowing what makes you sit behind the king, hands running through his hair as you undo the braids, listening to the way he hums as you do so.

Though when it’s time for him to sleep, he hesitates, hands over his mask as if he’s afraid to take it off. “You’re alright, my lord, I will not tell anybody what I will see beneath.” You promise him, watching as he slightly calms down, taking off his mask, albeit cautiously. Though you’re shocked to see the soft features of the former prince in front of you, the man who had been presumed dead years ago. “ ..Prince Helel?-” you ask, feeling a finger press against your lips before he takes your hands, moving them so they cup his cheeks.

“(Name), please, just address me as Helel..” he whispers, shaking at the sensation of hands on his face. It’s been years since he’s been touched in this way, handled carefully by anyone. His desire for affection being buried down under a harsh persona he spent years building up, only for it to come crashing down at the hands of you.

You feel yourself acting without thinking, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs as he crumbles even more into your touch. It’s only a matter of time before he’s laying in your arms under the covers, still shaking at the lovely sensation he seems to have missed so much. “…Stay with me tonight, (Name), that’s all I ask..” he mumbles, eyes dropping in exhaustion.

You nod and whisper a quick “good night” to him as you feel Helel slowly fall asleep in your arms. You were still confused, left unsure why the king had attached to you the way he had. While Helel, on the other hand is filled with happiness for the first time in a while, not only to be good enough to be graced with your presence, but to be held by somebody for the first time in forever, to be cherished the way he craved, even if he would have to worry about putting his act back up the next day.

To Helel, you staying with him, easing the burning in his mind for tonight was better than anything, falling asleep in the arms of his Angel.

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

to the other side | lewis hamilton, charles leclerc

🪞 synopsis: At an Italian villa, you and your boyfriend attend a high-end auction where a wealthy owner reveals a mysterious mask. When he puts it on, reality starts to warp, twisting the villa and its guests into something unrecognizable. tags: psychological thriller, suspense, liminal horror, cosmic horror. (inspired by hp lovecraft, alan wake 2, impossible landscapes and the substance) | (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 5.2k words)

ps: i’m not even apologizing for the insanity that is this story, cause if i can’t write something like this on tumblr, where else?

part 1

Subject: That Night at the Villa – Remember?

It started off like any high-end event: champagne flutes clinking, people in all kinds of designer clothes and expensive jewelry, showing off their wealth. You and Lewis had come straight from Maranello, didn’t you?

The villa – what was it called? They always have these ridiculous names, old Italian stonework, ivy climbing up the side, a view of a lake that looked like something out of a painting. It was one of those places that reeks of money and secrets and scandal. 

You kept your arm looped around his, the two of you doing your best to blend in. Then there was Charles, smiling like a schoolboy when he spotted you two across the ballroom, Alexandra draped on his arm. She looked stunning, of course, in a dress that seemed to catch every glint of light from the chandelier above.

You four made your way through waves of laughter and small talk with the other guests. Hollow compliments about the villa, polite lies about how you’d love to see their next art collection or spend a weekend in their ridiculous summer homes. All the while, the real prize waited in the center of the room: that thing they were auctioning off.

Remember?

The mask. It was hidden under a heavy cloth like it was something sacred – or cursed. You weren’t paying it much attention, though. Not then. Why would you? It was just another overhyped relic with a story too good to be true, probably something they dug out of a long-abandoned Italian church and decided was worth millions.

Lewis had just leaned over to whisper some joke in your ear when the lights dimmed. A spotlight clicked on, washing the stage in a harsh, artificial glow.

The host began the auction. Everyone’s attention focused in, holding their breath for the reveal. The fabric slipped off, and that’s when you got your first look. Just a glimpse, really. But it was enough. There it was, a mask. Black, polished. The host, the villa's owner, lifted it up. The room fell quiet.

He said a few words, the kind of speech you'd heard a hundred times before at events like this. And then, without warning, he slipped the mask over his face.

The lights flickered, and it felt like the room stretched – walls bending away, the chandelier overhead swaying without a breeze. You looked around, and half the faces in the crowd seemed... wrong. Like they'd blurred for just a second.

The host froze, his eyes wide behind the mask, but he didn’t move to take it off. A hush ran through the guests, confused laughter, someone dropping a glass. And then, with a cracking sound, the room snapped. It was like everything twisted at once, and suddenly the villa wasn’t the same. 

Charles was the first to move, he tried to walk toward the stage, but Alexandra caught his arm. “Don’t,” she said. Her eyes were locked on the owner, who was standing dead still with the mask covering his face. His chest was heaving like he was trying to breathe but couldn’t remember how.

Lewis turned to you, his voice low and urgent. “We need to go,” he said, but you didn’t move. Your eyes were fixed on the chandelier. It wasn’t swaying anymore. It was spinning, slowly, a single crystal breaking away to drift upwards, vanishing into the ceiling.

The host took a step forward. The mask shifted, catching the light in a way that made it look alive. His eyes flickered – two points of dull light behind the mask’s empty gaze.

And then he spoke, but it wasn’t his voice. It was a chorus, layered, distorted, and far too loud.

“Stay.”

The room twisted again and chaos broke loose. The guests screamed in unison, their voices melding into a single, distorted roar that ricocheted off the walls. Every time someone shouted, the room cracked. It started with a loud snap, like a bone breaking, and then the walls shifted – bending inward, stretching outward – before everything returned to its original form, but slightly off. A second later, the chandelier flickered and snapped in half.

“Go!” Lewis pulled at your arm, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the shifting walls.

You turned toward the nearest exit, only to find it had vanished. Where there was once a wide archway, now there was a blank, seamless wall. The guests were running, frantic and disoriented, shoving each other, trying to push through a door that wasn’t there anymore. 

Charles was already moving, pushing past people, Alexandra gripped his arm, trying to keep pace with him.

“Stay close,” Lewis said. He was tugging you behind him, weaving through the crowd, but the sea of bodies was relentless. Every step you took, someone else pushed forward, screaming, hands reaching for nothing.

The room cracked again. A low, spine-rattling noise that made the air vibrate. You heard the walls groan, stretching and twisting, reshaping. The floor buckled beneath you, causing everyone to stumble. People yelled, falling into each other.

“Keep going,” Lewis urged. His hand was tight on your wrist, pulling you toward what you hoped was the exit. You saw Charles ahead, fighting his way through a tide of panicking guests. 

Another crack. This time, the floor split wide open. It wasn’t just a crack, it was a tear in reality itself. It spread in all directions, as if the building was being torn apart. People scrambled to the edges, slipping on the uneven ground, but you couldn’t focus on them. You had to move.

You reached the end of the hall. There was a door – a real door, maybe – at the far end. But as you took a step toward it, it flickered. The wood rippled, its edges curling up like paper in a fire. It didn’t matter. You kept running, pushing past the last few people.

Another crack. The walls snapped and rearranged again, and the ceiling tilted – an impossible angle, as if gravity had stopped caring. You made it to the door and walked through it. 

part 2

You blink and when your eyes open again, you're knee-deep in warm water, your Versace dress ruined, heavy against your legs. The fabric clings to you as you step back, heart pounding in your chest.

Lewis, Charles, and Alexandra are there with you, standing in the water, their expressions mirrored with shock, terror, and confusion. 

The cracking, the yelling, the chaos – it’s all gone. You take a deep breath, the stillness around you unnatural. The water ripples gently around your ankles, but there’s no sound, nothing except the beating of your own heart.

You look around, trying to find something familiar.

The villa stands at the far edge of the lake, its silhouette barely visible in the low light, like a shadow cast by something far too large for the space it occupies. But there’s no one else around. No guests, no cars, no sound of life.

And the moon – God, the moon – hangs far too close in the sky, so close that it seems like you could reach up and touch it. Its glow is sickly, too bright, casting a harsh light on everything it touches. The world feels off-balance, like you’re caught in a dream that you can’t wake from.

“What the hell is going on?” Lewis says, his voice shaky.

You can’t answer. You just stare at the moon, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. 

The water laps at your legs, warm and strange, but it doesn’t help to calm the feeling creeping up your spine – that this is no longer real, and you’re not sure how to get back to what is.

“We need to go,” Charles says, his voice cracking.

But where? There's only the lake and the villa, stretching out endlessly in front of you. No way forward. No way back.

“It was the mask,” you say. It feels true, even if you don’t fully understand why.

Lewis looks at you like you’re insane, wide-eyed in a way you’ve never seen before. 

"Okay…? What does that mean?" It’s clear he’s terrified, not just by what’s happening, but by the fact that you’re buying into whatever madness is going on.

The words catch in your throat. You try to explain, but it’s like the reason isn’t coming from your head – just from somewhere deep inside, somewhere that feels like it’s not yours anymore.

“Back at the villa... when he put it on –" you start, but Lewis cuts you off.

“The mask?” He spits the word like it’s poison. “You think that’s what’s doing this? You’re seriously –” He shakes his head, unable to finish the sentence.

You feel the weight of his stare on you, a judgment you’ve never felt before. It makes the air feel colder, tighter.

"Yeah," you say, “I think it is. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Lewis takes a step back, like the distance might help him figure out what to do with you, what to do with this mess. His eyes dart between you and the dark lake, the villa standing silent in the distance. He doesn't want to believe you. Hell, you don’t even want to believe you.

“Right. Okay,” he says. He’s not angry, not yet, but the doubt in his voice is worse.

"I'm not going back there!" Charles shakes his head violently, "If that’s what you’re implying, then good luck! 'Cause I'm leaving!" He starts to turn, his eyes wide, his breath coming in short gasps.

"She’s right," Alex says, her voice uncertain, but firm. Her eyes flick to the villa in the distance, then back to you. She’s still not sure if any of this is real, but even if this is a dream, she wants out. 

“Alex, no,” Charles pleads, his voice breaking. He steps toward her, a desperate plea in his eyes. “We’re not going back there. We’re not chasing some stupid mask.”

But Alex doesn’t move. Her eyes are locked on yours now, and you can see her mind working, slowly coming to terms with the same horrifying truth. She’s not sure, but she’s willing to try.

And then, something changes in Lewis. It’s like a switch flips inside him. He’s no longer the scared man trying to deny it. He looks at Charles, then back to you, and finally says, “There’s nowhere else to go.” His voice is steady now, a quiet resolve taking over.

Charles stands still for a moment, his eyes flicking between the three of you, unsure. But in the end, he exhales, defeated. He looks to the villa, then at the water, and then, reluctantly, back at you.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But if we end up stuck here forever, I’m blaming you.”

You don’t argue. There’s no time to argue. The water laps at your ankles as you take the next step, each ripple distorting the moon’s reflection, stretching it into strange, unrecognizable shapes. You start walking back toward the villa, slow and tense.

“We need a plan,” Lewis says.

“We need to stick together,” you add. 

“How are we supposed to make a plan if we have no idea what’s going on?” Charles asks. He keeps looking at the villa like he expects it to disappear at any moment.

“Maybe we just need to take the mask off his face?” Alex says. She sounds desperate, clinging to any thread of logic. “Maybe it’s... witchcraft or something.”

Lewis scoffs, but there’s no humor in it. “And then what? We kill him?”

“What? No!” Alexandra shoots back, but then she looks at you. “I mean, I don’t know! What if that’s the only way?”

"Wait, hold on," Charles says, eyes narrowing. “What if we’re all hypnotized? What if this isn’t real?”

"Yeah, and what if it is?" you counter, voice steady even as your stomach twists.

You keep moving, the group tightening into a loose circle, every step forward bringing you closer to the villa's shadow. 

"Almost there," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just stick together.”

The water grows shallower, and then you’re stepping onto the cold, slick stones that lead up to the villa’s entrance.

The doorway yawns open, waiting, darkness spilling out like ink.

“Okay,” Lewis says again, his voice steadier now, like he’s trying to convince himself. “We go in, we get the mask, we end this.”

You nod. You don’t look back.

One by one, you step up to the entrance.

part 3

It’s like you’re passing through a thick veil of static, a buzz that tingles along your skin. The air inside is cold and sterile, with a faint, artificial scent of old wood polish mixed with something sharper, like ozone. The grand ballroom is gone. 

What greets you instead is a long corridor, stretching farther than it should. The walls are featureless, off-white, but they flicker under the dull fluorescent lights overhead, like a bad digital image struggling to load. The carpet is thin and industrial, a pattern of faded squares that vanish into the shadows. There’s no sound except the echo of your footsteps and the slight hum of the lights – too loud, too present, making the silence that much more suffocating.

“Where are we?” Charles mutters. His question hangs in the air, unanswered. No one dares to speak again.

The corridor splits, opening up into a space that feels too big to fit inside the villa – a lobby, empty and desolate, with walls that stretch upward and vanish into a fog that swallows the ceiling. It looks like a hotel abandoned in mid-construction: half-finished hallways, doors leading to nowhere, spaces that don’t belong. A row of identical elevators lines one wall, their buttons glowing a soft, sickly green. 

“No... no way,” Alexandra whispers, backing away. But there’s no retreat – the corridor behind you is gone, swallowed by the same fog that hangs above. There’s only the lobby now.

There’s a small, unassuming reception desk in the corner of the lobby with a brass bell on top, the kind you’d see at an old hotel, polished and gleaming. 

Without thinking, you step forward and press the bell. The sound is sharp, echoing through the empty space – too loud, too final. Lewis grabs your arm. "What are you doing?" he hisses. Charles is shaking his head, backing away as if expecting the walls to close in on him. Alexandra’s eyes dart around, panic setting in. “This is insane,” she whispers. 

But before anyone can say anything else, a man appears.

It’s as if he’s materialized out of nowhere, stepping out of the fog behind the reception desk. He’s wearing an old-fashioned hotel uniform, pressed black suit, gold buttons, and a pillbox hat with a thin gold stripe. His face is pale, his eyes hollow.

“Good evening,” he says, his voice calm and formal, with a slight, unplaceable accent. He stands perfectly still, not blinking, not moving.

“What is this place?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but your words feel small, insignificant.

The man doesn’t answer. He just stares at you with a polite smile on his face. It’s as if he didn’t hear the question at all. Or worse, as if he doesn’t understand why you’re asking.

“Who are you?” Lewis demands, but the man doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are fixed on you, unblinking. It’s like you’re the only person in the room.

“Do you require assistance?” the man asks finally, but there’s something off about the way he says it. His tone is warm and welcoming, but the words seem empty, hollow, like they were recited by someone who has no idea what they actually mean.

“Yes,” you say. “I need to go to my room.” You decide to play along, to see how he reacts. His face brightens instantly, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Oh, of course.” He reaches under the counter and hands you a key. It’s not a keycard or anything modern – just an old-fashioned brass key with a heavy tag attached. Room 44. “Mr. and Ms. Hamilton,” he adds.

“And for my friends?” you ask, feeling a little bolder now that he’s responding.

The man doesn’t hesitate. He produces another key and holds it out to Charles. Room 16, just like you’d guessed. Charles takes it, but his hand is trembling, his eyes wide with disbelief.

You decide to push your luck, “Do you know where I can find Mr...?” You falter. You can’t remember the name. The man in the mask, the owner of the villa – his name slips away as soon as you try to focus on it. A sharp pain stabs behind your eyes, and you shake your head, wincing. “The man with the mask,” you manage. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, Mr. Hartley?” the man replies smoothly, and something in your gut twists. You know that’s not the name. You’re sure of it, but you can’t remember what it was supposed to be. He continues without hesitation. “He’s at the ballroom, of course!”

“The ballroom?” Lewis jumps in, the panic rising in his voice. “And how do we get to the ballroom?”

The man goes silent, his polite smile frozen in place, like someone hit pause on a recording. His eyes flick to you, then to Lewis, and he says nothing.

“Come on, man!” Lewis snaps, his frustration boiling over. He takes a step toward the desk, but the man doesn’t flinch. He just stands there, his expression serene, unfazed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice almost regretful. “You can only go to the ballroom when it’s time for the dance, of course!”

You don’t like how he says of course – like you’re missing something obvious, like you’re the only one who doesn’t understand the rules.

“Fine,” you say.

The man’s face lights up again, his smile so wide it seems to stretch beyond what’s normal, the edges of his mouth curling just a bit too far. “Enjoy your stay,” he says. He turns and walks away, vanishing back into the fog before anyone can say another word. It’s like he was never there at all.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Charles mutters, staring at the keys like they’re about to bite him. You’re not sure how to answer. Your head is still pounding.

Lewis’s jaw is set, his eyes dark. “This is bullshit,” he says. “What are we doing? Are we really going to play along with this?”

You look at the key, at the number stamped on the tag – 44. You don’t have any better ideas. There’s no exit, no way out of the lobby, no way to find the ballroom until... until it’s time for the dance. 

“I think we have to,” you say, and you can’t keep the uncertainty out of your voice. 

Charles doesn’t look convinced. Alexandra bites her lip, her eyes darting to the row of elevators. She’s scared, but she nods.

“Whatever this is,” she says quietly, “we’re already in it. Might as well see it through.”

Lewis sighs, but doesn’t argue. He takes the key meant for you both and grips it like it’s a lifeline, even though you all know it’s anything but.

You head for the elevators, walking side by side. The floor feels unsteady, like it’s shifting with each step, but you keep moving, reaching out for the nearest button and pressing it without thinking.

There’s a brief pause and then, with a ding, the elevator doors slide open.

“Together,” you say, and everyone nods.

The doors close with a mechanical hiss, and the elevator lurches upward, taking you to whatever waits on the other side.

part 4

The door slides open and you step out into a corridor that feels too modern, too perfect, like you’ve stepped into the lobby of a luxury hotel in Dubai. Everything shines – polished marble floors, deep gold trims along the walls, and soft ambient lighting casting a warm glow. It’s unnervingly normal.

The door you need to find is just down this hall. Charles is ahead of you, eyes darting from room to room, his breath coming faster. Then you catch a glimpse of something in his hand.

“My phone,” he says, holding up the screen. “I don’t have reception.”

Lewis rolls his eyes. “Yeah? No shit!”

You all go silent for a moment. Without thinking, you pull out your own phone. Lewis does the same, then Alexandra. Nothing – no bars, no data. But everything else is there. The date is right. The time matches what it should be. 

“Come on,” you say, snapping everyone out of it. You nod towards the end of the hallway.

When you reach the door, Charles hesitates, eyes flicking to the brass numbers on Room 16, then to the identical plaque on the next door over – 17. 

“You want to knock on 17?” Lewis asks, his voice attempting nonchalance.

Charles nods. He reaches out, the moment stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, until he raps his fist against the door, three sharp knocks. The sound echoes in the silence.

It opens almost immediately, revealing a room decorated in minimalist luxury. A woman stands in the center of the room, her face unnaturally still. Her skin is too smooth, almost waxy, a vacant look in her eyes, like she’s staring at something far away – something no one else can see. She steps toward you slowly.

“I’ve been chosen,” she says, her voice a soft, eerie monotone. “I’m finally beautiful.”

Before any of you can respond, she turns, lifting a mirror in front of her face. Her reflection, now distorted, grins back at her, showing her face stretched and pulled into a grotesque smile. She mutters to herself, “I’m perfect. It’s happening now. You’ll see soon enough.”

You exchange looks with the others and then, suddenly, the door slams shut, leaving you all standing in the hall.

“Let’s just... keep moving,” Charles mutters, his voice shaky, but he doesn’t wait for anyone. He moves to the next door quickly, too quickly, as if trying to outrun whatever just happened.

He knocks twice on the next room door. It opens slowly, revealing a room filled with dim, flickering lights. Inside, a man is standing in front of a mirror, staring at his reflection. His hands move methodically, brushing his hair over and over, the motion too practiced, too mechanical.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks his reflection, his voice hollow, but the reflection – his reflection – is grinning in response. 

The man’s hands tremble as he grabs a brush from the vanity and begins to brush his hair violently, faster and faster, each stroke more desperate. His eyes never leave the mirror, and the smile on his reflection widens.

“I’m so close now,” he murmurs, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. “I’m perfect. Can’t you see? I’m perfect now.”

As if on cue, his reflection steps out of the mirror, impossibly, without breaking the surface. Charles shuts the door quickly. A sound, like skin stretching, comes from inside.

“What the hell was that?” Alexandra breathes, her voice shaky.

“I don’t know,” you answer. You keep moving to the next room and knock before anyone can stop you, more out of habit than anything else.

The door opens to reveal a man – no, a thing – sitting on the bed. His clothes are torn, his body covered in jagged, fresh cuts. But it’s his face that makes your stomach turn. It’s been pulled back so far, his skin stretched, and his eyes are wide, wild with excitement.

He looks at you, his lips stretching into a smile that’s more animal than human.

“I’m finally beautiful,” he whispers, “Look at me. I can feel it. I’m perfect now. Finally.”

And then he begins to tear at his skin, ripping away the flesh, revealing a form beneath. His hands claw at his face, and with each pull, his body grows grotesque, his form shifting and changing. His arms extend too long, his neck elongates as if he’s trying to tear himself free from his own skin.

You stumble back, breathless, horrified.

"Do you see it now?" he asks, his voice now distorted, a chorus of voices overlapping. "We’re all changing. We’re all becoming the beautiful ones."

Without saying a word, you back out of the room and shut the door quickly.

part 5

You’ve been walking for hours, lost in a maze that defies any sense of order or design. The hallways stretch on and on, the walls shifting from luxury to dilapidation. At one turn, you’re moving through the hall of a five-star hotel, at the next, you’re in a narrow corridor that smells of mold and old carpets. The elevators are gone. You don’t find Room 44. Every door you open leads somewhere else – hallways leading into more hallways, stairs that only go down.

You’re exhausted. Your feet ache, and each breath feels heavy.

“Wait,” Alexandra gasps, leaning against a wall. You stop, slumping down to the floor, pulling off your shoes, the heels scuffed and ruined. The hallway you’re in now looks like a run-down motel – cheap patterned carpet, faded pastel walls, flickering fluorescent lights overhead. There’s an ice machine humming softly, its pale blue light casting long shadows. Next to it is a narrow door with a faded brass plaque that reads, in chipped lettering: Ballroom.

“There!” you point, voice hoarse with a mix of desperation and relief.

Lewis, Charles, and Alexandra stare at the door, faces twisted with confusion. It doesn’t make sense. 

“This can’t be it,” Lewis says, but his voice lacks conviction.

Charles shakes his head. “This isn’t right. This place... it’s messing with us.”

“Too late for that now,” you say, trying to muster some certainty. The logic is unraveling, and you can feel it slipping away, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing makes sense, so you have to stop expecting it to.

You step forward and rest your hand on the cold, tarnished doorknob. Your fingers tremble, and you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to believe. You twist the knob, push the door open, and step inside.

You enter what appears like a mockery of the original ballroom. It’s all wrong – like someone had tried to recreate it from memory and failed. The chandeliers are made of painted cardboard, and the marble pillars are cheap plastic, their surfaces crudely textured to mimic stone. The floor is a painted canvas, creased and worn, stretched over what feels like plywood. 

The guests are all mannequins, dressed in the same finery you remember, frozen mid-conversation, faces expressionless and blank. Some hold champagne flutes filled with what looks like painted liquid. They don’t move, just stand there, locked in a grotesque parody of life.

At the far end of the room, standing on the stage where you’d last seen him, is Mr. Hartley. He’s still wearing the mask, his posture unnaturally rigid, like a marionette waiting for its strings to be pulled.

Something catches your eye and you grab it. You pick up a bidding plaque, feeling the cheap plastic smooth under your fingers. You stare at it for a second, a flood of memories hitting you all at once: the lights dimming, the unveiling of the mask, the first crack in reality. It all started at the auction.

“Look,” you say, holding up the plaque. 

“What if we... bid?” you suggest, the idea coming out in a rush, barely formed but somehow feeling right.

“Bid?” Lewis repeats, looking at you like you’ve gone mad. “What are you talking about? There's no auction.”

“No,” you insist, stepping closer, forcing the words out. “There was an auction. Remember? That’s how all this started.”

Charles swallows hard, glancing up at Mr. Hartley, who remains perfectly still on the stage. “What does that even mean?”

You lift the plaque high, your arm trembling, but you hold it steady. Mr. Hartley’s eyes fixes on you, like he’s only just now noticing you. His head tilts to the side, his shoulders lifting, jerking unnaturally, like a puppet pulled by strings. 

“Very well,” says a disembodied voice, echoing off every surface, as if the walls themselves are speaking. “You found the room.” The words bleed together, overlapping – a thousand voices speaking in unison, each word rippling through the air. “Now tell me your price.”

You swallow hard, the thing behind Mr. Hartley isn’t playing games anymore. It wants to know what you’re willing to give, what you’re willing to sacrifice.

A dozen answers flash through your mind, but they all feel wrong. You steady yourself, and take a breath.

“My price?” you say, holding the plaque a little higher. "My beauty," you say, the words clear and deliberate. "I'll bid my beauty in exchange for the mask."

The room goes deathly silent. Mr. Hartley’s head jerks again, and you hear a ripple of confused, overlapping murmurs – sharp, dissonant. The mask trembles on his face.

Screams pierce the air, distorted and echoing, like they’re coming from a great distance. The whispers that filled the room moments ago are now chaotic, panicked. You can feel the entity’s confusion, a raw and alien fear.

“That’s what you’re obsessed with, isn’t it?” you say, your voice stronger now. The words hang in the still air, cutting through the noise.

Lewis steps up beside you, fists clenched. “That’s right, you freak! We don’t care about your shit – none of it! We just want to go home!”

Charles nods, his face fierce. “Leave us alone!”

Alexandra is defiant and clear. “Keep your bullshit and let us go!”

The whispers turn into a wailing chorus, high and frantic. The lights overhead flicker wildly, the mannequins around you twitching, twisting in slow-motion like they’re caught in a loop. The mask cracks, a hairline fracture spreading across the surface, and you can see something shifting behind it – something dark, writhing, struggling to maintain control.

“You’re not ready for the dance,” the entity says, the voice no longer disembodied but coming directly from Mr. Hartley. It’s deeper now, colder. “This was a minor mistake, a mere misstep. I’ll let you go... for now.”

The ballroom around you starts to disintegrate, the set pieces falling away like ash, dissolving into nothing. The walls stretch, shudder, and then collapse inwards as if the world itself is being unmade.

“But you will come back,” the entity promises, its voice echoing through the crumbling room, reverberating in your bones. “And when you do, you’ll beg for my help. You’ll beg for what I have to offer.”

The world blurs, everything tilting and spinning, and then – 

You blink, and the cool night air rushes over you. You’re outside the villa again, standing on the gravel path, just as you were hours ago. The moon hangs high in the sky, distant and indifferent. The villa looks abandoned, its windows empty and dark.

Charles is the first to move, checking his phone. “I have reception,” he says, his voice shaky with disbelief. “We’re... back. It’s real.”

You look around – Lewis and Alexandra seem equally stunned, but there’s a quiet understanding between you now. Whatever that thing was, it’s not gone. Not really. It’s watching, waiting. But you survived.

“Come on,” you say, breaking the silence. “Let’s get out of here.”

You walk away, leaving the villa behind, never looking back. 

[marlesbian]

How i perceive Sirius Black

Starting with the basics

- gay he loved men

- genderfluid

- graysexual

- androginy THEY ARE ANDROGINY

- any pronouns (preference for using different pronouns in the same sentence)

- Has BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) and ADHD

- french/east easian/plain white idk i like these 3 hcs

- 1,78m tall (told everyone was 1,80m)

- Sirius was trained in ballroom dancing, piano, violin and had etiquette lessons as a child. Speaks French, English, German and Russian. She can play almost any instrument tbh.

- Loved to paint, write poetry and draw. (drew mostly on black and grey). Sirius also kept a journal he learned to charm so only his eyes could read it.

- Favorite band was Queen, also loved Bowie, KISS, Led Zeppelin, T. Rex and all of glam rock (later found a passion for punk) and secretly loved Tchaikovsky. Found muggle music through Andromeda. She was like her older sister and his biggest protector, he was destroyed when she was disowned. She kept buying sirius vinyls and sending it to her while she was at school.

- Sirius was a natural born rebel, they defied everything just by existing. "My existence is a scandal" was his motto.

- Sirius loved to read, but at home was only allowed to read russian and french classics like Dostoevsky, Victor Hugo, Tolstoy, Dumas etc.

- Once their uncle Alphard gave him Oscar Wilde books and that became her whole life. She loved 'The ghost of Canterville' and 'The Picture of Dorian Grey'. Sirius never really talked to other ppl about liking books though.

- At home, her life was shit, of course. Her parents were abusive and it started really young, they were manipulative and narcissistic, neglected Sirius's emotions and feelings, and prohibited him from showing their true self. But the abuse was discreet, quiet, it wasn't obvious to him. She knew it wasn't alright but also couldn't recognize it was abuse, to her, their parents just wanted what was best for him, wanted him to be their best self. Her mom still told him she loved them, they still gave star things, they treated them well and like shit at the same time.

- As Sirius was growing up the abuse kept getting worse, they started using curses and hexes and beating him, hurting her in many ways, but she thought he deserved it because that would help them become a better person, she still understood the abuse as care. As he turned 13 he was thought dark arts at home stars parents used his wants and needs as a way to control her, she always had to do something for her family to get basic human treatment. As she got older they started getting more violent, using unforgivables and curses that hurt her physically.

- Walburga was literally one of the worst people to walk on this earth, she was bitter, heartless, prejudiced, violent, ruthless, she was an awful human being and Sirius HATED her. Walburga was obsessed with keeping up appearances, making the family name justice, being better and superior to everyobody else, she had these delusions of grandeur, of maintaining a superiority status. He was scared she could become like her mother one day, that she was as insane as the woman who gave him life but also literally tortured and tried to kill her own children just for the sake of "the family name".

- Her relationship with Regulus was very complicated. When Reg was born Sirius loved him so much, he couldn't even explain. Reg was everything Sirius could never be. He was everything her parents wanted her to be, he was quiet, polite, patient, never spoke out of turn, he did everything his parents wanted him no without question. Sirius could feel in all the ways their parents acted that they loved Reg more, that Reg was what they actually wanted.

- Sirius hated herself for it because she hated his brother for something he could not control but they also loved him more than anything. So their relationship was unstable, some nights they went to each other for comfort, others they wouldnt even share looks. Around 9/8yo Reg told Sirius that he just always knew he had to play a part, to pretend in order to survive in that family, that he had to be literally a perfect child. For most of her life, Sirius did love his brother more than anything. After Reg grew up and started to get more brainwashed by his parents, they drifted apart he resented Sirius, he despised him for being a blood traitor, for being queer, for being wrong. (Abused children deal with abuse in different ways so i would never say regulus was a bad person, he was victim) Sirius had to leave and it was the right thing to do.

- Only started to have longer hair by the end of 4th year

- He was a happy child, a little star, brighting people's days, always laughing and being just loud. Her mother hated it. Orion was just neglectful and complacent with Walburga.

- Sirius was very loud, just a loud person, who talked loud, walked making noise, talked with their whole body

- His presence was always noticed, because she could not shut up. They always knew something was wrong in the way her family worked, every night she cried looking at the stars wishing to be saved, because she knew life could be better, she always felt something was missing, like a void in his chest, like he wasn't complete. That void was filled with James. He felt how real normal people love for the first time with James. He was the brother she wanted Reg to be, James was supportive of his every action and trait, they could hug and show affection.

- James was so much more than just a best friend, he was truly Sirius' brother, their relationship wasn't platonic nor romantic, their loved surpassed these notions we have of love. Their love just was. Nothing could compare to Remus though, he was her soulmate, her other half, they were connected by the red string, they were born to be together. He probably fell in love with Remus the second they met.

- Sirius was sensitive and also strong, she cried himself to sleep sometimes bc he didn't wanna bother anyone. He used humor to hide the fact that she hated himself, he was always cracking jokes and making people laugh, because that made her feel loved.

- Sometimes she lost her sense of self, she dissociated and wondered who she even was, if that person was actually them, if he wasnt pretending just to cause a scene, those days she became distant, nobody recognized him. He was agressive and impulsive and somehow was always hurting the people she cared most.

- Some days she felt like a complete failiure and waste of space, other days she felt he was better than every other living human, some days she loved who she was, others he wanted to die and be born as someone else. He didn't know how he felt about himself, nothing in her was constant, except the change. She didn't know how she felt, it was empty and simultaniously overwhelming because she felt everything and nothing at the same time. She was insecure and over confident, rude and also sweet and polite.

-His boggart was being left by everyone he loved.

- There was a time in his life where she treated everyone like shit on purpose because she was convinced that everyone would leave him and some point so it would be "her choice". That didnt last and it was awful, he felt awful, she cried every day, she began to self harm and hate himself.

- She hated being impulsive and always hurting people. She hated that sometimes his mind kinda shut off and he lost control of what he was doing and saying, hated that she couldn't remember it after, he hated that on these times she always did the worst things imaginable.

- Sirius dressed fem and masc, depends on the day and what he was feeling, they wore lots of leather jackets, croptops, low waisted jeans, oversize jackets, coats and sweaters. loved something showing chest, very flamboyant and sparkly. Their color palette was black, red, grey, purple and dark brown.

- Sirius loved tattoos and piercings. She got her first tattoo on sixth year, along with Remus. She had many ear piercings, nipple piercing and a stud nose (with a ruby on it)

- The relationship with his sexuality was complicated, he always knew she didn't like women the way boys were supposed to. In Hogwarts, he did everything to show everyone that he, in fact, did like girls. Until fifth year, she just couldn't take it anymore. she did hook up with some random girls just for show (nothing sexual, he couldn't physically put themselves through that). But then he met Benjy and that's when it all changed, Benjy helped him discover who she was, what they liked, what felt good and comfortable and what didn’t, helped them with the whole gender thing (Sirius did not give a fuck, sometimes he felt like a boy, sometimes not and that was it, couldn't care less about how ppl referred to or perceived her). So basically the only people he ever had anything with were Remus and Benjy. 

-Sirius found it easy to hate and dislike things and people and she hated herself most of all for it. Because good people can't hate, good people only love, good people don't get angry and destructive. Therefore, in her mind, he was a terrible person.

- Sirius felt like a mistake sometimes, like a waste of space, like he was useless and could have done more to save his brother, to save her cousin, to be loved by their family. For a long time, that was all she wanted, that's what he would see in the mirror of Erised, him being her true self in front of her family, dressed however he pleased, and their family behind smiling, supporting and loving her. 

- His boggart was himself, with the dark mark on her arm. The slytherin green tie, pale skin, hair all short and well cut. His biggest fear was being evil, ending up being the horrible person the voice inside their head kept saying he was.

- His biggest dream for years was being loved by his family, but becoming what they wanted was her biggest fear. She had always been torn.

- James was the one that made them realize that her family was fucked up, that they were wrong, that Sirius was enough and that he did not need to change in order to be treated like a person, that her family wasn't worth it and that she had to let go. It wasn’t easy, it took James five long years, but on December 1975 Sirius came all bloody to the Potters, left her family behind, and began to heal. 

- Sirius was unstable, as established here, he hated herself for it. Sometimes she felt like she only did the wrong thing, like she was rotten and couldn’t be fixed, like she would die being a mistake like he could never be loved and never truly love.

- Sirius just has a very androgynous feminine aura, loved to explore gender expression, and never really cared what people said.

- Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are connected by the red string, they are head over heels in love with each other, they ARE love. Their relationship isn’t toxic, its beautiful and pure and genuine and sweet, it may have had its ups and downs but they never treated each other poorly. Even when they were mad or fighting, if one needed help or comfort, the other put everything aside to come to their aid. They were always touching and holding hands and exchanding looks, their love was so strong you could feel it in the air, everyone around them could see it, it was undeniable.

[lavenderkiyoko]

𝟏𝟔:𝟎𝟑

▸ Pairing: unspecified male oc x female oc, not a reader insert

▸ Genre: angst no comfort

▸ Warnings: major character death, mentions of blood

▸ A/n: A small work that I wrote because I couldn't write my actual chapters for my book. Couldn't make it gender neutral because it was written with two specific ocs in mind.

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

"I feel tired," her voice sounded weak. She could feel a fishy taste rise up her throat as her eyelids started feeling heavy. 'This was it then', she thought.

Slowly, it was getting harder to hold herself upright as she danced the final dance with him. She knew that they'd end up in this way; either one of them being on the edge. They were doomed from the very beginning and shouldn't have crossed paths. Even with so many warnings and opportunities given to both to separate from each other, they insisted on continuing, knowing the end would be ugly for both. It's just, it wasn't decided that which of them would take the hit.

It was becoming apparent now as it was too late. This really was it; the end.

Still, she had a few couple minutes maybe and knowing there was no other way, she closed her eyes for a brief moment, accepting the reality. So, opening her eyes, she looked around the brightly lit ballroom where many others were dancing along with the music. How happy they looked, dancing without much worry or without feeling the heaviness of an impending sense of doom hanging on top of their heads.

Her lips gently curled up into a smile as she finally turned her head back to look at him for the final couple of moments left with him. Tears could be clearly seen clouding his eyes even when he refused to look at her, feeling a sharp pain in the back of his throat from guilt. It should have been him instead of her. He mentally cursed her for not letting him take her away to somewhere safe where they wouldn't have had this ending. However, her stubborn nature disagreed and now they were here, dancing in the midst of a ballroom, about to lose each other.

"Wouldn't you let me see your face for this one last time," she asked in a meek voice that wavered due to her own emotions. Not hearing any reply from him, she put her head against his chest, trying to find comfort in his heartbeat and calm herself.

"Why would you want to see the face of someone who caused you this?"

The fishy taste grew stronger as she could feel the blood rise up her throat faster. If it hadn't been for him holding her tightly, she would have fallen down as she felt her slowly losing her strength to even stand. Determined to not leave without looking at each other, she backed up a bit and with a great amount of effort lifted her hand to cup his face and make him face her.

Feeling her weak and soft hand against his cheek, he couldn't resist her. The moment he looked at her, the first drop of tear fell from his eyes. She looked so frail. He wanted to pick her up and run to a doctor to save her but deep down both of them knew that it was too late for that now.

This time when she spoke up, her voice was barely audible as she finally coughed up mouthfuls of blood caused by the poison; the ultimate sign.

"Thank you for loving me. I hope we can meet in another life where this wouldn't be our ending." Even when saying this, her beautiful smile never left her face.

With this, she felt her consciousness slipping away from her as she leaned forward in his arms for the final time. He held her tightly as he let the tears fall from his eyes freely now. Falling on his knees with her in his arms, he shook her head gently with his one hand once before cradling her figure close to him and letting all his emotions out. He screamed aloud in the middle of the ballroom gaining attention from everyone around him.

Not caring about anyone, he wailed out loud as he rocked back and forth while continuing to cradle her body and cursing the stars. Everyone else could just watch in silence as they knew the couple's ending too but none could have interfered as the ones to give the orders were not only his parents but also the rulers of the country.

Star crossed lovers

(adj)

refers to any lovers whose affection for each other is doomed to end in tragedy.

© 𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐘𝐎𝐊𝐎, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃.

[batbobsession]

Positive-ish Things that Happened During the Curse

I feel that I’ve made a lot of posts about how terrible the curse was for the staff (I’m not mistaken in doing so, the curse was definitely bad for everyone) but that little voice in my head got me thinking: what if I made a happy post about it?  So without further ado, here are a few headcanons about the curse that will (hopefully) make you smile.

Chip teaches Froufrou some new tricks.  Garderobe and Cadenza had already taught him the basics, like “sit,” “stay,” “quiet,” and a few other general ones, but Chip decides that “roll over,” “play dead,” “hide and seek,” and a few other fun ones should be added.

In the first few days, Plumette and the other maids cleaned the entirety of the castle. Obsessively. And while this served as a healthy distraction, it was also a way to remind themselves that they weren’t forgotten. It was their own rebellion against the curse, and everyone thanked them for it. The only two places left avoided were the West Wing (for obvious reasons) and the East Wing, because Adam forbade anyone go near it after his mom died.

Cuisinier had control over most of the knives in the kitchen, and with some help from more mobile residents, he carved toys for Chip and Froufrou. 

Yes, telekinesis exists. Cogsworth confirmed that some objects are just objects, so I imagine Mrs. Potts can push her own cart, Lumiere can light every candle in the castle, Plumette and the other maids can control the sheets and pillows, Chip can use his saucer like a skateboard, Garderobe can make a dress with a thought, etc.

On the subject of dog toys, the Madame wasted no time sewing little trinkets filled with rice and beans from the kitchens. Though she couldn’t leave the East Wing, Mrs. Potts provided the necessary materials on her cart. It was through this love of crafting (and the precious dog, of course) that Garderobe and Cuisinier, the two stationary residents, became good friends.

They all became snow artists over time. Think about it: the whole castle is blanketed in an enchanted winter, which means an enormous amount of snow. As Lumiere put it, they were doing nearly nothing before Belle arrived. But I can imagine that the staff members--Chip, Chapeau, Lumiere, and Plumette especially--learned how to make the best snow-sculptures ever.

And for those who immediately call baloney on Lumiere being good at it because of his candles, he can and does put them out. And even so, you know you can form ice by melting away parts of it, right? Imagine him making abstract, curving shapes out of icicles, or beautiful, water-like patterns in ice blocks. 

Not to mention, any time Chip asks for a snowball fight, the team who has Chapeau with them always wins. And it’s unfair. But it’s fun.

There have been times when Chip has been buried in the snow. It’s all in good fun, but Chapeau insists on watching him every time. After all, porcelain/fine china can crack if exposed to enough cold.

There are some dogs out there that aren’t smart enough to recognize their own reflections, so I like to think Froufrou has no idea what’s going on. Like sure, his mamma and papà look different, but they smell the same, so what’s the big deal?

I think I’ve mentioned this in other posts, but during pre-curse times, Lumiere hosted little midnight parties with music and dancing. He keeps that up, obviously, and after the curse falls on the castle, those meetings descend into chaos (since the walls of the ballroom have playable instruments on them, and the maids can fly). Chapeau usually provides the music, and sometimes the maestro joins in (when he feels up to it--after all, he’s incomplete without his dear one). 

Cogsworth hates it, but has absolutely no say on the matter, because he’s outvoted by everyone else.

Lumiere could and did light candles from far away. Maybe it’s just the 1991 version knocking on my brain, but I love the idea of Lumiere just blowing out one of his flames and then having all of the candles in his vicinity flaring up instantly. You need a ballroom lit? Give him five seconds. Done.

Plumette and the other maids tested their wings. On a calm day, they just decided to see how high they could fly, and Plumette made it pretty high before the winds picked up. The quest to find her around the castle grounds was pretty funny...for everyone but Plumette. And Lumiere. Poor thing went cold with worry. 

Of course they found her, and of course she wasn’t hurt, but from a bird’s-eye perspective, seeing the staff scramble to “catch the maids” just makes me laugh so much.

Under Mrs. Potts’ strict instruction, Chapeau taught Garderobe and Cadenza Adam’s favorite lullaby, the one his mother sang to him when he was little. If the Beast slept inside the castle, whoever was closest, and whoever was awake, would play it for him. He’d rage and silence them if he was awake, so in that way, his mother visited him in his dreams. It was a sign of the servants relearning to care.

The first big reunion with the beast and the servants was a few weeks into the curse: 

For the first few weeks, the Beast was so filled with self-loathing he would avoid the staff on a daily basis, killing things in the forest and eating them, like a real animal. Once Mrs. Potts and Chapeau found out that this was what he got up to when he left, Cogsworth nearly had a stroke and put his foot down. The Beast was doing the exact opposite of what he was supposed to be doing; disappearing into some wild thing was absolutely unacceptable. 

They didn’t pull out every stop. To do so would mean pretending like nothing was wrong, and they weren’t about to start that. But they made him dinner--a childhood favorite--and locked the doors of the castle, forcing him to eat what they made. They hovered, out of striking distance, but present in case he needed them. 

He ate. He trudged up the stairs to the West Wing. Looked at the rose. And cried. His first good cry in years, one that eventually lulled him to sleep. 

He never missed dinner after that. 

tagging @lumiereswig and @lumiereandcogsworth​ because I feel they’ll enjoy this

[hannibal-has-weird-ass-dreams]

Dream date- night of April 14 2024

It all starts with my best friend and I climbing on top of the roof of a house. Lime, the friend, has a curse and I don’t know about it because if you talk about it outright you die. So I think we’re just doing this all for fun. We drop down off the roof and enter through the back into the huge ballroom party. Dad is there and Lime is begging for help as subtly as possible. Dad looks to me with a playful smile and says “You’re so weird.” He warns us to not get cursed in a discreet way. This was Limes last straw and decides to take the Cursed Item and leave it there for someone else to take the curse. since I had no idea what Dad or Lime were talking about I ended up getting myself cursed. (From what I understand you have to trade with the curse to get cursed, thats what everyone kept saying in the dream anyway.) I start talking to the item. I comfort it. Later that night I’m laying in bed when suddenly a long, blue tongue shoves a piece of gum in my mouth. Thats when it hits me, I traded kindness with the Cursed Item and now I am cursed myself. I try to spit the gum out but it doesn’t work. I tire myself out and eventually go back to sleep. I go to school and beg Dad to help me but due to the nature of not being able to talk about it I have no way to be direct. He of course doesn’t believe me. So I ran. Deep into a forest so I could be free, not just of the curse but from everything. I come to a clearing. It was beautiful. A pond in the center of tres with swirling mist inviting me in. I jump in trying to drown myself. Water surrounds me, warm and comfortable. Just as I take my last breath that tongue wrapped around me and pushed all the water out of my lungs. As I coughed water up on shore It waited. Waited just until the water was gone the burning in my chest subsided. Then it shoved the gum back into my mouth. Ultimately I was grateful I was still alive but I had to get rid of the curse. I try to take the Cursed Item far away but I get tired by the time I get to my job. I leave it in the storage closet. And tell everyone not to touch anything or talk to anything weird. Everyone understood this except my ex. Dumbass gave the thing some food. I was already out the door to the kitchen but everything started to shift around me into a hotel lobby, the same place that weird party was. I immediately know what has happened. I run back to the kitchen to yell at my ex but when I open the door its to a hotel room with only a little green couch. There are 3 people sitting on it. 1 is crying and another comforts them. My ex and a few other people walk in and I start screaming at her for being so stupid because now we have to face the trials. (Where was this when I got cursed 🤷‍♂️) I have a distinct thought that the curse isn’t going to let anyone besides the cursed live but its going to kill me last because it likes me.

[bloodhxney]

If he stepped any closer he'd surely smell the air about her. A calming lavender, mingled with something woodsy. It came with living out in the woods all these years and even in that time, working with plants, herbs and flowers to make those remedies, but it was distinct. Green flicker to him, a shy smile coming across her lips as he calls her intelligent in a way that would make any woman blush and yet despite the look of amusement, Alice is dying on the inside. He's in love with another woman. She knows that to be true. The witch saw the way he looked at his bride to be the night previous and it was how Tiberius used to look at her. It makes her feel sick just thinking about it. She waved a hand, picking up all those precious notes and stacking them neatly to place on his pile of things he'd come to pick up today. Parting with them would be extremely difficult. But maybe if the reincarnate spent more time pouring over them something would spark a memory in his mind. 'I'm just interested in it all. Nothing more. Fascination can masquerade as intelligence.' She nodded as he continued. 'People were more terrified of the unknown then than they are now. Things that don't have an easy explanation come off as evil, other worldly.'

Yes, Raven's Grove was all of those things. Because she made it so. 'I've seen my fair share of dismal. Not much gets under my skin anymore, and it wouldn't be out of my way considering it's already one of my reasons for going there.' Alice is the picture of a sweetheart right now, a glimmer of the person she was centuries ago but she is anything but anymore. Every single family that had even an ounce to do with pulling Tiberius from that manner and stringing him up was cursed. Seemingly able to live a peaceful life until they hit around forty to fifty years old. Then- the madness set in. Her torment of them, making them see and here things. See the version of her that the town painted her to be. What the world all thought a witch looked like in those days. Aged, ugly. Piercing eyes and rotten teeth. She haunted their every move until they was past paranoia. It gave Narcissus a job, making recurrent appearances until finally the person was sent away. The place was even named in part because of her familiar companion.

Hard to focus once more as he says her name, as it lingers in the space between them. Like he hasn't said that name before in his like and it's a foreign taste in his mouth. 'Oh that is, very kind of you Mr. Wynter, are you sure? Name dropping isn't something I like to do.' Tucking a few blond strands behind her ear. Innocent as ever. She'd not have to bring Landon up at all. Lovely little spell to charm someone would get her all the access she needed. Grabbing that stack of documents, she steps back towards him. 'Take the letters, she if there's anything you can decipher from them. I've- had my time with them.' As she hands the stack of things over to him, delicate fingers ever so gently brush along his own. It was barely a touch, but the blonde needed something to keep her moving. 'I'll be sure to send word to you if I find out anything else.'

Back at the manor, Emma's day had been perfect for the most part. She'd been pampered a bit. A small taste of what would come in the day or so before her wedding day. Everyone in the home has treated her with nothing but kindness. Has been sweet to her and she's learning what life will be like having people wait on her all the time. Having her room be made up for her, people dressing her. Like she's living a fairytale life. She is in many ways, but the good didn't last very long. Part of her little spa day, on top of getting a pedicure and a few other little things was a massage. Something that after last night was needed. The tension in her neck and shoulders was ramped up after seeing that bird. After having the attention of a full ballroom of people thrown on her because of a wine stained gown.

Emma had fallen into a sense of peace, all thanks to some relaxation music and an experts touch to melt away the knots that had built up in her muscles that she had fallen asleep when the massage therapist finished. Told he to take her time getting up and getting dressed once more. Leaving her alone in that room. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep but as time wore on her dream shifted from what it had been, to something different.

That raven was suddenly there, swooping down and pecking at her skin, making her bleed and no matter how she tried to flee, tried to swat him away it kept coming back for more until she was a bloodied mess. Startling awake, a strangled cry came from the back of her throat. Heavy breaths as the young woman tried to get her bearings. Just a dream. It was just a bad dream that's all it was. Her skin was intact, she wasn't bleeding, there was no raven-

A clicking sound off to her right has her head snapping in that direction, coming face to face with a raven with one eye. Perched where her head had just been lying on the table. The scream is loud, high pitched and Emma is frantic in her attempt to get away. Tripping and falling in her rush to get the door open and landing on her knees in the hallway. Still only covered in the towel she'd been wrapped up in.

Stories are just that. They’re tales passed down without much credence to their facts. She has a point. There seems to be an element of what if in her response. Of course he knew there’s no way to prove these things happened to Tiberius Wynter without more evidence. Still it left him in a state of confusion. Wherever this anger comes from deep inside of him it’s a bit terrifying. Then he’s always been closer to death than the living by his history hobbies alone. “No. Please, don’t apologize. You didn’t upset me. The prospect of this being true is just overwhelming but it’s what I want to know. What I have to know.” Collecting an extensive catalog of history goes a long way. Even if he has other business in the shipping facility this week, one that continues to this day; his reaction to Tiberius Wynter’s possible death for witchcraft makes more sense there.

Landon tilted his head towards her. Watching her move around the records he couldn’t help stepping over where she is. Following several labels on the cabinets in his immediate view, he reached out to a shelf. One of those old papers this a section of Cypress Chronicle. This particular paper only dates back to the 1800s. Whatever sort of thing they had prior is probably lost to time. Unless he can find specific death records from the year 1640 now that she mentioned that… “Think I’ve added this mystery woman to my list now too. Definitely want to find out more.” He smiled a little. The more they spoke about it the less intense. Constricted still with a potential truth to past events in this town, Lan’s visibly curious about her next steps.  A little too curious maybe. She’s – “You’re very intelligent. Do you know that?” Asking the question is similar to confessing to someone how they feel. It’s in his tone.

“Remarkable how much you’ve found. How much you can debate about what may or may not have happened. Part of me believes it’s true. Even without refutable evidence. Those times were horrible. Even if there was happiness. People had a tendency to look at something different and deem it evil.” His dark gaze flickers away from the library assistant to those old articles. A specific one dated 1888 has a little section about events going on across the pond at the time. Funny how a small town like Cypress Falls found murders in Whitechapel of note. International news he expects in New York papers from the era. Then the grim always found its way back here.

“Please. I’d love to hear more if you find anything. Raven’s Grove is a particularly dismal place. Curses of madness. One eyed raven.” Outskirts of town it sat like an imposing fortress. A book end to the Wynter Estate in many people’s minds, which made him scoff more often over the years. “The fact you’re willing to go there is impressive. Seem to dig into information the same way I have. Call it a hobby of mine. I can be too nosy for my own good. About my own family or not.” There’s a chuckle out of him. Lighter than when he poured over the documents he now has to take home. Stashed away in his own file cabinet, safely in his study, man’s collected a lot in his pursuit. “I would hate to ask you to go out of your way.” Having help would benefit his venture in the end. Honestly this is unexpected but absolutely an opportunity he can’t say no to.

“Actually, Alice…” Landon said her name again with a pause after. Each time it seems to weave around his tongue. Familiar in its way. “Think I might be able to help you. My mother is friends with one of the doctors up there. Michelle Woodward. She could have some info for you but probably more open about it if you say that I sent you.” Giving her an easy means of getting something out of the visit, Landon knew his family name got him places. What better way to use it than for a good cause? “She’d be more inclined then. Use my name as thanks for bringing this story to my attention. I’m grateful to you even wanting to help further. Thank you…” @violentwxnter // prev