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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 5 months ago

Text

Happy Birthday, little finch.

Gif credits

Pairing: Jackson!Joel X AFAB!reader

Words count: 6731

Rating: +18 NSFW, Minors please don’t interact

Summary: Everyone forgets your birthday but you receive an unexpected invitation (wink) that will change the fate of the day.

Warnings: POV second person, smut, little power dynamic, little brat taming, begging, unprotected P in V (please, always use protections in real life!), Reader's age is intentionally unspecified, you can imagine an age gap between her and Joel or not, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), nipples play, Joel comes on reader's tits, just a little of pulling hair, soft!Joel, grumpy!Joel, pet names (little finch, honey, baby, babe), mention of fasting as a sarcastic joke (I don’t condone joking about no one’s eating habits), reader has hair (It is not specified how long they are or what they look like), reader can be lifted by big and strong Joel, reader has a able body, breasts and vagina and she wears a dress, apart from that no other description is given, reader is part of the Jackson community, I don't know anything about Jackson, I only know a few details about second game’s plot (including that detail, yes) so everything I describe is purely from my imagination and may have no bearing on the original Jackson, brief appearances by Maria, Tommy, Ellie and Dina, drinking, swearing, Joel calls reader “little finch” (I came up with this nickname just because my grandpa used to call me with a bird name when I was little and I always found it sweet, so here we go ❤️), Joel can draw (I don't know if it's true but for me it is, okay, allow me). I hope I haven't forgotten anything but if I do I'll add it as soon as I notice.

English is not my first language so please be kind, I always try to do my best, no proofreading (sorry), very little editing, I apologize for any mistakes. I'm writing on my phone, I hope the formatting isn't too bad 🥲

Thank you so much to anyone who will read this, I really hope you’ll like it, kind comments and advices are really appreciated ❤️

I've been listening to Hozier's "Talk" heavily while writing this so here it is, I'll let you know. It's such a beautiful song and I love Hozier so much 🫠

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

You wake up struck by a ray of sunlight that enters faintly through the half-closed shutters and dies right on your face.

You have no idea what time it is and your head feels heavy and confused, you turn over in bed thinking that maybe you can give yourself another 5 minutes but then you hear voices outside already awake and ringing and then you think that maybe it's really late. You sit up and retrieve the clock from the bedside table, it's 7 in the morning.

You get up and go to the kitchen to make some coffee and from the window you see some people already busy doing their work. Some children head towards the building designated as school in Jackson, happily laughing while they chase each others.

You yawn and open the cabinet in the kitchen where you keep the coffee filters, a precious supply recovered during an exploration that you jealously preserve.

The coffee is also the result of a find and therefore it was carefully rationed with the other members of the community.

You are grateful that it exists because this morning you really need it, last night you slept badly, continuing to toss in your sleep and always dreaming of the same thing again and again. You being swallowed up by a hole in the ground and no hand reaching out to help you. Just a great dream.

The coffee maker burbles a few minutes later, releasing the drink you crave.

Temperatures are milder in this season so you no longer need to put on a heavy jacket and snow boots, there is a bit of fresh wind but nothing compared to the harsh winter that has just passed.

Today in particular you feel like dressing better than usual, you go back to your room and open the wardrobe, carefully inspecting the few clothes hanging there.

You obviously don't have much choice because they're all salvaged second-hand clothes, but Maria gave you a nice pair of denim shorts a month ago and they look very nice on you.

You take it out of the closet and place it on the bed along with a white tank top that highlights your boobs just right, it’s nothing particularly fancy but it makes you feel good, you head towards the shower humming softly.

The shower helps you wake up, you dress and you leave the house feeling a bit better.

You meet a couple of people who greet you as you make your way to the library.

You enter, smelling the familiar smell of books and immediately get to work cleaning and dusting the shelves and the floor, like every day.

The morning passes peacefully, only a couple of people come in to borrow books, so after doing your chores you took the opportunity to rearrange thriller’s books section.

You're a bit shocked by the fact that no one told you anything particular but you don't mind, these people have a lot to think about and a lot to do.

When you leave it's lunch time, so you head to the common room.

The crisp air caresses your face and the sun gives you a little warmth that you missed so much, you really love this season in Jackson.

You enter the room filled with chatter that echoes off the walls. You take your place in line and once you have had your portion you sit at one of the tables.

No one reaches you yet. You're alone in a room full of people.

You see him in a corner, sitting with Maria and Tommy and you get lost for a while observing the way he moves his large hands, how his hair rests at the base of his neck, his big brown eyes, so communicative, the way his flannel shirt - which has practically become a distinctive trait of Joel - hug his muscles, the way his lower lip slightly twitch while he’s talking.

You’re totally captivated.

You can't help it and you know it.

Every time he spoke to you, even for just a few minutes, your body reacted unequivocally at his deep low raspy voice, his proximity always caused you trouble.

You like this man, much more than you are willing to admit.

Joel Miller.

You're friends, you might say. As much as it is possible to be friends with a man like him.

He's friendly, but always with an undertone of detachment that you can't define, as if he's afraid of letting himself go with someone and let his feelings flow freely.

And just as you're thinking this, he turns and looks at you for a moment.

You are sitting, yet your knees feel weak and you feel your cheeks redden knowing you've been caught.

You turn your eyes back to your lunch, quickly finishing your meal and bringing your tray back. You leave the common room feeling in a bubble.

It's stupid that he makes you feel like a little girl with her first crush but it always happens, by now you're resigned to always making a fool of yourself with him.

You walk home to do your household chores and then go to the patch of garden you've been assigned to take care of.

You meet various people along the way but again everyone just say hello, you see Ellie with Dina and they both wave at you and nothing more. In the meantime, Maria has left the common room and the only thing she asks you is how the courgettes you planted a month ago are coming along.

It's strange, but you shrug your shoulders and think that deep down today is not such a relevant day for others even if you hoped it would be because you now consider these people as your new family.

You stop thinking about it and focus on the things you have to do but a tiny piece of your heart hurts a little, just a little.

What the hell is wrong with people today? Only a month ago they throw a big party for Tommy and now nothing, not even a hint.

Okay, Tommy is higher rank, he is married to Maria, everyone sees him as a guide just as they see his partner.

And he goes on patrols, certainly offering others a greater sense of security and protection, unlike you who deal with less dangerous things.

That's probably why, you're just a minion in Jackson's pecking order.

You let off some steam by plowing your field with more force than necessary, small drops of sweat slide down your forehead and you end up hot and with your arms aching from the effort.

Stupid girl, stop thinking about it, it's not that important to have a birthday, not in a post apocalyptic world where everyone is struggling to get ahead.

But still, they acknowledged every single special day of everyone’s here before, except yours and nothing particularly relevant is happening, it’s been a couple of quiet weeks.

You're wiping sweat from your forehead with one hand when you hear a voice behind you.

"What are you doing tonight?" It's his voice, you'd recognize his among a thousand.

You turn around stuttering “uh, what?”

And there he is, flannel shirt, curls slightly blowing in the wind, mouth curved in a smirk, dark piercing eyes.

Fuck.

“I asked…what are you doing tonight?”

You feel the nervousness rising in your chest, it's the first time he's spoken to you in a week and you weren't ready in the slightest.

“Uh…oh…nothing special, I guess, I think I'll read a book and go to sleep early”

you say trying to maintain a certain apparent nonchalance.

“You didn't mention dinner, are you going to fast?” Oh, great. Sarcastic jokes, classic Miller behavior.

“No, of course not,” you reply, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles “okay, so, would you like to come to my house? I cook”

Fuck. Is that, a date?

You instantly feel your mouth dry as you try to reply “Well, it’s not like I have something better to do so yes, why not”

You don't want to make it obvious to this man how he makes you feel. There are worse things to worry about in this world, but letting yourself go with someone who always shows restraint only to be rejected - on your birthday, no less - doesn't seem as pleasant.

And that's how you usually communicate anyway, bickering.

Maria often laughs about it, you are both stubborn and neither of you ever wants to agree with the other.

One day she told you that she thinks you'll end up together and you practically laughed in her face. Not because you don't want to, but because you thought Joel didn't even see you that way.

Maybe Maria was right all along, who knows.

“Good, see you at 7”

And he goes.

You watch him walk away for a while, still with spade in your hands.

Suddenly this day became interesting.

You run into the house and take off your dirty clothes throwing them in the basket you keep in the bathroom and go to the shower.

While you're soaping yourself up you wonder what came into his mind.

As you rub your hair, you think that maybe he's making fun of you but Joel doesn't seem like the type to make a prank, he's always quite sarcastic but not a proper prankster.

It's part of his charm, he always looks grumpy but you know he's not bad, the way he looks at Ellie or his brother says everything about him.

He would do anything for the people he loves.

And he’s not mean, he was kind to you too.

You've spent more time looking at him, analyzing every chat you had with him than you like to admit, so yeah, you're pretty sure he's okay.

Once you get out of the shower you open the wardrobe and find yourself contemplating the usual clothes with which you have to make the best of things.

There is a cute dress that you have never worn because you have never found a particular occasion. It's quite short and low-cut, definitely not suited to Jackson's lifestyle, here everyone wears jeans and sweaters or t-shirts.

You think that maybe tonight is the time to dare even if you don't want him to burst out laughing and ask you what you've got in your head.

It's just a dinner.

He never mentioned anything romantic.

You're obviously nervous, because you like him and if it doesn't go well you should continue to see him every day anyway.

In the end you decide to wear the dress anyway but to tone it down with a cardigan and a pair of boots, so as to make it look less like "please fuck me" style.

You shake your head, how much trouble are you going to for Joel Miller.

However, you have to admit that it's the first really exciting thing that's happened to you since you've been here. You thought that surviving was enough so you obviously never complained about it.

You fix your hair after drying it, you look at yourself in the mirror and you think that you're not that bad after all.

It's almost time, you leave the house and walk the few meters that separate you from Joel's house with your heart beating wildly in your chest.

You climb the few steps to his porch feeling insecure and stupid for accepting, who knows what you expect from this lonely man.

You shrug and knock on the door, snuggling into your cardigan in the cool evening air.

You consider going back and pretending you had a mishap, but Joel opens the door.

“Hey, come in” he smiles at you. You cross the threshold timidly as a delicious scent invades your nostrils.

Who knew Joel Miller could cook?

You follow him into the kitchen and Joel pours you a glass of wine.

“Where did you find this?” you ask in surprise. Wine is a luxury that you haven't been able to afford many times in Jackson, usually the only thing they bring back after searches and patrols are bottles of cheap whiskey.

“I found it two km from here in an abandoned shop. It was stuck under a shelf, probably for years”

“Oh, great”

“Well they say that aged wines are better. Like men, don't you agree?” He smiles, winking at you.

He winked.

Fuck.

You try to hide your surprise by taking a long sip from your glass.

While Joel is busy checking on the stew you take a look around the living room.

It's a nice house, simply furnished like all the houses in Jackson, tidy and clean.

There are some sheets with drawings on the coffee table in front of the couch. You know Joel made them because you've seen him several times on his porch busy drawing animals. A squirrel, a deer, a small bird. He's really good at it.

And obviously his guitar, resting on a stand in a corner near the couch.

In a totally cheesy way you would love to hear him play something for you.

“So, do you like wine?”

You turn and see that he is a few steps away from you, glass in hand.

“Uhm, yeah, it’s good”

He gives you a smile “stew is almost ready”

“Can I help you with something?”

“No, don’t worry, you’re the guest”

You see him linger with his gaze on your legs and up to your breasts and you think that the dress wasn't such a bad idea after all.

He is wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans and is breathtaking.

You scan each other for a few seconds, without speaking. You are like two predators sniffing each other to see who will give in first.

“That dress looks good on you” he finally says and for the first time you notice that he is slightly embarrassed. He looks down at his glass and stares at it harder than necessary.

You still don't know why he invited you tonight but honestly at this point you don't even care. He's more handsome than ever, his hair still slightly damp from the shower and pulled back, that little scar on his cheek that you'd be eager to find out the story of, that smile he's giving you and his hands nervously gripping the glass, everything about him draws you in like a magnet.

"Thank you. You're not bad either." You giggle and you know that it’s definitely what you needed tonight. To feel attractive. To feel seen.

He comes back to the kitchen and after a few seconds he calls you “Dinner’s ready”

You sit at the table in the kitchen and he places a plate in front of you that smells of home, of memories and takes you back to when you were little and your mom cooked for you.

It's like Proust's madeleine.

Evoking sweet feelings with food is one of your favorite things to remember who you were, who you loved, and what was before this debacle.

It's melancholy but also comfort in a certain way, it's like holding on to the truest and most authentic part of you, the one that made you who you are today and probably allowed you to survive.

You take a bite as Joel looks at you in anticipation.

“Wow, this is good!” you exclaim “extremely good. Who knew that you were a chef”

“Ha! I’m really not, it’s just a stew and I’ve done it so many time that I can’t get it wrong at this point”

“It's still the best I've had in years, I need to get invited to dinner more often”

You chuckle and then you blush, because you've made it clear that you hope it's the first of many times.

Damn you.

You hadn't had a love interest in years, obviously, there wasn't time to think about that while the world burned and you had to fight to stay alive. But here, in this little bubble, where people have welcomed you and you have recovered crumbs of normality, it doesn't seem too stupid to feel something for Joel.

Is he grumpy? Sometimes. But he is also incredibly generous, to be honest. When you asked him, a formal contractor, to help you create the library he snorted, he told you that it wasn't necessary, that no one would ever go there anyway.

You shrugged and said that you would have done it anyway with or without his help, Maria had already given you permission.

The next morning you got up early to go and clean up the designated building and found him there, he was repairing a damaged window that wouldn't go up or down.

He grumbled when you asked him ironically what he was doing “someone has to stop you from opening a crumbling library”

You smiled, feeling your heart warm.

And so it was every day until the place was ready. Joel showed up early in the morning or in the evening, spent a few hours fixing the steps, eradicating moths, building shelves and cabinets, even a desk for you.

You've never talked in depth about your lives but you still know something you've heard through the grapevine. He's very secretive about his past so you never asked him any uncomfortable questions, the last thing you would want is for him to never share anything with you again.

The time he helped you with the library was the most enjoyable time you've had here so far and that's when you realized that your crush was more serious than expected.

“Do you want another glass of wine?”

“Why not, i don’t have to drive home”

He laughs “Yeah, no fines for you”

“At most a headache, but I'll think about that in the morning”

“Were you surprised when I invited you?”

he leaves you speechless for a moment and then you find, you don't know how, the strength to use irony, like you always do "I've known for a long time that you want me" you giggle and brush your hair away from your face while you say it.

"Oh yes? How strange, I actually thought it was the opposite” the smirk and the deep chuckle he gives to you goes straight to the most private part of you. Right there. It sits on your clit and you feel it tingling.

Fuck, this man.

You never experienced a flirty Joel Miller before and you were actually quite sure he wasn’t even capable of being so but he is.

“Oh shut up, finish eating” you scoff, feeling your cheeks turn on fire.

He lets go for a while and watches you amusedly fill your mouth with his stew.

“It's a pleasure to see you eat, little finch”

He started calling you that when you couldn't move the furniture in the library on your own. "I don't know how you thought you could manage on your own, little finch."

At first you hated it, now you pretend to hate it but you actually like it.

“Stop calling me that!” you still have to keep up a facade after all.

“Oh come on, finch is the cutest bird, don’t be offended”

“I’m no bird” you pout.

“Yep you are, finch. Delicate. Elegant. Pretty. You walk like you’re floating in the light air and your voice is a lovely chirping sound. It gets on my nerves sometimes, but I actually like it. A lot.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You can't believe he said that.

You feel your heart melt like snow under the sun, your lips involuntarily curl into a smile, your hands tremble with the desire to touching him and between your legs a lustful heat invades you all over.

His face is relaxed, his eyes sparkle mischievously and his smile…his smile pins you to the chair.

You raise your glass in an attempt to drink some courage while he doesn't stop looking at you silently.

Just enough time to bring your lips close to the glass and you find yourself coughing, you're too distracted and the wine goes sideways.

Obviously.

You can't help but look like a fool in front of him, you don't even know how he thinks you're elegant.

“Jesus, are you okay?” he asks in alarm as he reaches up to wrap his arm around your back and pat you lightly.

To your surprise, his large, calloused hands can be very gentle.

“Oh my god, yes, yes I’m okay” you reply between coughs "I'll get over it now"

Now that he knows that you will survive he sits back down to his chair and scrutinizes you with an amused expression.

“Did I go too hard on you?”

“What? No, not all” you reply red-faced, while trying to regain some composure.

“Okay, if you say so” he places a hand on yours gripping the table “Has it passed?”

“Yeah, I think it is” You pour a little water into the other glass he has set and drink, this time slowly.

Finally you feel your breathing return to regularity and your cough gradually subside.“Thank goodness, little finch, think if I should have taken you to the doctor in that lovely dress” and laughs.

You've never seen him laugh so much.

He is intelligible most of the time but tonight he is an open book.

“What's wrong with this dress, Miller?” you ask, ironically, you may be clumsy but not to this point and you want to try to get back at him.

"Nothing. You don't see many of them in Jackson, that's all."

“It doesn't look like anything special to me,” you say, as you realize he's staring insistently at your tits. “Do you see anything special, Miller?”

He shrugs “It’s pretty low cut for nothing”

You bend over slightly, resting your forearms on the table smiling at him, exposing your boobs even more. He is sitting in front of you and still watching at them.

“You're pretty good at it after all, little finch” his eyes have become darker and it's as if a small flame is burning inside them.

You feel a certain pride rising in your chest.

“Now you look like the embarrassed one, Miller, have you seen how things have changed?” Your smirk doesn't go unnoticed by Joel who squirms in his seat as if it has suddenly become uncomfortable.

"Can you tell me something? Why did you invite me tonight?” you’re pushing him, and you know it. And actually, you like it, for once you feel like you have the upper hand.

“Isn't it obvious, finch?” he mutter.

“Maybe, but I'd like to hear it from you. Use your words, Miller, I know you can."

“When you asked me to help you to arrange the library I thought you were crazy. Then I realized I was wrong. It was a nice idea. It was a great idea actually. No one here can go anywhere anymore, and in any case there is nowhere you can go so it is comforting to know that there is always a way to take refuge elsewhere, at least for a few hours, reading a great book. So yes, finch, I like you. I like you because you gave us back some beauty.”

“Fuck Miller, you can make speeches whenever you want”

“It's just one of the reasons I like you, you’re also smart and thoughtful and gorgeous but yeah, that’s it, I’ve said it”

His gaze is languid, you'd almost say longing. Maybe you managed to scratch a small piece of the invisible armor he built to protect himself.

One moment you were bickering as usual and the next Joel fucking Miller left you speechless.

No sarcasm, not an ounce of irony, he sounds sensitive and vulnerable.

It's so strange to see him in this light, the only other time it happened to you you were in the library, he found a children's book and held it in his hands looking at it in silence.

For a moment you could have sworn you saw tears in his eyes, he looked helpless and hurt and then it was the usual Joel, complaining about the mess and the weight of the boxes you had made him lift that gave nightmares to his back.

You get up from the chair without even realizing it, as if it were an involuntary movement that your body needs.

You stop in front of him, who is still sitting, his arms abandoned on the table, his gaze following you questioningly.

You put a hand in his hair and let it run through his dark curls while he instinctively closes his eyes, abandoning himself completely under your touch.

You would like to say something but you don't want to ruin the moment and in any case you can't find any words suitable to describe how you feel.

Moved, yearning, grateful, overwhelmed?

All these things together at the same time.

You let your hand linger on the base of his neck, stroking softly

“Look at me” you whisper.

And his gaze turns, his whole body turns, and you've never seen him so clearly. He rests his large hands on your hips and his gaze pierces you as he lands on yours.

You feel his grip tighten as you lean over him and leave a shy kiss on his lips. Small. Brief. And another, instinctively. And yet another.

And another until his lips part on yours and fit perfectly in a long sigh. He tastes like wine and loneliness and desire.

It’s manly but tender and demanding for more.

Your tongues meet and it's like an electric shock that surprises you but at the same time it's inevitable like when two surfaces rub together generating energy, it is an unwritten physical law that holds you together despite having used all your strength to keep each other at a distance for months.

Now, all you can do is give up.

You kiss him like it's the last thing you do in your life, his eager hands roam your hips, gripping your ass and squeezing tightly.

He part from your lips just the time to stand up and wrapping you entirely in his arms, his mouth searching for yours again, eager, his hands stroking your back while you feel just like a little finch in the most comfortable nest you could find.

“God, I want you” he mutter in your ear nuzzling at your sensitive skin.

“Take me. Just… take me, Joel”

It’s a dreadful need that you feel deep in your bone, the last shred of love you could find in this broken world, a sweet feeling of release that you desperately wanted.

You can’t think straight and don’t want to.

He take off your cardigan and reaches for the hem of your dress and lifts it up roaming your thighs feverishly, squeezing and stroking, his fingers digging into your flesh as you moan softly into his ear. He pulls it up to your waist and you help slide it off your head.

He bends down to take off your boots and throws them on the floor in an unspecified place, then he gets up and takes you back in his arms. He's still dressed while you're almost naked and exposed in a pair of black lace panties and a matching bra. You might be intimidated but you're not. You let yourself be held and explored by his hands. His calloused fingers, rough but gentle, touch you everywhere, giving you goosebumps. He lifts a hand to one of your breast and squeezes it through the fabric.

You can't help but let out a muffled moan while he is filling his hand with your flesh.

“Do you like it, finch? Me squeezing your boob?” he says in a whisper, looking into your eyes.

“Y-yes” you mumble “give me more”

There's a smug, lecherous smile painted on his face as he reaches for your bra and unclasps it with a single gesture.

He slides it off and drops it on the kitchen floor. Your nipples stiffen in an instant, hit by the air, he takes one between his fingers and pinches it, pulling it gently and then his mouth is on it swirling his tongue and sucking it. You squirm at the sensation, digging your hand into his hair again, pushing his face into your breast “more, more” you stammer. You feel his smile spread across your skin and his teeth bite lightly into you.

“You’re ravenous, aren’t you?”

You pull his hair and tilt his face slightly to regain eye contact. “Do you mind?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Good, you can continue doing what you were doing” you smile defiantly. You like to provoke him, especially now.

“You're bossy for a little finch, I like that”

he smiles back, his eyes shining bright with thrill and anticipation.

He returns to greedily licking and sucking like a thirsty man on your nipples, another loud moan escape from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re so good”

“I just started with you, you have no idea what awaits you” he whispers.

“Mmm then less talking, Miller, show me”

Without having to be told twice, he picks you up, much to your surprise, and places you on his couch in the living room.

“Woah, Miller, easy”

“You told me not to waste time talking” he shrugs. chuckling.

He pulls you to the edge of the couch “spread your legs”

You open your legs a little but he is visibly not satisfied, he takes your knees and opens them more "Like this. Now stay still” he orders.

He kneels between your thighs and pulls your panties aside.

You feel his fingers trail up your thigh, slowly, taking the time to slide lightly over your skin, causing you a mixture of tickling and excitement.

You writhe when you feel his index finger grazing your pussy lips, wandering up and down caressing for a little bit before sliding it between them and wetting it completely in your juices.

“You’re soaking wet, baby”

You can literally feel your cunt dripping when he keeps going up and down, briefly sinking into your hole with the tip of his finger and then on your clit, moving in circle with two fingers over your bundle of nerves.

You’re whining again, you’re growing impatient and he perfectly knows that

“Joel…”

“Yes, Finch?”

“You're doing it again”

“What”

“You know what. Do you want to torture me?”

"No. I just want you to beg me."

“God, you’re impossible” you roll your eyes out of exhaustion and arousal.

He stops completely.

“So are you, babe. Can you please let me do what I know best?”

He presses on your clit with two fingers and you squirm.

“Fuck. Okay”

He starts teasing your clit again, moving his fingers up and down to gather your wetness and spread it all over your lips.

“The thing is, finch, your pussy is so good. Look at her, I can’t rush it. She deserves to be loved nicely and slowly”

He is sitting on his heels just taking his time with you and you can’t be more eager to have him in your hole but you breath, resigned to wait for his pace.

He teases your entrance again, this time with two fingers, pushing in a little deeper.

His thumb is still taking care of your clit, moving a little faster than before.

“Eyes on me, babe”

And you do, you lock your eyes with his and you see hunger and lust and wonder.

He’s admiring you and you feel flattered.

He brings his face closer and sticks his tongue out, licking you from bottom to top and then again, letting it slide between your lips.

His beard is scratching you, his tongue stops on your clit swirling around it, jerking it slowly, again and again until you see him closing his lips on it and sucking gently.

He’s devouring you at this point and you mewl and cry and scream for more.

“Jesus - fuck - oh my goodness”

Your fingers are entwined into his curls and you’re pushing his face against you as much as you can, his tongue is fucking your hole now, he delves into you and lick all he can and you start to feel an incredible warmth rising from your core, in your tummy, to your chest.

He finally lets his index and middle finger sliding into you, pumping slowly in and out of your dripping wet cunt.

“Joel, oh my God I - ha! - I can’t, oh God”

“Yes, you can. Just like that, baby, give it to me” he whispers softly against your skin.

You’re on the verge of coming, the most incredible orgasm is knocking at your senses, overwhelming and brutally crushing into you.

“I’m com - oh GOD - yes,Joel, fuck”

He praises you again “come for me, soak my fingers, come on”

And you do. You gush all over his fingers like it was the last thing you do in the world, your legs shake and your heart reach an impossible pace that leaves you breathless.

He keeps licking and pumping into you until you calm and you can’t take your eyes off him bowed between your thighs, he drives you wild.

He stands up grunting at his poor knees and you giggle, he raises an eyebrow at you

“I wouldn't laugh considering the fact that I just made you scream my name”

He sits down on the couch next to you, circling your waist with his big strong arm and pushing you against him.

You bury your face in his chest “Aw, you’re so touchy, Miller” and you giggle again.

“You’re such a little brat.” He says, stroking your hair “But see? I wasn’t lying. It's been many years since I last did this but I still know what to do”

You raise your eyes at him “yeah, I give you that. You’re fucking good” and you place a kiss on the hairless part of his beard “but I-”

“What?” he interrupts you, looking at you maliciously

You bite your lower lip, feeling hot again just for the way he’s holding you tightly watching you with lust in his eyes.

“I want your cock”

“Oh. It’s time to beg, baby”

“Joel…”

“Beg for it, little finch” he’s smiling but his voice is firm and slightly authoritative

“I never beg” you scoff

“You will start now, sweetie, if you want to see me naked”

You look at him with exasperation, rolling your eyes immediately after “okay, Jesus. Can you please give me your cock?”

“Manners, babe. Ask gently”

You ask yourself what have you done wrong to fall for such an unbearable man “Good Lord”

“Beg with conviction”

“Joel Miller, could you do me the courtesy of fucking me? Please?”

You’re smirking hard. You definitely love to get on his nerves.

“You’re getting into trouble with this attitude, you know that?” He reaches one of your nipples and pinches it hard making you whimper into his arms.

You turn serious, looking him in the eyes intensely, licking your lip before saying “Fuck me, Joel. Please.”

“Mmm yes, just like that baby, it didn't take much”

He finally stands up in front of you. He takes off his shirt, revealing a strong, broad chest.

You can see a thin strip of hair disappearing under his jeans but apart from that he is almost hairless, his skin is delightfully dotted with freckles that make your mouth water.

He throws off his shirt and bends over to remove his boots.

Your eyes linger on his back, on his tense, rippling muscles, you can't believe how gorgeous he is, after all you think it was worth begging for this but you will never tell him.

He unzips his jeans and takes them off, remaining in his boxers. The sight of his deliciously soft tummy drives you completely insane. You’re craving him like you never did with anyone before.

“Kneel on the couch for me, baby” he orders and you immediately do, you turn your head just in time to see him taking off his boxers, freeing his already hard and swollen cock. Your knees sink into the pillows and your hands rest on the armrest, you are completely exposed to his will.

He gets behind you on his knees, gripping your hips and pulling you towards him.

“Fuck me Joel, please, fuck me now” you cry

“Such a good girl, begging for my cock like that. You learn quickly, little finch”

You only feel the tip poking at your entrance, he slides his cock against your dripping folds “Beg once more, babe”

You writhe, it’s more than you can take right now, you want him desperately.

“Please, Joel. Please” your voice sounds distraught but you don’t care, not now.

He enters you with a single thrust that makes you scream “Fuck!”

He’s big, so big that his cock burns in your center.

“I told you you were getting into trouble, baby, if you wanted me to be gentle you should have behaved better”

It's a small punishment you can bear, after a few seconds you already got used to his intrusion, you never felt so full before and right now you couldn’t ask for anything better.

He begins to move slowly, in and out of you, sinking deeper each time and reaching that spot that makes you see stars.

His loud grunts numb your head, his fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts into you, maybe he will leave some marks and the thought excite you even more.

“Oh God, please don’t stop, please”

He’s pounding into you incessantly, every thrust more deep leaving you short breath, you’re so wet that every lewd sounds coming from your cunt is making you feel like you’re on the brink of falling apart.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like that, babe, the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen, so perfect for me”

You whine even more at his praises, feeling your pussy clenching hard around his cock.

“Joel please I’m-”

“I know baby, I know, I can feel you, squeezing my cock just right, God you’re taking me so good”

You basically spasm on his cock right now, legs trembling as your sink your fingers in the fabric of the couch desperately trying to hold your posture.

He holds you tightly by your hips, grunting with each thrust into you, hitting your cervix again and again.

“Come for me baby, come all over my cock”

You’re quivering so hard that you almost think of being on the verge of losing your mind.

You cry his name feeling so full and dazed while your orgasm explodes inside you.

He pumps into you until you calm down but he’s still throbbing against your walls “Where do you want me?”

“On my tits - please”

He comes out of you and you lie down on his couch, his throbbing cock is in front of you, he takes it in his hand, milking it a couple of time before releasing his cum all over you. He moans loudly as he paints your tits and chest with his pleasure.

He lies down on top of you, groaning “God, this was amazing”

You feel his sticky seed spreading on your skin but you don't care, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him softly.

He moves to the side so as not to weigh you down and takes you in his arms again.

You hide your face for a moment in the crook of his neck, inhaling his woody, citrusy perfume, with a hint of the natural sweaty scent of his skin. He smells amazingly.

“I could get used to it” you giggle

“Me too, little finch” and he leaves a kiss on your hair.

“Oh, you made completely forgot about it, do you know what day it is today?”

“No, should I?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you. It’s my birthday.”

His eyes widen, “Really?”

“Yep”

“Well then happy birthday. Did you like your present?”

“It’s the best I’ve ever received”

You kiss him again, knowing how true it is.

“We should take a shower,” he laughs.

“Yeah, you’re… well…all over me…but to be honest, I like it.”

He smiles widely “Come on little finch, I might have another gift for you in the bathroom”

“Oh, then I can’t wait to unwrap it”

#pedro pascal #fanfic #joel miller #joel the last of us #joel tlou #the last of us #one shot #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #soft joel miller #grumpy joel miller

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literary-motif · 5 months ago

Note

hi Vic, I’ve been missing Isaac sm, could you write a fic of him and listener the morning after their first time? I imagine him making them waffles with strawberries and honey again <3

Sunlight

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: implied sexual content

You blinked awake slowly, adrenaline shooting through you immediately at the unfamiliar bedroom you found yourself in. Your gaze flickered around, making out the large wooden wardrobe and deep green carpet in the dim sunlight streaming through the shutters.

It was Isaac’s. You were in Isaac’s bed.

Heaving a sigh of relief, you allowed yourself to sink back into the cushions of his comfortable bed. Turning your head a little to face away from the light, you could even faintly make out his distinctive scent clinging to the bed sheets.

With a smile on your lips — you had never felt so safe, so happy — you rolled slowly onto your side, expecting to be engulfed in the arms of the man you had come to love so much.

Instead of the warmth you had anticipated, you met the cold bed sheets. Isaac’s side of the bed was empty. You frowned, opening your eyes to look at the unmade bed next to you. Bitter disappointment took hold of your heart, and you turned to look at the ceiling as your thoughts quickly spiraled into a whirlwind of fears and doubts.

Had Isaac gotten tired of you? Did he not want your company anymore? Had you made him uncomfortable? Did he not want to sleep next to you? Had last night not been as good for him as it had been for you? Did he want to send you away?

You scoffed, running a hand through your hair and gathering the strength to get out of bed.

This was silly.

Surely, Isaac had simply woken up before you, and he was in his study, working on cases. Surely, he had merely fought a losing battle against his insomnia before deciding to get a headstart on the day. Surely, he had not meant to leave your side specifically.

Right?

You went down the stairs hesitantly, feeling a little out of place. Despite yourself and all the logical reasoning you tried to provide, you still worried about having upset him somehow.

“Isaac?” you called weakly, tapping on the shut door to his study. You did not want to bother him if he was busy, but seeing his eyes light up with a smile when he would see you — to show you everything was alright between you, to show you he still loved you like he had professed in your arms last night — was a longing you needed to come true before going ahead with your day.

There came no answer. Your chest felt hollow, and you clenched your jaw, swallowing your hurt.

“Good morning,” a voice called from behind you, making you jump. You whirled around, seeing Isaac leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen with a soft smile on his face, and an apron wrapped around him. “Did you sleep well? You looked adorable. I did not have the heart to wake you up.”

“Oh,” you breathed, a weight lifting off your shoulders you had not even realized was pressing down on you. “That— yes,” you stuttered, not meeting his eyes as you nervously fiddled with the ring on your finger.

Isaac was here, but you still felt anxious. He looked just as content as you were. There was nothing to worry about, but you could not help but shrink a little under his gaze.

Footsteps approached, a hand reaching out tentatively to tilt your head up to look into his eyes. You saw your uncertainty reflected in them.

Isaac opened his mouth to speak. You could practically see the words getting stuck in his throat. He swallowed thickly, trying again. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice shaking despite his efforts to drain his heart-wrenching vulnerability from it.

You had worked many months to break down his walls one by one until he was left utterly exposed before you. Never in his life had he thought to find a person he trusted enough to bare his soul to, but here you were.

He trusted you in every way — with his life, his work, and his family’s legacy. Still, feeling his heart beating in the palm of your hand was a new sensation for him, and it took a tremendous amount of effort to allow himself to feel his love for you and not hide away again behind the walls he could draw up in an instant.

“Why—? Did— Did something happen?” he asked uncertainly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Did I do something? Do you” — he hesitated, searching your gaze — “do you regret last night?”

Your expression softened. Drawing up your hands, you gently cupped his cheeks before leaning in to place a chaste kiss against his lips. “Isaac,” you murmured, tilting his head to press another lingering kiss against his forehead. “Isaac.” You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into your chest before kissing his cheek. “Never,” you said, feeling his arms encircling you tenderly.

He buried his face in your shoulder, clearing his throat after a moment and wiping at his eyes as he swayed you slowly. It felt like a soothing dance. “I was worried,” he admitted, his voice small.

“Never about that, My Love,” you said, squeezing him tighter. “I only— you weren’t in bed, and I— I thought maybe—”

Isaac stopped, drawing away from your embrace to look at you properly. “What did you think?” he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

You ducked your head, feeling stupid for the fears you had upon waking up alone. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he reassured you, reaching out a hand to smooth back some wayward strands of your hair. “You looked upset.”

“It’s silly,” you said, running a hand through your hair self-consciously to fix your disheveled appearance. “I just— well, when you weren’t there, I thought maybe you expected more from last night, and now you— you have gotten tired of me.”

Isaac’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No!” he said vehemently, mortified at the idea. “Pickle, what? You— I love you.”

“I know,” you said, smiling faintly at the reassurance. “I love you, too. My fears got the better of me this morning when you weren’t beside me.”

You saw his eyes light up in realization before his expression changed into remorse. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands out for you to take. “I wanted to surprise you with breakfast. I— I did not think—”

You took his hands, shaking your head to disperse his guilt. “It’s alright, I promise.”

“It won’t happen again,” he said, tugging you towards him for a kiss before leading you into the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Now that you saw the heart-shaped waffles prettily arranged on two plates with honey and strawberries on top, you wondered how you had not noticed their delicious smell before.

Isaac smiled, his eyes crinkling at your blissful expression as you took a bite and hummed in contentment.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #isaac rhoades x reader #isaac rhoades

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ponder-the-orb · 9 months ago

Text

Moonlit Quiet

Pairing: Dame Aylin x Isobel Thorm

Tags: Hurt/Comfort/Fluff, Spoilers for Act 2

Word count: 3K

Summary:

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. We have so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch.

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss.

What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness?

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again.

AKA: Aylin and Isobel take some time to themselves following Ketheric's death.

Read on AO3 or below

***

It’s been over a century since Isobel has seen Moonrise Towers bathed in the light of its namesake. Longer still since she’s set foot in this bedroom – her bedroom.

It’s not a space she ever imagined seeing again, but she’d found her hand on the doorknob before she’d realised she'd climbed to the top of the tower. An old instinct she’d presumed. Either that or she’d just been desperate for some – any – form of home comfort in the aftermath of such a battle.

She chooses not to dwell on how it remains just as she left it: sheets rumpled, hearth warmed, her own cleric robes pressed and hanging on the back of the wardrobe- just as any other evening.

Kicking off her boots by the window, she can almost pretend it is just any other evening. Her father could be working below, stern but happy in his way, and she could retire from her daily rituals ready for an altogether different sort of ritual atop her sheets.

She smiles as she hears the old but familiar thump of someone landing against her mattress.

Her darling. Her angel.

It’s almost dizzying how normal a sight it is. The Dame Aylin on her bed, battle-mussed and resplendent in her full armoured regalia. She glows a gentler silver now, like Isobel’s own slice of moonlight waiting against her pillows.

For once, she’s silent, but the blazing promise in her eyes speaks volumes.

Want. Need. Impatience. So much that even decades of death can’t stop the way Isobel’s knees weaken at the sight.

She hurriedly shutters every window until the room is solely lit by Aylin’s glow. Under any other circumstances, she’d leave them wide open. She’d always like to sleep under the watchful light of Selûne and for the first time in years she can feel her Lady’s caress reaching across the land. It’s another old familiarity, one she loves– but tonight requires privacy.

She undresses Aylin with practised care. The sword finds a new home against the carpet, sheathed and quiet for now. She’ll need it again, no doubt sooner than Isobel would want, but it need not sing at this moment. Their battle is won. Plans for the rest of this war can wait.

There’s a quiet relief on Aylin’s breath as Isobel unlaces her armour. Piece by piece the silvered soldier falls to the bed, Isobel’s hands slow as they find the strength waiting underneath. She pauses as she brushes above the collar of her mail, her thumb meeting the ivory line of her throat.

She’s rooted, awed, as she feels each long breath– so real, so alive against her touch.

That first lightning bolt of shock and elation at seeing her here had fallen along with Aylin’s breastplate against the sheets. She can’t quite place where in her head she is right now, somewhere between a shaky sense of regularity and the colder fear that she’ll close her eyes too long and awaken back at Last Light. Alone, hiding and still mourning the losses she can’t tell another living soul.

Aylin’s look softens as she continues to work. They both know she could dissipate the armour with but a thought, she had so enough times when the heat between them called for it. She stays still for now, letting Isobel ground herself in the ritual, the feel of the metal, of her angel’s fingers against her. Her worship belongs to Selûne, but true devotion– that will forever be for Aylin. It’s a thought that borders on blasphemy, but it would taste a lie to deny it. There’s no careful composure or rehearsed words needed. It’s something aching, intimate– pleasure and want so desperately pressed into each other with shaking hands and parted lips.

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. We have so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch.

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss. What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness ?

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again.

“Yes, we do,” is what she says aloud, dipping down so their lips can finally meet.

She knows it’s the calm before the hurricane, one moment of pure unfiltered serenity before Aylin’s composure snaps. Her mouth opens, gasp hot as she pulls Isobel into her lap.

“Oh my darling, my fearless Isobel,” she whispers against her mouth, tugging her close with a strong arm around Isobel’s waist. “ Please let me adore you now.”

Isobel groans. She’d almost forgotten how perfect her name sounds in Aylin’s voice– the strength of a battle cry; more delicate than a prayer.

She shifts under Isobel and her lips are everywhere, her chin, her ear, her throat. Pieces of her own armour clatter to the floor as impatient hands roam over her, seeking lost skin.

It’s a task unto itself not to press her down onto the bed right now and ravish her until they’re both sweetly exhausted and sore. Gods-knows she wants to. It would be so easy to lose herself in Aylin until dawn dared intrude on them.

She squeezes the curve of Isobel’s thigh and lights burst behind her eyes.

It’s everything. It’s too much.

“ Aylin - wait.” She catches her face, slowly guiding it back to hers.

Aylin’s hands immediately still. “Does something trouble you?” Her voice is thick– those moon-bright eyes blown wide as an eclipse.

Isobel smiles. That’s a sight she remembers all too well. Her Aylin. Her perfectly besotted love.

“It is as you said. We have time,” she breathes, gathering the spill of Aylin’s hair and letting it slip between her fingers. “So please, could you let me do this?” What exactly she’s asking for she isn’t quite sure. There’s a century still hanging between them, so many moments to make up for, far far too many.

Perhaps too many for the years she has left with her.

She swallows and brushes the down of Aylin's cheek, marble to flesh.

For now, she needs to be slow. Deliberate. Relearn her love inch by beautiful inch.

She knows that Aylin will forever be Aylin: the Moonmaiden’s justice, her unwavering paladin– as regal and proud as the heavens themselves. It’s her duty to stand as such until her immortal service is finally complete, perhaps when the last vestige of Selûne's light fades into that final night. But for now, she’s battled enough. It’s finally Aylin’s time to be savoured – and Isobel knows she’s more ready to take on that duty.

She brushes the peach curve of her lips, then those new golden scars fractured across her face. She pauses against the darker flecks on her jaw: blood from their new allies, from illithids, her father-

She tucks the thought away. It’s a feeling too messy for her to fully fathom right now, raw and tender as a new bruise. She quietly makes a vow to process it fully in her own time. Much much later.

He’s at rest, his poison gone and Isobel would rather throw herself into the fetid pit under this tower than let him snatch the joy from this night as well.

She can’t hide her gasp as she pulls Aylin’s undershirt from her body. Wider, deeper scars splinter over the firm muscles of her torso and finish in a jagged patch over her heart.

Once, such marks were almost a comfort to Isobel, a shining reminder of every battle won and every chip she’d taken to come home to her. She’d never imagined it like this, the evidence of every sword and dagger and javelin plunged through her.

She cups her hand to Aylin’s breast, the gold fully eclipsing each finger.

“Does it hurt?” she whispers.

Aylin’s expression doesn’t falter as she covers Isobel’s hand with her own. “Not anymore. Such cowardly attempts would hardly be enough to break me.”

They’re strong words, proud as every gallant decree that the world expects of an emissary such as her. And Isobel knows they’re a lie.

She can see it, beyond her stone-hard smile there are cracks, invisible and silent but no less present than those golden tracks left by battle and brutality.

Death for Isobel had been timeless, easy even. Nothing but the dreamless dark. Being ripped back into life, that had been a harder weight to bear. She’d awoken to her home now twisted with perverse Sharran magic, Selûne’slight snuffed out by the haunted visage of her own father. ‘ For love. For our family,’ he’d said, flat and chilled as a wall. And in the same breath, he’d revealed the worst of it: Aylin too was gone. Nothing mortal or immortal to ever bring her back.

It her own spear through the heart, but what was that in comparison a century caged, a century alone and shadowed, broken again and again and again until the might and wrath of a goddess was belittled down to naught but a tool.

Isobel’s vision pools with red.

She tries to ground herself in the drum of Aylin’s heart, forever steady as the rocking tide, but she sees her own trembling fingers betray her.

Aylin tips her chin up with her thumb. “There is something else. Tell me.”

Isobel refuses to meet her eye.

“All this time- all this time you were so close,” she whispers shakily. “I should have known. I could have found you.”

Aylin shakes her head and strokes the length of her back. “None of that.”

The touch does nothing to quell her anger. “I’m a fighter too. I may not be any sort of divine Paladin, but I could have done something instead of hiding at Last Light.” She drops her head to Aylin’s shoulder as if she could muffle the guilt of her words in the broad muscle. “If it were me down there, you would have razed that vile temple to the ground, brick by brick, until you freed me. I was not even there when your cage was broken.”

There’s a long moment of quiet before the hand at Isobel’s back slides up to cradle her neck.

“You are indeed most ferocious,” Aylin says, her voice soft with fondness. “Before, I’d never laid eyes on anyone so in tune with my Mother’s power. It was the most remarkable sight to behold. And from what I understand, you were doing precisely what was needed of you at that Inn. You protected our allies, strengthened them so they could destroy this tower’s forces and the powers so wicked that laid beneath. Without you, they would have all been destroyed by the shadows that ruined this land.” She tilts Isobel’s head slightly, letting each word brush against the point of her ear. “ That is why I am free.”

Isobel shifts into the touch, lets the soft rain of her lover’s words unravel the tension inside her.

She’s free, Aylin is here and she’s free.

She focuses on the thought. How it happened and who found her are facts she’ll need to let go of one day. She’s with her, solid and soft and oh so strong against her palms and that is the only thing that could possibly matter.

Aylin guides her face back with warm hands. Her intention is clear as she drops her eyes to Isobel’s mouth, the conversation probably over in her view.

She halts Aylin’s kiss with a finger to her lips.

There’s something else, one last weight she must unburden from herself before they can finally take that first step in moving forward.

She touches her own chest, rubbing the spot over her heart. “A hundred years, Aylin. It’s a lifetime to most, even to me. I may scarcely remember being dead, but I know I came back changed. Wrong.” From the moment she’d jerked awake in her tomb, she’d felt it– something bitter and cold resting inside her.

Aylin pulls back, eyes wide. “Did that foul necromancer hurt you?”

“No, no, my love,” she answers, running her hands across Aylin’s shoulders until the fire in her gaze quietens a little. “Whatever brought me back and healed my body was unnatural to say the least. I think some part of me knows I shouldn’t be here.” Even now she knows it. Under the joy and shock and wonder there’s still a seed planted deep in her chest, rotting.

A large part of her wishes that was the only thing changed in her.

She takes another breath. “That’s not all. After I ran from my Father, I had to fight, to harden against it all, become a warrior against people I’d once held dear. If… if I’m completely truthful, I think the person you truly knew remains in the crypt I was pulled from.”

Aylin tilts her head, an eyebrow raised. “And you believe that will eventually turn my heart from you? Or do you think that my time caged has changed my own feelings?”

Isobel bites her lip, fighting the urge to look away. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“I do.” Aylin’s hands trail down Isobel’s body, her eyes following. “To many an immortal, a century seems so little. It’s nothing but the blink of an eye in the face of eternal life. For me however– it was the first instance where I truly understood the weight of time. Every second that I felt Ketheric’s wicked connection or looked up at generation after generation of craven Sharrans was its own eternity in that cage. Yet, as is my duty, I swore to never show my cracks.”

Her hands continue their gentle path as she speaks, slipping under Isobel’s shirt and pausing at the dip of her waist. “I am my Mother’s sword, her glory– but it was not her power that kept me steady in the Shadowfell. It was my memories of you, my love.”

Warmth blooms like a blush under Aylin’s hands, her thumb caressing just under Isobel’s naval. She strokes her neck, waiting for those pale eyes to meet hers. “Even though you thought me dead?” she whispers.

Aylin’s smile softens. “Even then.”

Her thumb moves slightly lower, dipping just under the loose band of Isobel’s trousers. It’s a promise and a reassurance.

I’ve got you. I want you.

Aylin kisses her chin as she continues. “And yes, you are changed just as I am, but did you think I would not recognise that voice, that love in your eyes as clear as our Lady’s light the moment I saw you again?”

Isobel’s answering smile threatens to split her cheeks, the last of her doubts disappearing into the fading curse just beyond. She kisses her forehead. Their noses brush. “Perhaps I just wanted to hear you say it,” she murmurs, shifting up so she can unlace the final armoured pieces on Aylin’s legs. She rises to help her, her fingers never leaving her bare skin as she works. It’s the only protection she’ll need for now.

“Then I will say it as many times as you need. Until the stars burn out, until this tower crumbles to dust around us– let it be the last thing I ever utter in the light of this world.” She presses her words across Isobel’s face, gentle as moonlight, steadfast as an oath as she finally lands on her lips. “My love most high. My Isobel.”

“Aylin,” she gasps against her mouth. It’s the only words her kiss-drunk mind can find as she pulls her impossibly closer, the world blurring in gold and pink around her.

It’s such a simple truth: loving Aylin will forever be the easiest thing she’ll do. Easier than loving herself, than her purpose, than her goddess. A century passed and that want hasn’t quietened, not even slightly. She’d wept, cursed, grieved for Aylin and a single kiss had her falling again, more desperate for her touch than her next breath.

“For the world to see, Dame Aylin shall forever be indomitable,” Aylin hums, slowing their kiss to lace their fingers together, “but so too is this.”

She presses one last, achingly gentle kiss to Isobel’s lips before ripping her shirt over her head. Her breath catches in her throat as Aylin twists them, pushing her into the mattress and caging her there with her torso. She swallows Isobel’s gasp as her lips drop to her chest, the heel of Aylin’s hand grinding between her legs with a warm familiar rhythm.

“Now, time enough has been wasted,” she mouths over her breast, the words rippling down to her beating heart. “It is as I said, I have a darling to adore.”

Everything else melts away after that.

It’s an ungraceful mess of hands and hearts. Words of love and gratitude spill against scars and skin as they finally find themselves within each other again.

Come morning, they will have to face the future. There are allies to bury, secrets to share, the road to Baldur’s Gate twisting and dark in front of them– but for now, between these silver-bathed walls, their world is nothing but the two of them.

As close to heaven as either of them will ever need.

***

These two have taken up waaaay too much brain space over the last couple of weeks so have something soft.

#aylin x isobel #dame aylin #isobel thorm #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #my writing #bg3 fic #moon lesbians #I just love them your honour #moonangel

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simstorian-blog · 1 year ago

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Rio Verde – Wedding Venue

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Skyward Palms

Lot Size: 40 x 30

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Used

City Living

Cottage Living

Dine Out

Discover University

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

Growing Together

My Wedding Stories

Snowy Escape

Spa Day

Strangerville

Vintage Glamour Stuff Pack

Build Mode

Anachrosims – Murals Wallpaper Pt 1

Felixandre – Colonial Pt. 3 (Tiles)

Felixandre – Paris Pt. 3 (Boiserie Door Single)

Felixandre – SOHO Pt. 1 (Single Sink, Toilet + Toilet Remote, Travertine Floor, Wide Mirror)

Harlix – Harluxe (Shutter Window – Open)

Harlix – Tiny Twavellers (Plain Wall)

Harrie – Brownstone Pt. 2 (Arch Medium)

Harrie – Coastal Pt. 1 (Doors)

Harrie – Klean Pt. 2

Pierisim – Tilable (Plaster)

SimPlistic – Elegant Wallpaper Peacock

SimPlistic – Vintage Country Wallpaper

Buy Mode

13Pumpkin – Golf Cart

BlueTeas – Heron Office (Ceiling Lamps)

BlueTeas – Milano Lounge Chair

CowBuild – Urban Rug

Felixandre – Colonial Pt. 3 (Plant)

Felixandre – Florence Pt. 1 (Piano)

Felixandre – Grove Pt. 2 (Stacked Bowls, Stacked Plates)

Felixandre – Shop the Look 2 (Vanity)

Harlix – Bafroom (Wall Mirror Small)

Harlix – Baysic (Bedding w Blanket, Mirror in Stand, Packs Wardrobe, Short Dining Table)

Harlix – Baysic Bathroom (Modern Flush, Modern Wipe, Towel Clutter, Sink, Shower, Shower Wall)

Harlix – Kichen (Glasses, Olive Oil)

Harlix – Livin’ Rum (Coffee Table)

Harrie – Coastal Pt. 7 (Leaning Mirror)

Harrie – Halcyon (Kitchen Counter)

Harrie – Octave Pt. 4 (Double Light Switch)

Harrie – Shop the Look 2 Ceramic Side Table)

Joyce – Simple Live #5 (Bathrobe, Shower Gel)

KHD – Contemporary Sofa

Kta – Abstract Prints 3 (Mesh Needed)

Kta – Abstract Prints 4 (Mesh Needed)

LedgerAtelier – Stoneleigh Pt. 2 (Faux Wall with Porthole S, Porthole Window S)

Max20 – Ever After (Sign of Attention, Table)

Peacemaker – Hinterlands Living (Fringed Pouffe)

Peacemaker – Kassova Sectional

Pierisim – Calderone (Bedframe)

Pierisim – Domaine Du Clos Pt. 2 (Account Book)

Pierisim – Domaine Du Clos Pt. 3 (Curtains, Suitcases)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 3 (Narrow Rug)

Ravasheen – Mini Fridge

Ravasheen – Invisible Dance Floor

Ravasheen – Lentil Things (Host Station)

SixamCC – Life in Plastic (Bar, Dining Oasis, Stool, Vanity Chair)

Sundays – Kediri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow Solids)

TaurusDesign – Lilith Chilling Areas Pt. 1 (Sul Sul Sign)

Tuds – Cave (Panel Lights)

Tuds – Ind 02 (Décor Bottles, Wine Rack)

Tuds – Ind 03

Tuds – NCTR (Fridge, Tray w Cheese)

Winner9 – Yokeda Wall Lamp Triple

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

#simstorian #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 #cc #ts4 simblr #build #sims 4 build #oasis springs #commercial lot #wedding venue

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 7 months ago

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Abendrot

Laszlo Cravensworth x reader. This fic is a Lost Boys/What We Do in the Shadows crossover!

*****

Since you have moved to Staten Island, the moment of awakening has been less traumatic for you than it is for the boys, since for you living in an apartment is nothing new. No matter how… picturesque it is to sleep in the filthy ruins of an abandoned, crumbling hotel, furbished like the shelter of a band of squatters and lacking even the most basic standards of hygiene, that sort of arrangement has never been your thing; as a consequence, when Max turned you in a vampire almost three centuries ago, you have given up on many things, among which the light of the sun, the possibility to use a mirror to make sure your hair is in order and the need to eat normal foods to sustain yourself, but not the comforts of a house worthy of the name.

For this reason, you had remained in your cosy, nicely furnished apartment in Santa Carla, so close to the sea you could perceive the sweet song of the backwash when you woke up and far enough from the Boardwalk to guarantee you the peace and quiet you needed and enjoyed. Every night before dawn you made sure all the windows were closed, so that the light of the sun couldn’t filter through, and retired to sleep on your comfortable bed, with clean sheets and a soft pillow, to rest at the end of yet another night largely spent wrangling the four young vampires you were responsible for and who you loved dearly, even though sometimes you wished they’d get less often into trouble.

This state of things only partially changed after your move. When Max was killed by the Emersons, you and the boys quickly realised Santa Carla wasn’t safe for you anymore, and that, no matter how much you loved the small town that had been your home for decades -or centuries in your case- it was better to find a place where your kind was still considered a myth and that wasn’t teeming with vampire hunters. You spoke to Tilda, a former acquaintance of your Sire who was part of the Vampiric Council, and she suggested you move to New York City, a relatively safe place where a large community of vampires already existed; the boys helped you empty Max’s bank accounts and take everything you could need or find a use for from his home, and you went on the road. A week later, you had rented a comfortable house in Staten Island, large enough for the five of you; David, as usual speaking on behalf of the whole group, said he and the others would crash with you until they found a place of their liking, but three months have passed since then and they haven’t even begun looking. You don’t mind; even though they are way too rowdy for your liking and you often have to force them to do their part of the chores, you are deeply fond of those four scoundrels, and don’t mind having them as housemates… if only because it’s easier this way to keep an eye on them.

The dark of the room surrounds you, and it’s like you are floating in an ocean of shade. Curled up on your bed, one arm hidden under your pillow and your legs bent in a semi-foetal position, you wake up as soon as the sun covered by the solid white-painted walls disappears beyond the horizon. You feel it on your skin, thanks to the instinct common among those of your kind and that has never failed you, your eyes suddenly opening wide as a voice whispers in your ears: it’s gone. All clear. Nevertheless, you feel slightly apprehensive as you stand, walk past your wardrobe and approach the west-facing window; a moment of hesitation is all you allow yourself before slowly pushing the shutters open… and a sigh of relief leaves your lips as the gentle night breeze brushes against your face, rather than the dangerous light of the sun.

Night has fallen on Staten Island.

Having opened the window to clear the air, and lingered for a minute to admire the clear sky where a thin crescent moon is surrounded by a multitude of stars, you turn and leave your room towards the living room, a spacious chamber whose windows are similarly barred. The ceiling is reinforced with robust beams that, despite the efforts of the real estate agent to make you appreciate the house’s brightness (ah!) and its excellent position in relation to your workplace, have been one of the main reasons you have decided to rent it.

The boys are there, having elected the living room as their resting place since the day of the move. Fast asleep, they hang from the ceiling, their bodies suspended in the air; they are completely still and silent, a state of things you often wish would occur during their waking hours, at least once in a while. But after all, this is also why you are so fond of them, you reflect, because they are so different from you. Being a vampire you know you will never grow old, but David and the others serve as a reminder of what it meant to be young: wild and careless, with the untamable energy of someone who still has the luxury of not having to care about the future.

“Wake up, all of you!” you exclaim happily, and a moment later the room is already in an uproar.

David, Paul, Dwayne and Marko, as usual full of the energy of the youth they will never grow out of, jump down from the ceiling, instantly awake. “Hi, (name)!” they greet you in unison; David winks at you, while Dwayne and Paul retrieve their jackets from the back of the chairs they had left them on, and Marko is the first to reach the nearby kitchen in search of food.

“Don’t you look pretty tonight, (name).”

“Thank you, but I haven’t even changed after last night yet.” you point out smiling; David is a charmer, and would be able to flirt with the Devil himself if he needed to, but you know he and the others care immensely for you, which is why you appreciate their compliments “Any plans for tonight?”

As you follow the other boys to the kitchen, David informs you they intend to visit a club they have heard of recently on the other side of Staten Island, to party, meet girls, and feed. “You should come with us, you know; it would be fun.”

You appreciate him asking, and know the boys would honestly be delighted to have you with them, but your answer is a smile, and a shake of your head. “Just please, David, try not to get caught.” you remind him for the umpteenth time; you don’t enjoy pestering the boys, but the last thing you want is a repetition of what happened in Santa Carla: losing Max was painful enough, and even though you’ve been assured there are no known vampire hunters in Staten Island the last thing you want is for the boys to risk meeting the same doom of your Maker “I’m serious; I know you need to feed but please, please, be discreet, and don’t leave a trail of bodies behind you like you did last week. Sooner or later someone will start suspecting what you are, and I don’t want to have to move again.”

You don’t need to mention the fact that, having remained out of the whole business with the Emerson family, there was no actual need for you to leave Santa Carla, but you decided to do it nonetheless, for extra safety and mainly to take care of the boys; you’ve never held it against David and the others, but they all know how painful it was for you to leave the town you had been born and spent three centuries in.

David’s expression turns serious; he raises a hand, his palm facing you. “I promise, (name); we’ll be careful, and we’ll be back well before sunrise.”

“Thank you; that’s all I ask.”

“What about you? Have a date with your boyfriend?” Marko asks once you have followed the boys to the kitchen. You privately thank the heavens that, since your heart has stopped beating, blood is no longer flowing in your veins, because otherwise you would have gone red in the face. You hadn’t planned on letting the boys know you had met someone special, but they found out anyway, and no matter how good-natured their teasing, having the four of them gossip about your lovelife is more than a little embarrasing.

“Yes, I am meeting him tonight.” you admit as you lower yourself on one of the chairs that surround the kitchen table, while around you the boys fix a snack for themselves; Paul and David are bickering over the single pizza slice left over from last night “But I’d rather you not call him that; he’s not my boyfriend.”

“What is he, then? Your lover?”

“Your boy-toy?”

“Your suitor?

“Your fuckbuddy?

“Just stop it, please!” you cry, overwhelmed and amused equally, as the boys, still busy adding to the list, giggle around you; suddenly they have stopped focusing on the food or the pranks they were playing on each other, and all four of them are looking at you. You sigh, aware they won’t let the matter go unless you answer satisfactorily, and for a moment, only for a moment, you… well, hate is too strong a word, but you really wish they’d leave you alone. You understand them being curious -you’d be as well, if David or one of the others told you they had a new partner- but can’t they see you’d rather keep the matter to yourself? You already spend a large part of your nights working to support your little family, since the few attempts to get them to work and earn some money ended in disaster, and taking care of them; don’t you deserve some time for yourself, to do things the boys respectfully keep their nose out of? “It’s not like that. He’s… a friend.”

“One of those you take your knickers off for?”

“David…!”

The boys laugh, insolent but good-natured -or good-natured but insolent? You have taken care of them for decades, and while you are by now used to being responsible for them, because someone has to be now that Max is gone, you really wish they’d stay out of this matter- and, having perceived you’d rather change the subject or maybe simply because they have already lost interest in your love life, they start discussing the possibility of stopping to buy food before going to the club. Having already lost your appetite, you grab the apple Dwaine has tossed you from a bowl inside the cupboard and retire to your room, leaving your young friends to plan their night.

You munch on the apple as you choose a set of clothes from the wardrobe and leave them on the bed, then you move to the nearby bathroom; being a vampire, by definition adverse to running water, you have never taken a shower in your life, but tonight you won’t treat yourself to a long warm bath as usual. Tuesday is the day of closing of the diner you have worked at since you and the boys moved to Staten Island, having explained to the owner you can only cover the night shift because you are busy with another job during the day, which means you have a whole night to spend with your friend. You have agreed to meet and hang out until dawn, and you are determined not to waste a single minute.

Twenty minutes later you’re ready for your date; fixing your hair and make-up is not easy when you don’t have a reflection, but over the years you have learned to make do, and now you’re reasonably sure you look at least decent if not pretty. You retrieve your bag from the chair next to your bed, and as you make sure your keys and wallet are where they should, as well as obviously your flute, David appears on the doorway, his arms folded and his back against the doorframe.

“Is everything alright?” you wonder, a question that could sound superfluous but it is not, since while you have seen him and the others only a few minutes ago, you are well aware the boys would be capable of getting into trouble in the time it takes you to drink a glass of water. David nods silently, an unusually serious look in his dark eyes.

“You look really nice, (name). Seriously.” he states in the end.

“Thank you. I left you gas money in the bowl at the entrance.”

He pouts. “Can’t we beat some guy up at the station and force them to fill our tanks?”

“Of course not! Please, be careful, you’ve already been lucky once, the last thing we need is to draw attention to yourselves…”

“You’re worrying about nothing; if someone sees us we can kill them too, leave no witnesses…”

The dismay on your face is so intense David starts to laugh. “Come on, (name), I’m joking!”

You know it perfectly, but that doesn’t alleviate your bad mood. Why don’t you grow up?, you would like to ask him, even though you already know it will never happen. He and the others are Lost Boys, not Lost Men, and David is destined to remain a nineteen-year-old forever - physically and mentally as well, which means that recklessness and love of danger are part of him, something he can’t help being driven by, and it’s the same for Dwaine, Marko and Paul. On the other hand, having been turned when you were already an adult worrying about them comes naturally to you, especially after your young friends have narrowly avoided death at the hands of the vampire hunters in Santa Carla, only a few months ago.

However, you are not their mother, nor their Sire, and while Max was in the habit of entrusting them to you, which mainly meant solving the mess they created and making sure they at least tried to keep their vampiric nature secret while he took care of his shop on the Boardwalk and enjoyed the peace and quiet you also desperately craved, the boys have never formally been your responsibility. You love them as the younger brothers you no longer have, since their arrival in your now orphaned family has filled a void that had grown inside you since you had to abandon your mortal loved ones, and you know the boys are also sincerely fond of you, no matter how much they enjoy riling you up; but frankly you are fed up with this whole state of affairs, and to be patient, the voice of reason for any problem David and the others cause or get involved in, feels more frustrating with every passing day. Have you really been gifted eternal life, just to spend it baby-sitting these four hooligans?

“Well, try not to get into trouble.” you recommend in the end, more brusquely than you are used to “I’m going out; I’ll be seeing you at dawn.”

David nods, but he doesn’t seem eager to rejoin the others - or to leave you alone. “Why are you bringing your flute?” he asks, noticing the instrument peeking out of your bag.

“My friend asked me to play for him; he’s an expert musician.”

“Mmh… about this guy…”

“David, please…” you begin with a sigh, but he shakes his head, suddenly serious, as he walks up to you.

“Is this thing between you… serious?” he asks in the end, vaguely embarrassed by the topic “I mean, are you simply hanging out, having fun and… err, other things, or is there something more? Are you exclusive? Are you going to… move in together or what?”

“David…”

“Do you love him?” your young friend asks again, blurting the words out as if to get it over with, and you could easily point out that your lovelife is not his business, but you don’t, because, as absurd as it may sound, it seems like now he is the one worried for your safety and well being, the boy who was used to leave the bodies of his victims on the beach of Santa Carla for all the world to see, bite wound on the neck in full view, is concerned for the woman who has taken care of the accounting for Max’s various shops and businesses for three centuries and never even forgot to pay a bill in time!

It’s absurd; but sweet, as well.

“Listen, I don’t want to meddle in your business, but I’ve never seen you so… so taken as you are now with this guy.” David, who you have just asked the reason for his question, explains “We have all been wondering. You’ve met him soon after we moved here, right? It’s been three months, and you’ve seen him almost every night!”

“Shouldn’t I have?”

“I’m not your father, (name), I’m not going to tell you who you can or can’t see. It’s just… it’s kind of a new thing for you, since you’ve been alone for at least ten years.”

Those last words, uttered without any offensive intent, nonetheless burn enough to force you to avoid David’s gaze. Given the fact you have lived all your immortal life in Santa Carla, a veritable haven for all supernatural creatures -vampires, werewolves, witches and warlocks, and even a few mermaids who infest the waters surrounding the town- it should have been relatively easy to meet someone like you, or with whom at least you didn’t have to hide your true nature; nevertheless, your love life has always been unsatisfying in the best of cases, and a veritable nightmare in the worst, and as David noted, it has been a long time since your last relationship.

You don’t quite know why it is so difficult for you to meet someone you like, who reciprocates your interest, and the bond with whom lasts more than a calendar page. Perhaps you ask too much of others or, conversely, reserved and introverted as you are, you discourage people who try to know you better. Or perhaps, you reflect as the hint of a smile blossoms on your lips, the boys were right that time they tried to comfort you after your latest relationship had gone down the drain, the reason your heart gets broken over and over again is that the men -well, the males of every race- of Santa Carla are a bunch of idiots who wasted the chance to take a doll like you out to dinner.

And then they brought your most recent ex to you, beaten to a pulp and with a sign that said: “ENJOY YOUR MEAL, (NAME)!” hanging from his neck. They are not the most mature vampires in the world, but anyone can see how much they love you.

In any case, this time it might be different - he might be different. Maybe. After all, even though you have spent as much time as you could together, every single moment at night you weren’t busy with your job or taking care of the boys, it’s still too early to say if there might be a future for the two of you. You don’t want to rush things, given the fact rash decisions often turn against those who take them, and you’re old and wise enough to know that getting too attached to a person you still don’t know fully is a sure way to have your heart broken, but you can’t help it: you’re completely infatuated, perhaps even something more, and you want this relationship to last.

You don’t want to lose him. Just thinking you won’t be able to meet him every night like you have done for the last three months, whether to walk arm in arm along the tree-lined avenues or to share a moment of intimacy hidden in a dark back-alley, both aware, and aroused by the fact, that any passer-by could see you, makes you wanna cry. Nothing says it has to happen, especially since your friend seems taken by you as much as you are by him, but you can’t help being afraid, because three months is probably the longest relationship you have ever had, and he… he is special, you wouldn’t be able to explain why but you’re sure of it, and the last thing you want is to ruin things between you like you did with all your previous partners…

“What’s so special about him?”

“Sorry?”

“This friend of yours; what does he have that so many others don’t?” David inquires, now openly curious; it is a fair question, at least when it’s a friend who asks it, for which nonetheless you don’t have an answer ready.

“He treats me very well. He’s kind, always interested in what I think or do, and he makes me laugh.” you start listing in the end, the smile on your lips getting wider “He’s a bit old-fashioned, the sort of man who opens the door for a woman and pulls her chair out when she sits, and it’s very charming, but it’s not a pose, it’s his way to prove he cares about me. He’s very affectionate, and he’s a musician, so we have that in common…”

“You two fucking?”

“David.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright… if you met a guy you like, good for you.” David concedes, pulling off from the door as he prepares to leave; his tone is deliberately casual, perhaps to not give the impression he’s sticking his nose in your personal affairs “Just try not to let him push you around, alright?”

Part of you would like to point out you don’t need that sort of exhortation. Like the long list of victims you have left behind you in the last three centuries, among which many of your exes, you’ve never been the sort of person who allows others to mistreat them, and you’ve always known that no partner, no matter how handsome or funny or loving, can disrespect you, make you question your self-worth, or make you cry.

On the other hand, you appreciate David’s concern, since you know he doesn’t want to see you suffer.

“I will.” you promise “If you in turn swear you and the others won’t get into trouble, at least tonight.”

Your young friend gives you his word that they’ll try, which you know is the most you can hope for, and then he leaves you free to go.

The night is chilly in Staten Island, an icy wind that forces the passers-by to pick up the pace towards home or to hide their hands and heads under gloves and scarves as they shiver. Free from such worries -you did put a light jacket on, more because it matched your dress than because you needed it as protection from the cold- you climb on your car, parked across the street from the house, and drive towards the park where you and your friend have agreed to meet, like so many other tuesday nights since your first encounter. The relative lack of traffic allows you to accelerate just above the speed limits, something you usually avoid but that tonight you decide to allow yourself; talking to David made you slightly late, and the last thing you want is for him to have to wait for you - because it would be impolite, obviously, not because you fear he might decide to leave. You anxiously keep glancing at the little car clock, calculating the time left before you reach your destination, but at the same time the emotion filling your heart -anticipation, a barely kept under control excitement, the inebriating joy of knowing he is waiting for you- is so pleasant, an exhilarating rush of sensual trepidation, as you try to imagine what tonight has in store for you. It’s been a long time since someone awoke that sort of feeling in your heart, and you can’t help enjoying it.

Your heart has been still for three centuries, but you’re so excited you could almost think it has started beating -fluttering, even- again as you slow down to turn into a tree-lined street, already savouring the moment when you’ll be face to face. No matter how punctual you are, he’s always already there, waiting for you; seeing you come he’ll smile, reach out to take your hand and bring it to his lips for a kiss, and that will be enough to make you feel you have the world at your feet…

You finally reach your destination, a mostly peaceful neighbourhood with almost deserted streets. Having parked your car -a gift to yourself, bought after saving up for it for years; like all vampires you can transform into a bat and fly, and the boys are always happy to have your ride on the back of one of their bikes, but you prefer a more comfortable mean of transportation- you walk the brief distance towards the park, and soon you hear a masculine voice whisper your name.

“Laszlo!” you exclaim happily as you cross the street to reach him, and your friend, waiting in front of the window of a newsagent, walks up to meet you in the middle. “(name)” he greets you again with a slight bow of his head “Good evening; you look lovely tonight.”

The compliment flatters you, and you do like to dress up for your dates, but in truth, your friend is the one who looks invariably ready for a high-society party. Laszlo wears embroidered waistcoats and top hats, tailcoats and elegant ties, a style of clothing that, he told you, was fashionable for upper-class men when he was alive, and that he never abandoned after being turned. He looks amazing, the elegance of his clothing simply complimenting his natural charm, and you could be almost jealous of his effortless elegance, if you weren’t so attracted to him.

“Did you rest well?”

“A good day’s sleep, thank you; I couldn’t wait to see you.” you tell him, at ease sharing your most private thoughts like you rarely have been with a person you have known for such a relatively short time. Laszlo, who is still holding your hand in his after kissing it, smiles with something that is more than simple satisfaction and complacence; you know he has also looked forward to that night you can fully spend together, and he’s determined not to waste it “What are we doing?”

“I noticed a carnival has just come to town. Would you like to visit it?”

You’re actually quite bored with that sort of place, given all the time you spent at the Boardwalk in Santa Carla, and you doubt the one that just came to Staten Island is different in any significant way. On the other hand, you appreciate that Laszlo has tried to come up with something fun to do for your date, and in the end you just want to spend the night with him, where and doing what is less important.

“Of course, I’d like that.” you answer eagerly, and a clearly satisfied Laszlo offers you his arm to lead you away.

As you expected, the carnival is an almost perfect copy of the one in Santa Carla: lines of stands that sell food and other merchandise, games of skill -most of which undoubtedly rigged- the Rollercoaster and the Ferris Wheel, and other attractions; children of all ages, some of whom accompanied by more or less bored adults, line in front of their favourite rides, while a few giggling teenagers eye the Tunnel of Love, waiting for someone to invite or perhaps hoping to be asked themselves. Cheerful music fills the air, as well as the smell of popcorn and funnel cake, as you and Laszlo unhurriedly enjoy your walk; your friend, who unlike you is the sort of vampire whose body now refuses normal food, nonetheless insists on treating you to a snack, and you thank him with a quick kiss, hidden behind your cotton candy.

“I can’t believe you have been an actor!” you exclaim admiringly. Unlike you, who before moving to Staten Island had spent the last three centuries in Santa Carla, Laszlo has lived a diverse and active life, dedicating himself to a number of different activities, from practising law to topiary; he always has a funny anecdote or story to tell, and you gladly listen as you cling to his arm.

“I have been a porn actor, to be exact. A few of my movies have won awards as well, especially The adventures of a randy vampire from 1896, one of the very first pornos ever.” he reveals “I must admit I’m quite proud of it.”

“Well, you should be! I’d never be able to do that sort of thing. Can I, err, see them? If it’s not too private…”

Laszlo, who looks openly flattered by your interest, assures you nothing would make him happier than showing you his movies. “I’m glad you asked me; no one ever cared to see them, not even Nadja.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is, I assure you. She finds them boring.”

Silence falls on the two of you; Laszlo seems vaguely melancholic all of a sudden, but you don’t quite know what to say to lift his spirits, since the matter concerns him and a person you have never met.

Nadja is Laszlo’s Sire, and wife; she turned him into a vampire after having seduced and hypnotised him, and after a while they got married. Laszlo told you about her on your first date, and you know the two of them care greatly about each other, even though they have always had an open relationship. You don’t quite dislike Nadja -how could you, since you’ve never even seen her?- but you can’t help feeling threatened by her, since she and Laszlo share such a deep bond, and have been together for so long. Your friend -David was right, the term is completely inappropriate to describe your and Laszlo’s relationship, but what else could you call him? You’re not exclusive, you’re not engaged, and you’ve never even met the rest of each other’s clan; you simply meet for dates regularly, and fool around behind the bushes or in the back of the diner where you work. You care for each other a lot, and have fun together, but perhaps you should sit and discuss what name to give to your relationship…- but you can’t help feeling threatened by her, afraid that Laszlo may never come to love you like he loves her… or that she might force him to leave you.

“I’m so glad we can spend some time together.” you mention in the end, finally finding a way to change the subject “I have been asked to double my shifts at the diner this week, and last night when I returned home I discovered the boys had freed a dozen dogs from the pound and brought them home. I’ll be the first vampire whose hair turns grey with stress…”

Laszlo smiles. “How are your young friends?”

“They’re well, thank you; full of energy as usual, which would be endearing if I didn’t have to clean up their messes every day.” you lament; the last thing you want is to bore Laszlo with your complains, but since Max’s death, and given the fact you’re yet to make friends after moving to Staten Island, you have no one else to confide in “I don’t think they could survive a night without me…”

Laszlo looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “Do you plan on remaining with them forever, then?”

“I… don’t think I have a choice, do I? Max is gone, and no matter what they think, the boys are not invincible, and they already escaped vampire hunters once; if I leave them to their own devices they’ll end up dead in less than a week, not to mention the fact they have no money of their own. I love them deeply, but sometimes I wish I didn’t have to spend all my time taking care of them.”

Laszlo doesn’t comment, beyond a sympathetic smile that you easily return. You spend another hour at the carnival, even treating yourself to a ride on the Ferris Wheel; when your cabin reaches the top of the structure, Laszlo circles your shoulders with an arm to make you turn towards him and kisses you, sweet and intense, his tongue gently slipping past your lips to play with yours. You moan softly, bringing up a hand to first cup his cheek and then to run your fingers through his dark hair; you can feel Laszlo’s well-groomed beard against your cheek, but the sensation is not unpleasant - quite the opposite in fact, especially after you end up thinking there is another part of your body he could kiss, your most delicate skin, where the burning sensation of his facial hair would only enhance your pleasure…

You feel hot just thinking about it.

You end up kissing furiously until your cabin returns to the ground; Laszlo leads you out by the hand, smiling when he sees you having to fix your dress. Neither speaks; but both of you are smiling.

After that, you decide you have had enough of the carnival, and walk to a more quiet spot, a small garden completely empty but for a few dogs being walked by their owners. You find a stone bench, and since there are traces of dirt on the surface Laszlo takes his jacket off to cover it.

“But this way I’ll crumple it!”

“Don’t worry about it; I wouldn’t want your dress to get dirty.” Laszlo explains, insisting so much that in the end you acquiesce and sit on the bench after he has draped his jacket on it, under the branches of a large oak.

“You’re a real gentleman; I really like this side of your personality.” you point out; Laszlo is not the first partner who treats you well, but there is an old-fashioned chivalry in him you can’t help being charmed by “Especially since you, err, already made a good impression on me.”

“Well, you’re a lady; you deserve to be treated with courtesy.”Laszlo explains, now sitting next to you “Especially if…”

“... yes?”

“... nothing. Will you play for me now, as you promised?”

You hesitate for a moment before retrieving your flute from your bag.

“I warn you, I’m not really good yet.” you apologise; as you told David, a love for music is one thing you and Laszlo have in common, but unlike him, who has released several songs -even though most of them were later stolen and re-arranged by other artists- you’re still learning to play the flute, having taken night classes at a local school when you lived in Santa Carla, and you’re now trying to teach yourself “Maybe we should wait, I don’t want you to think badly of me…”

“I promise I won’t.” Laszlo gently reassures you “Please, I’d love to hear you play.”

While the boys and even Max occasionally agreed to listen to your efforts with the flute, Laszlo is the first who asked you to perform, which you appreciate deeply. Feeling a bit shy but determined to give your best shot, you bring the flute to your lips, close your eyes to better focus and play for a few minutes, choosing a few pieces you have practised recently. Your instrument’s soft notes fill the air, Laszlo’s hand resting on your tight as he listens intently.

“Very well.” he compliments you in the end, and you smile, still embarrassed.

“Don’t say that, I know I’m terrible.”

“Well, of course you’re still learning, but you’re way better than many other musicians who have played as long as you have. I particularly enjoyed that Bach piece.”

You allow yourself to think he’s being sincere, and not simply telling you what you want to hear; the moon is still high in the sky above your heads, but suddenly you wish this night would never end.

“I… spoke to Nadja about you.” Laszlo mentions after a while, his tone too casual for that nonchalance to be sincere “I mean, I have told her I had met you since our second date, but yesterday we spoke at length.”

“... about me?”

“About you. I hope you don’t mind, but there are no secrets between us.”

You assure Laszlo you could never blame him for not having wanted to keep something from his spouse, but in the privacy of your heart you’re suddenly tense, still fearing Nadja could represent a problem for the two of you. “What… what did you talk about?” you manage to ask, forcing yourself not to wring your hands, as you do sometimes when you’re particularly nervous for something; your anxiety mounts inside you as you see Laszlo hesitate before answering, as if he didn’t know how to - or he had to tell you something he knew would pain you.

“I told Nadja I cared about you very much; more than I have had for anyone in a long time, and that… well, that you are special; beautiful, and clever, and charming. I told her I was serious about us, and I wanted you to be part of my life, for the rest of eternity.”

He looks at you, expecting, you easily understand, a remark about that declaration, sincere and even earnest in its intensity; if you had any doubts regarding the genuineness of his feelings -and you didn’t; well, not really- his words tonight would have dispelled them. You smile warmly as you rest a hand against his cheek, happy and moved, but when you finally speak, it is simply to ask: “And what did Nadja say?”

Laszlo blinks, but if he is disappointed you haven’t returned, or even just commented on, his declaration -and you want to do it, really! You are simply too worried his Maker will try to take him away from you to focus on how to reciprocate- he hides it very well.

“She was happy for me. Even though the two of you have never met I think she has a good opinion of you, after everything I have told her; she even told me she’d like to meet you.”

“... really?”

“Of course. I think you’d be great friends.”

“I’d like to be her friend.” you confess, already a little more at ease “I’ve met very few female vampires in my life, and I still don’t know anyone here in Staten Island apart from you.”

“I’m glad to hear it, because… well…” Laszlo hesitates for a moment, sighs, and then looks away before continuing: “... because I hoped you would consider another relocation.”

“… what?”

“I would like you to move in with me. I know you’re yet to see where I live, and you haven’t met my wife and my flatmates, but if you got along with them, and you thought you could feel at ease there, perhaps you could decide to make it your home as well. I haven’t forgotten your responsibilities, mind you; I know how fond you are of your young friends, and that they need you. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not fully comfortable with, or that you could feel guilty for, but… well, I just wanted to know what I want, and what I feel.”

Laszlo turns to look at you expectantly, but to your shame you are unable to utter a single word, emotion having tied your tongue. The offer -the proposition- is so unexpected you struggle to even just envision it: you don’t dislike sharing your house and having flatmates, but the idea of living under the same roof with his wife is a little odd. Would Laszlo spend a night with you and one with Nadja? Would the three of you share a single bed? Would you and her become… intimate? You’re not necessarily against the idea, but perhaps you should meet her first, and the others as well; if you ended up not getting along, cohabitation would become a nightmare.

It is, of course, not a decision you can make on the spot; you are responsible for the boys, and no matter how frustrating it is sometimes to clean up their messes and realise you are saddled with four children even though you’re not their Sire, you love them deeply and know they love you. David and the others do need you; if you hadn’t been there they would probably be sleeping in a dump, and have risked their life at least a dozen times since the five of you moved away from Santa Carla. You could never forgive yourself if something were to happen to them because you’re not there to protect them.

You need time to decide. A lot of time, probably. You need to meet Nadja and the other flatmates, and to see their home, and to talk to the boys, and… and…

Laszlo is now looking at you, which is good, because otherwise you wouldn’t be able to kiss him, which you do, hard and long enough to leave both of you breathless - if you could actually breathe, that is. You cup Laszlo’s face in your hands, looking at him as if you had never met him before -his deep and expressive brown eyes, his well-kept beard, his lovely smile- and think you may allow yourself to fall in love with this man, in time.

When you finally part you’re both smiling. You lick your lips, determined to express your feelings properly this time - the joy his proposition has filled your heart with, the excitement you feel at the prospect of sharing his home, how much you care for him and do want your relationship to last, but when you finally “I…” begin, a moment later a very unexpected, unpleasant sound pierces the silence around you, making both you and Laszlo jump.

Your phone is ringing in your bag.

“I’m so sorry, I… I’m turning it off…” you stammer, embarrassed as if it had rung in the middle of a wedding, or while you were at the movies, and after a few seconds spent anxiously rummaging in your bag you finally retrieve your phone, still singing what now sounds like the most obnoxious ringtone ever. You’re about to silence the call and put it back, so that you and Laszlo can return to your conversation… and a moment later your eyes fall on the phone’s display, where the name of the caller is blinking against a background of your favourite colour.

David.

“Is it one of your friends?”

“Yes, I…”

“It’s fine; please answer.” Laszlo invites you with a wave of his hand; he’s smiling gently, and he obviously understands you didn’t ask to be interrupted, but you can see how hurt he is - disappointed, even, as if that ill-timed interference had led him to imagine the answer his proposal will receive “It could be important.”

Shame is making your cheeks burn, as if you had committed some grave crime; without the courage to look at Laszlo, you answer the call. “What?!” you bark, anger and frustration now filling you “What is it?!”

Silence.

“David? I swear, if this is a joke…”

“(name)...” the leader of the quartet begins in the end, in a meek, almost shy voice you have very rarely heard him use, which confirms your fears. When the boys call you it isn’t necessarily to ask for your help -sometimes they’re bringing back pizza and they want to know what you would like, or they want to pick you up from the diner to bring you to an open-air cinema they have heard about- but they knew you had a date, they wouldn’t disturb you unless something had happened… something important, dramatic, potentially earth-shattering… “I’m so sorry…”

“What happened? Are you all ok?” you ask, anxiety mounting inside you. Laszlo is still by your side, looking at you, but shame and worry stop you from turning to face him; your mind is already filled with terrible images of vampire hunters closing on the boys, wooden stakes in their hands.

“We’re fine… for now. Just, err, there’s a little problem… we have been arrested.”

The phone is this close from falling from your hand.

“You need to help us, (name).” David whispers urgently, anxiety gnawing at his voice “Find a way to get us out...”

“No. I won’t.”

“... what?”

“David, I told you and the others a thousand times you need to start taking care of yourselves without relying on my help; it’s not fair to me, and in any case I can’t always be where you need me to.” you point out, stricter than you’ve ever been when talking to the boys; this is a conversation you have already had a thousand times, but perhaps now that they won’t receive the help they already counted on, David and the others will realise you’re not their mother, and that you have a life of your own - or at least you should have one, dammit! “I don’t know what sort of trouble you have gotten yourself in…”

“Well, we…”

“... and I don’t want to know. There are four of you, all reasonably intelligent; find a solution and a way to return home. I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the night. It’s time for you to grow up, start taking responsibility…”

“But we’ll die.” David interrupts you, his voice suddenly small; taken aback, you remove your phone from your ear and look at it, as if trying to read an explanation for that gloomy prediction.

“What?!”

“Well… they brought us to a cell, and I thought we could escape by prying the bars open while no one was paying attention to us, but there must be a percentage of silver in the metal, because we can’t even touch them without burning. We tried everything, it’s no use, and… the agents said they will keep us here until ten in the morning, when a judge or someone else comes, I don’t know. (name), there are two windows in the cell. Without shutters.”

You close your eyes, suddenly horrified by the image filling your mind; a tiny brick-walled cell, the four young vampires inside who scream in agony as they burn, flames enveloping their bodies. You have already seen a vampire being exposed to sunlight, after the Vampiric Council had sentenced them to death for some terrible crime: a century and a half later, you still remember the smell of their charred flesh, the torment in their voice as they screamed for help…

“Where are you?” you ask in the end.

“Eighth precinct. Please, (name); I know you were busy, I’m sorry, we…”

You end the call, well aware you have no time for goodbyes and reassurances; you turn to Laszlo, now serious and already worried for those four boys he has never met, and you know you’re both intimately mourning something - a future, maybe, or at least the chance to discuss it.

“They have been arrested, and are going to get burned to a crisp if I don’t intervene.” you explain “I am so sorry; I…”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it most certainly isn’t. Laszlo, I… I wish I could stay here with you; you… you made me so happy, and I do want to… to meet Nadja, and all the rest; but those four idiots have no one else, I can’t let them die. Please, can we… meet tomorrow, or even tonight, if I’m quick…”

“I’m coming with you.” Laszlo announces as he stands, and you stare at him, mouth hanging open.

“What?!”

“I don’t want to stop you from coming to the rescue of your friends; but allow me to come with you.”

Why?, you could ask, but you don’t; even just for moral support, it’s nice to have someone who worries about you. “Thank you.” you murmur gratefully as you stand as well, shoving your phone in your bag “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t mention it, my darling. Now, where are we heading?”

Laszlo immediately proves himself useful, since unlike you he knows how to find the police station of the eighth precinct, that you reach without incident fifteen minutes later. As you drive, your hands gripping the steering wheel with enough force to strangle a man and Laszlo’s hand soothingly resting on your thigh -you could move it a little higher up, you would like to tell him; and you will, you promise yourself, as soon as you have dealt with the umpteenth trouble caused by the boys- you order yourself not to give in to panic, and think; you don’t know yet the charge that caused the arrest of the boys, and in a lawless area like Santa Carla the police mainly left them alone, except for the various security guards of the boardwalk, a few of which were turned into a meal for their trouble. What if they want to keep David and the others behind bars until tomorrow? Thanks to Max you have more than enough money to bribe a few agents, unless you find a particularly zealous one, eager to follow procedure instead of pocketing a few bills in exchange for their help…

“It’s going to be alright.” Laszlo murmurs as you turn left without bothering to use your turn signal, driving into a larger, more trafficked neighbourhood “You need to remain calm, (name); you can’t help your friends if you’re not clear-headed.”

“I know, I know…” you murmur in response, trying to focus on driving instead than on a terrifying, impossible-to-silence thought that keeps filling your mind: that this accident with the boys is not just that, an unfortunate event no one could have foreseen, nor simply the last of a long list of mistakes on their part. It is a sign, a warning - perhaps even a punishment. Just as you contemplated moving away and leaving the boys to their own devices, no longer begging but forcing them to take care of themselves as they are more than old enough to do, destiny or luck or whatever one wants to call it put your young friends, your family, at the risk of death, as if silently pointing out what could happen if you really left and didn’t keep tabs on them constantly.

It’s been stupid, you think miserably, you barely considered Laszlo’s proposal and look what happened! What could befall the boys if you left for good? None of them has been able to keep a job for more than a week, and the last time David tried to cook you dinner you had to call the fire brigade. In time, through trial and error, they might mature at least a little and learn to look after yourselves, but by that time they could have gotten themselves killed -or worse, revealed their nature to the humans- a hundred times, and you know that until you disappear from their lives for real, or at least move away and switch your phone off, they will always count on you intervening to solve whatever mess they created.

They’re not bad boys; but they’re a bit lazy, and childish, and reckless, like most people their age. You didn’t ask to be saddled with the responsibility of their well-being, but that was given to you nonetheless, and what can you do if not your utmost to protect them?

Bitter, helpless tears fill your eyes, but you dry them quickly as thanks to Laszlo’s precise instructions the eighth precinct finally appears in front of you, a small building squeezed between a minimarket and a tattoo studio, unlike it obviously closed given the late hour. You park your car in the first space you find, and then sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. “I can’t believe it! I am so sorry, I had hoped we could spend a night together, just enjoying a bit of peace and each other’s company…”

Laszlo gently assures you that he knows, that he appreciates it, and that he doesn’t blame you for having had to interrupt your date. “Shall we go inside to find your friends?” he asks then, and nodding tiredly you follow him out of the car, anxious and disgruntled in equal measure; there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to save David and the others, but once they’re safe, you promise yourself, you’ll make them regret the day they were born!

Having walked to the precinct, you explain to the guard at the entrance that you are the boys’ lawyer -and, err, my assistant- and you came to discuss the charges against them at the request of their family.

“Can we come in?” you inquire in your sweetest tone.

“Door’s open, lady.”

“Yes, but can we come in?”

“Yeah, yeah, go on.” the uniformed man concedes in the end, not suspecting the true reason behind your request and perhaps thinking you’re simply an overpolite person; Laszlo smiles approvingly at you, and you return it before preceding him inside.

You cross a dimly lit corridor to reach a large room mainly occupied by several cluttered desks; sitting at one of them is the only person present, a plain-clothed middle-aged woman who stands to meet you.

“Detective Borgess.” she introduces herself as she shakes your hand “You must be here for the boys.”

“I am. I am their lawyer, (full name). Can you tell me what happened?”

Detective Borgess can, and does, recounting what is basically a gigantic stroke of bad luck. An hour before, she and her partner were coming out from a sandwich shop at the end of a break when, walking past a back-alley on their way back to the precinct, they stumbled upon the boys, gathered around the bodies of two recently, very recently killed men.

“Which means you didn’t see my f… my clients kill them; the bodies might have been there already.” you point out, hoping to soften her stance; your experience with the role of a lawyer is limited to a few tv shows you put on and half-listen to as you clean the house, and unfortunately Borgess doesn’t seem the sort of person who lets herself be influenced easily.

“Ma’am, your clients weren’t simply standing in a circle looking at the two victims as if they had simply stumbled upon them and were deciding what to do to help; they were holding them up in their arms, passing the victims among them like a beer bottle to share. For a moment I actually thought they were…” she shudders “It doesn’t matter. In any case your boys’ hands were bloodstained, and they were alone with the bodies in a dead-end street. Who else could have done it?”

“And why should they have done it? Had the victims been mugged?”

You’re pretty confident of the answer you will receive, since you know the boys unburden their victims of wallets, phones and other things they can use or sell only after having fed, but as you feared, Burgess is not convinced. Tall and strong, she faces you, her arms to her chest and her gun hanging from her waist.

“That doesn’t matter. Besides, those four do look suspicious.” she points out “Not a personal document among them, they have asked me to board the windows in their cell up but refused to say why, and as we searched them I noticed all of them have a smallpox vaccine scar like people who received it fifty years ago do, even though none of them can be older than twenty. Where the hell did they come from?”

“So you’re considering them suspicious because they cared for their health enough to get vaccinated?” you insist; you’re improvising, desperately trying to find a way to convince this woman to release your friends, but to no avail. Detective Burgess, now also half-convinced you’re making a fool of her, informs you she has the right to detain the boys for twenty-four hours, and she plans on using that time to trace their identity and analyse the crime scene, which will probably yield evidence enough to pin the crime on the boys.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up behind bars for the next thirty years.” she concludes matter-of-factly, but the length of the sentence is the least of your worries; dawn is in less than five hours, and if you don’t find a way to free the boys before then they’ll end up charred and dead as soon as the sun rises.

You have no choice: you’ll have to do this the hard way. You tense, ready to attack; you wouldn’t be surprised to find out Detective Burgess does mixed martial arts in her spare time or is an Olympic-level shooter, but her strength, as well as the weapon at her hip, will prove futile against your vampiric powers. You’ll subdue her, smashing her face against the wall or breaking her arm as you usually do in such cases, and order her to free the boys and destroy any proof of their presence at the precinct; and then, obviously, you’ll have to kill her, but now that you think about it you haven’t fed in a couple of nights, and you may as well make use of this woman before discarding her…

“Miss (last name)? Is everything alright? I can bring you to your clients now, and I’d strongly encourage them to…”

“All right, that is enough.”

Laszlo, who has until now lingered by your side, silently witnessing your complete fiasco as you spoke to the Detective, suddenly takes a step forward, and before either of you has time to react, lifts a hand in front of the woman’s eyes.

“Now you’ll stop bothering the lady, and will set her friends free without delay.” he orders, his tone composed “Now, chop chop. What are you waiting for, wench?”

You had completely forgotten Laszlo has the gift of hypnosis, the first of your kind with this particular talent you have ever met; he had mentioned he often makes use of it to escape embarrassing situations or simply to get rid of people who bother him and his friends, and you can’t deny it comes right on cue. Detective Burgess’s determined, vaguely suspicious attitude melts as a blank expression fills her face; without complaining, moving slowly and deliberately like a sleepwalker, she retrieves an heavy set of keys from a drawer of her desk, and then guides you along another corridor, with the cells at the other side of it.

“Hey, the cavalry has come!”

The cell is barely large enough for the four boys, empty except for the metal benches that you imagine also serve as beds; they smile, relieved and delighted as they see you come and especially when they realise Detective Burgess is going to let them go, but the murderous expression on your face is enough to make them much meeker.

“(name)...” David, as usual the spokesman, begins, but you have neither the interest nor the patience to listen.

“Shut up. Shut up, all of you.” you add quickly, seeing the other boys prepare to talk as well, no doubt to plead their case; ignoring them, you turn to talk to Laszlo: “Can you please ask her if someone else knows that these four idiots have been here, and in that case if she can call them? We also need to destroy any evidence.”

Your friend complies, ordering Burgess to call her partner, who was with her when they stumbled upon the boys. Detective Mendoza, who was taking a smoke break in the back, is immediately alarmed when he sees the four suspects out of their cell, but Laszlo is quick to hypnotise him as well, and orders the man to destroy any trace of the boys’ passage at the precinct. Fortunately, given the fact less only little more than an hour has passed since the incident and David and the others have refused to tell the Detectives their names, they haven’t been formally accused, nor did the Detectives try to take the boys’ picture, and it takes Burgess two minutes to deliver a couple of half-compiled modules to the shredder and tear out the page of the precinct’s register on which the arrest had been annotated.

“Did someone else see you?” you ask, hoping -against all hope, because your night has already gone to shit, why on earth would something go well tonight? When ever did having to fix the boys’ mess did not mean sacrificing your own time and happiness?- to receive a negative answer, because it would be impossible to track down those witnesses to erase their memory as well.

The boys, who know about your and Laszlo’s friendship but have never met him, observe him with brazen curiosity, and it’s only when you, already fed up with the whole matter, insist, that they inform you that the only witnesses of the incident are the passers-by who saw the Detectives arrest them, and whose presence stopped David and the others from killing Burgess and Mendoza to get rid of them.

“How many?”

“... just a few. It’s not a problem, (name), seriously…”

“How many, David?!”

“... six or seven. Ok, maybe a dozen.” he admits, looking like a six-year-old confessing he has stolen the last chocolate cookie from the tin “But at a distance, they can’t have seen us well in the face! We’re sorry, (name)...”

“Yeah, (nickname), we didn’t do it on purpose…”

“Silence.”

“It’s been an accident, we didn’t mean to…”

“I said silence!” you exclaim, now furious and scared in equal measure, to the point you can’t even stand to be in their presence anymore. You love these four like the brothers you no longer have and you know they didn’t mean to cause you trouble, that this time at least it was partially a stroke of bad luck as much as their fault, but your patience has run out; once again, you had to intervene to fix a mess you didn’t cause, only a few hours after you expressly asked them to be careful, which also meant interrupting the first night you and Laszlo had to spend together after a long while. Had your friend not intervened, these four would have probably died in that cell, and even now, thanks to the people who witnessed their arrest, you cannot be fully sure their carelessness won’t come to bite you in the ass “I don’t want to hear any of you speak until further notice. Now let’s just get out of here.”

David and the others, well aware they deserve to be reprimanded and even more, obey without complaining, their heads bent low.

Two minutes later the five of you are gathered next to your car. Laszlo has ordered Burgess and Mendoza to forget the whole affair, from having seen the boys with their victims, to their arrest, to having met you and him; finally, amazingly scrupulous as he is, he also cancelled the memory of the agent at the door, leaving the whole eighth precinct unaware of your existence. You don’t know what has become of the bodies of the two men David and the others killed, but you hope their murder will remain unsolved, or at least that no one will connect the bite wounds on their necks to the nowadays ubiquitous vampire legends, that someone could be led to take seriously, enough to investigate whether bloodsuckers actually exist...

But that’s a worry for another night; now, as usual, you have to deal with the boys, and then thank Laszlo for his providential help.

“I want the four of you to go home, now.” you order, immediately met by a chorus of protests.

“But it’s hours before dawn!”

“(name), we couldn’t even feed properly from those two…”

“Yeah, David’s right, we’re hungry…”

“You’ve fed just two nights ago.” you point out. The boys’ latest meal was a family of tourists who had the unfortunate idea of stopping them to ask for directions; David and the others drank their fill, except for the eldest daughter, who they brought home for you knowing you prefer female blood. Very thoughtful of them, you have to admit “You’ll be ok for at least two more.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No buts. Do you understand what could have happened? What could still happen?” you ask, meeting the eyes of each of the boys in turn; you feel like a grade school teacher reprimanding a quartet of mischievous pupils, and perhaps you do sound ridiculous, given the thousands of times you have done this already in the last century, but you don’t care. You feel angry, and tired, and you can’t stand this anymore “A dozen witnesses! News of what you did could spread to the whole city before mid-morning, and even go viral! What if the fact that the victims were bitten on the neck becomes public? Even if there weren’t vampire hunters here in Staten Island, anyone could make a connection! Have you already forgotten what happened to Max? Or maybe you remember, but you don’t care?”

The boys bend their heads; as stubborn as they usually are when forced to face the consequences of their actions, they must recognize this time they really got away by the skin of their teeth.

“We’re sorry, (name).” David finally answers for the four of them; he’s serious as he looks you in the eyes, unafraid but respectful, unlike what he used to do with Max “We fucked up; we’re sorry, especially because we had to call you. We tried to be careful, but…”

You know; you have to admit that tonight was not fully their fault, but this doesn’t comfort you at all - quite the opposite, actually. Even when they try to be careful, bad luck gets them into trouble; whoever or whatever is at fault, the boys simply can’t survive on their own, but they need you -or Laszlo, in this specific case- to take care of them and get them out of trouble. How can you abandon them, no matter how frustrating and limiting it is to renounce your dreams and aspirations to protect these four? How can you accept Laszlo’s invitation, knowing fully well that any night, any moment, could be the one they die, either because they couldn’t find shelter from the sun in time or because a hunter has outsmarted them?

The answer is simple: you can’t. At least, you can’t leave them alone. Suddenly you remember of all the times Laszlo has mentioned his friend Nandor’s familiar Guillermo, who takes care of the needs of the whole household. Could this be the solution?, you wonder, feeling as if a lightbulb had gone on above your head; what if you can find someone else to assume that responsibility, maybe more than one someone since they’d have four vampires to look after, provided you find someone suitable, strong and trustworthy, to clean up their mess…

It’s an… interesting idea; one to seriously consider, and in time to discuss with the boys. Maybe Guillermo himself could help, you’re sure he knows other familiars or people who would perform the task appropriately. Who knows, perhaps a solution that makes all of you happy -and safe- does exist, and you won’t have to sacrifice your and Laszlo’s relationship for the good of your friends…

“All right, let’s be done with it, at least for tonight.” you decide out loud; you are exhausted, and you can’t wait to put an end to the matter, and to this night that couldn’t have gone more disastrously different from what you had hoped “Where are your bikes?”

David mentions a spot close to the alley where Burgess and Mendoza had found them; it’s a few miles from where you are, which means, you realise with a sigh, your night does end here. “I’ll drive you.”

“There’s no need, (name)...”

“Of course there is; after what happened today I won’t let you out of my sight until you’re safe at home. Before you go, I think you should all thank Laszlo for getting you out of trouble.”

As you imagined, Laszlo gallantly tries to minimise the importance of his intervention, assuring you he was happy to help his fellow vampires, especially friends of yours; nonetheless, the boys are well aware that hadn’t it been for him maybe they’d still be behind bars, doomed to burn up to a crisp as soon as the sun rose.

“Thank you, pal; seriously, we owe you.” David points out for all, offering a hand Laszlo vigorously shakes “So you can hypnotise people? I could use a talent like that.”

“Unfortunately it is not a gift that can be taught; but when I was your age I hadn’t developed it yet, so you never know, you could still learn it.”

“You sure you didn’t hypnotise (name) to convince her to go out with you?”

“Paul!” you reprimand him; he is obviously joking, but it is still in bad taste.

Laszlo doesn’t bat an eye, simply explaining that his hypnosis doesn’t work on other vampires. He and the boys speak for a couple more minutes, at ease with one another despite the vast differences in personality and upbringing; in the end, the boys get in your car - the others squeezing in the back and David on the passenger seat.

“You take your time, alright? We’ll wait here as you thank your friend.” he invites you, his tone just a little bit suggestive, as the others giggle behind him. You roll your eyes as you turn, wondering whether the four of them are too old and tall to be put across your knee, and meet eyes with Laszlo, who silently follows you a few paces away.

“Thank you.” you murmur; you’re not embarrassed to admit you’re in his debt, for once the one who had to receive help instead of giving it, but you still regret the direction the night has taken, depriving you of a much-waited for night together “Really, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’m sorry I -well, they- ruined everything, I really couldn’t wait for our date tonight…”

Laszlo takes your hand in his as he assures you have no need to thank him; you would have surely found a way to set your friends free, if nothing else simply bashing Burgess’ face against the wall until she begged for mercy and submitted to your every request, and he’s happy he could help you. “Fine lads, the four of them.”

“You really think so? They didn’t exactly give the best of themselves tonight.”

“They were unlucky, which happens to the best of us; but they clearly care for you a great deal… and they need to be protected even more.”

A slightly tense silence falls on the two of you, as you are both tacitly reminded of the conversation you were having when David’s call interrupted you. Even before you could consider his proposal, Laszlo had the chance to see how seriously the boys need to be protected, how quickly their lives are put at stake without you watching over them; he has probably lost any hope to hear you accept to move in with you, and maybe he’s even regretting approaching the subject.

But he shouldn’t, you think desperately, he mustn’t, because he made you so happy asking you, happier than you remember being in a long time, and you do want to protect the boys, because they are a part of you, your family, and you’ll always care for them no matter what, but Laszlo is important for you as well, you care for him in a way words can’t describe, and what you share is still young and new, at least from the point of view of immortal beings as you are, but you know already it’s special, and true, and precious, and you want to protect it.

“About what we talked about…”

“You don’t need to say anything…”

“No, I want to.” you rush to reassure him “I… I do want to do it. At least, I’d very much like to meet Nadja and your other flatmates, and if we get along, well, I’d have to think carefully about it, but moving in with you would be great. Lovely, really, because you, Laszlo… you - I mean, I… I feel…”

There is so much you would like to tell him, but you soon find yourself stammering, your feelings maybe too deep and intense to be put into words; and it’s frustrating, and embarrassing, because Laszlo is right in front of you, a moment before you need to part so that you can drive the boys home, and after the complete disaster your night has turned into you at least want him to know how much you care for him, but suddenly you feel your tongue is stuck to your palate. The last thing you want is for Laszlo to doubt your feelings, and since you can’t talk about them, you decide, the only thing you can do is show him.

So you do.

You don’t care about the need to bring the boys home as soon as possible, nor of them being close enough to see clearly what you are doing; you’re with Laszlo, and this is enough to make you feel happy, and hopeful, and much bolder than you usually are. You place your hand on the back of Laszlo’s head, your fingers slipping through his dark, lucid hair, and he’s quick to circle your waist with his arm, drawing your body close to his. A moment later you’re kissing furiously, and in the last three months you have already exchanged more kisses than you can count, all sweet and passionate and that never last long enough, not even for people who don’t need to breathe like the two of you, but this is special, this is magic, the sort of kisses romance novelist have done their best to describe since the dawn of time. It’s the sort of kiss you can’t help losing yourself into, and you do, easily ignoring the boys whistling and hollering only a few paces away.

“You go, (name)!” they shout, clapping as if they were attending a show, and neither you nor Laszlo pay them any mind; his tongue brushes against yours, making you shiver in such a delicious way, your hips slowly grinding against his. You grin at each other as you finally part, his hands slipping to rest possessively on your waist.

“I’ll find a way.” you murmur; you don’t say I promise, but you’ve never been as convinced of something as you are of the commitment you’re making right now “I swear I will; and if I can’t find one, I’ll make it.”

“We’ll do it together, my darling.” Laszlo promises, his voice full of affection “You make me very happy, you know?”

You rest your foreheads against each other -and in the car the boys protest you’re embarrassing them and they’re still too young and impressionable to witness a scene like that- and you know that if you linger some more with each other it will be impossible to stop, and so you’re forced to part. Laszlo kisses your hand, and asks for the pleasure of your company tomorrow night, after you’ve gotten off work, so that he can walk you to his home.

“I’d really like that.” you answer, as excited as you were on the eve of your first date, three months ago, and Laszlo smiles, relieved and happy.

“So until tomorrow, miss (last name).”

“Until tomorrow, mister Cravensworth.” you answer with a slight curtsey, and a moment later you’re waving him goodbye, your gaze raised to observe the bat taking to the skies behind the treetops.

#What We Do in the Shadows #Laszlo Cravensworth #Laszlo Cravensworth x reader #Matt Berry #The Lost Boys #Bellona's stuff

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vmsplus · 1 year ago

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Benefits Of Investing In A Modular Cupboard In Your Bedroom | VMS Trade Link

If your bedroom cupboard gets cluttered from time to time, it may be because you do not have the right cupboard.

A cupboard may be called a wardrobe or a closet. It is a decorative piece of furniture that can enhance how your bedroom looks, and its primary function is to contain all of your clothing and accessories.

If you’re looking for storage for your clothes and other things, your best option is a modular cupboard in your bedroom. As the name implies, a modular cupboard or wardrobe is a kind of storage unit that can be easily put together or taken apart (when needed).

It is different from the traditional wardrobe or almirah, which is the cabinet you buy readymade; therefore, it may or may not suit your interior design. With a modular wardrobe, you can customise, following your personal style and decor.

There are many different modular wardrobe designs that you can choose from.

For example, there is the sliding wardrobe design. This design has movable doors that glide horizontally along metal channels. These channels are fixed to the bottom and top of the wardrobe.

This design makes a style statement, given its contemporary, sleek appearance.

This sliding wardrobe door design can save you more space by opening sideways; hence, do not block the space outside the wardrobe door. Besides providing more space for your clothes and belongings, they offer more stability, as they do not need to rely on hinges to hold the doors up.

Another one is the openable shutter wardrobe design, which has become popular because it is a functional and stylish storage solution. This design features one or more doors that, when swung open, reveal the contents of the wardrobe. It provides easy access to your clothes and belongings, adds a touch of style to your bedroom, and is versatile and durable.

What are the benefits of investing in a modular bedroom cupboard?

* Functionality.

Modular cupboards provide enough room for easy and convenient clothing and accessories storage.

* Customisation.

You can customise them to your specific needs, such as shelves, drawers, and hanging spaces. You only need to select the shape, the size, the colour, the finish, and the material to use, and you will have your modular wardrobe.

* Durability.

Modular wardrobes are made of high-quality materials and can withstand wear and tear. Materials such as glass, metal and wood are excellent materials that make these wardrobes a fantastic long-term investment.

*Aesthetics.

Modular cupboards can be made in many different shapes, styles and materials that blend beautifully with your bedroom decor. Whether you want a sleek, contemporary appearance or a rustic, classic appearance, they can be made to fit your preferences.

* Space saver.

They provide the additional benefit of being suited to any room, regardless of size.

Even if you are in a small apartment or house, they can fit because they come in various sizes and can be installed in any size of available space in the bedroom.

* Flexibility.

This is one of the key benefits offered by modular cupboards. In contrast to traditional cabinets, almirahs, modular wardrobes will meet your changing needs. Depending on the kind and quantity of clothes and accessories that need to be stored, you can add or remove drawers, shelves, and hanging areas.

Modular wardrobes offer flexible storage options for clothing, shoes, and other things. You need not hunt through cramped drawers and chests to find what you want.

Modular wardrobes allow you to dress more quickly and efficiently because everything you need is within easy reach in their rightful places. You just pick them up, ready to be worn. So, with a modular cupboard, there is no clutter, no searching everywhere, no detective work, no crumpled clothing.

Call VMS Tradelink if you need help choosing the right modular wardrobe for your bedroom or more information about installing a cupboard. We will be happy to speak to you and discuss how we can help with your project.

#modular cupboard in your bedroom #modular wardrobe designs #openable shutter wardrobe design #sliding wardrobe door design #sliding wardrobe design

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artuz · 2 years ago

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Artuz India Modern Custom Sliding Wardrobe Door Tips

Artuz Modern Custom Sliding Wardrobe Door cabinet gives the glossy smooth appearance making it a popular choice for those looking for a sleek, ultramodern look. In addition to the aesthetic rates, the Lacquered glass wardrobe shutters in Bangalore are also resistant and easy to clean. It can be acclimated to any room size and shape and can be designed with a variety of features similar as shelves, snuggeries , clothes rails and shoe racks.The Floor to Ceiling Openable Wardrobes Bangalore depends on the specific requirements and preferences of the individual.

However, some popular options for closet sliding door mechanisms include:

Artuz Mini offers retailers and small businesses a wide range of products and services to help them produce seductive and functional innards. We offer everything from cabinetwork and accessories to lighting and decoration, as well as consulting services to help businesses get the most out of their space.

One of the main benefits of working with Artuz One is the range of Acrylic sliding wardrobe we offer. For illustration, we offer custom cabinet work to meet the unique requirements of a particular business, or they may be suitable to reference unique ornamental particulars not available from other suppliers. It can help retailers and small businesses produce a distinctive and memorable interior space that sets them piecemeal from the competition.

Not only do we offer products and services, we also offer valuable expertise and advice. We advise on design generalities and trends, help companies make informed choices about accoutrements and home stretches, and give specialised advice on installation and conservation. It can help retailers and small businesses produce innards that aren't only visually charming but also practical and functional.

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#Modern Custom Sliding Wardrobe Door #Lacquered glass wardrobe shutters in Bangalore #Lacquered glass sliding wardrobe #Floor to Ceiling Openable Wardrobes Bangalore

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storm-angel989 · 6 months ago

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Outside The Office Part 39

I surveyed what should have been familiar terrain with distaste. In my fathers regin, each building on the compound was kept pristine and white, the grounds kept neat and organized- the way a military should look. In Adam’s regin, those buildings now hosted a grimy crust of brown dirt. The gardens once so carefully tended to now grew, wrought and overrun with weeds. I swallowed back the sadness and tried to refocus myself. I was here for a job, not for a walk down memory lane.

Snaking my way through the back buildings of the base, I yanked my exorcist mask and let it hang around my neck as I approached what had been my fathers office. Unlike the rest of the buildings that were so coated in neglect, this one was painted black with golden halos. It would have been funny if it wasn’t such a disgrace to the legacy my family had held for so long. Adam was truly an embarrassment to us all.

If I knew Adam, he would be too much of a coward to be down in the first wave of exorcists. No, knowing him he would be down at the second, once he was sure any traps set had gone off and his safety was assured. Until then, I guessed he would squirrel himself away until the last hour tolled. My instructions from Lucifer were clear- watch and wait, seal the portal and trap him in hell. Kill him on our turf, where he was most vulnerable. Negotiations between Lucifer and whatever power rose after his death would be handled once that portal was sealed- once our power was shown.

Lucifer had cautioned me to enter and wait it out. Find a safe place to watch and wait, make sure Adam emerged and left before that portal was sealed. That order was all well and good, but there were other things I needed to do now that I was back home. Things from my former life I wanted to find.

After all, it was unlikely that after all of this I would ever be able to go back to my childhood realm. Angel’s wouldn’t take kindly to someone who saw me as a traitor. But I would be dammed before my father’s wedding band and the set that belonged to my mother would end up in Adam’s grubby hands. I knew where in the house my father kept them, it was just a matter of getting there.

Slowly and carefully, I slipped into the pathway through the woods I had created as a child. Much like the base, time had allowed the weeds and growth to run rampant, to the point where it didn’t look like a path existed at all. But even now, my body knew from walking it so many times exactly where to go. Left at the birch tree. Right at the maple. Around the big pine I had carved my name into so many years ago and boom- through the thicket of blueberry bushes and I was home.

As I turned the final corner, part of me wondered if the house was even standing. After all, what better way for Adam to erase my family's legacy than by burning the home they had lived in for generations?

To my relief, the house loomed as forelonly as the morning I left. I climbed the stairs of the front steps as I had a thousand times before, and let my hand fall against the chipping white painted railing. The windows seemed to shutter as my weight creaked across the porch, and even the swing I had spent so many hours in looked more delicate, brittle- as though it would shatter if I even tried to sit and reminisce.

They say time gets into everything.

I pushed open the front door and stepped inside. Except for the fine layer of dust that covered every surface, everything looked the same as the day I left. I pushed open the door to my fathers bedroom and for the second time since I came home, my heart sank.

The bed, always neatly made, had been ripped apart. Drawers strewn from the dresser built by my great great grandfather. The closet doors flung open and every single piece of my fathers perfectly pressed wardrobe lay strewn about the room. I could feel the anger bubbling up in my throat at the audacity of this invasion. Not only did they kill him, they disrespected everything he stood for.

Stepping over the mess, I walked into his closet and knelt down. I pressed my hand against the third panel on the left and said a silent prayer that whoever ransacked the room didn’t know enough to search for the hidden panel.

To my relief, it opened effortlessly and I grabbed the contents within, shoving everything inside into my backpack. Whatever my father wanted to keep safe with the rings was enough for me to want to take it with me.

Pushing open the door to my bedroom, I found it the exact opposite of my fathers. The few things I called my own were neatly where I left them. Being the daughter of the high commander, toys were frowned upon. The only exception to that rule being my Bun Bun- a gift from my favorite uncle the day I was born. I opened my closet door, and for the second time that day, I was rewarded.

“You and I both have a new home,” I said softly as I put him safely in my backpack. “I like it there. I think you will too.”

A quick glance at my watch told me time had passed quicker than I anticipated. With a heavy heart, I closed the door to my childhood bedroom and made my way out the front door for the last time. The silence outside the house was deafening and as I slipped back into the woods, I allowed myself one final at the house that built me.

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sleepanonymous · 1 year ago

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Hi, I was wondering if you knew when Vessel started 'dancing' on stage? I'm pretty sure he started doing in in the late Sundowning-ish era/ TPWBYT era but I thought you'd probably be the best person to ask about finding videos from when he started dancing.

Oooh this is an interesting rabbit hole, thanks for asking Anon 🖤

So... I guess it depends on what you mean by dancing, because Vessel has always sort of moved on stage, you know? But what he did back then and what he's doing now is completely different. Like... maybe a better word for what he used to do is "writhing." The earliest video of a ritual I've seen of Sleep Token's was their third ritual in (what I'm assuming is) late 2017, and "writhing" is probably the best word for what Vessel was doing on stage (and I say that affectionately/respectfully).

TLDR; Conclusively I would say Vessel started dancing, as we see him dance on stage today, in the summer of 2022. He's always moved on stage, and even acted unhinged during Sleep Token's earlier rituals. Below the cut, I go through rituals on YouTube from 2018-2023 to try and pinpoint exactly when Vessel started dancing like we see currently in 2023. (I went through quite a few videos, most not even mentioned in this monster of a post, so I made a YouTube playlist here).

A great example of Vessel's early "writhing" dancing is this YouTube video of Nazareth from the 2018 Leeds Festival (he's also an absolute menace here!! He steps on III, he didn't paint his waist or his back, and he strangles and spits on the original OG IV. Like... the man had demons and I am here for them). The dancing that's most similar to current times starts around 2:37 and 3:40.

2019 is impossible to find good videos for lol, since they did most of their rituals for the Beautiful Oblivion tour as an opener and, apparently, nobody films openers. But there are some with decent audio quality from ArcTanGent (my favorite being The Offering). Interestingly, he's less animated, still writhing, but not a menace to the rest of the band while doing so. If anyone is even slightly photosensitive please don't watch these ArcTanGent videos, the lighting effects really didn't agree with the camera's shutter speed.

This is a video of Higher from December 2019. The sound is not as crisp, and the videographer is quite a bit further from the stage, but Vessel is still moving, especially towards the end. The breakdown starts around 2:15, and while III and OG IV are definitely more animated than Vessel, he's still dancing with them. He even jumps down to scream the end of the song at the barrier (and has a mini-wardrobe malfunction) at 2:39. That crowd was really feeling it and so was Vessel.

Because of the plague in 2020, all of Sleep Token's shows were in January. Vessel's behaviour was very similar to the video posted above (just with less crowd interaction). The first show they played in 2021 was the Download Pilot. This is the best audio quality of that show, and Vessel also moves/dances the most in this video, though it's toward the end around 2:31, where the videographer forgot they were filming and just started vibing, so it's really hard to see, lol. I don't blame them, but it's also shakycam to the max. (Also, a quick fun fact, this is the first show the band played with our current IV as far as I can tell.)

This is another video from 2021, but from Sleep Token's TPWBYT rituals tour. It's Hypnosis, and in the very beginning, we see some Floor Vessel, which is neat and reminiscent of the most recent NA rituals, before he does some of his usual writing, though quite a bit more animated. Around 4:06 you can see the writing again, but after 4:19 it morphs into what we've seen from more recent rituals. (Also, if anyone wants a full 70-minute video of this show, filmed from the center of the balcony looking down on the stage, you can watch it here. Some parts have major flashing, so just be careful).

Here's another video of Hypnosis, this time from September 2022. Here, finally, we see Vessel's current version of dancing, hops and arm flails included. It starts right when the song kicks in at 0:13, and he does it again at the end, around 4:29. Technically they did a UK tour with the Architects in May (see this video of The Offering at 3:50) and an Australian tour in June 2022 with Northlane (again, see this video of The Offering at 0:20, 1:37), with similar behaviour from Vessel, but that BRRF Hypnosis video is the first video I ever watched of Sleep Token live so it's very dear to me and it's also better sound quality than anything I could find from earlier in the year.

I went way overboard with answering this question, Anon, but it was super fun, so thank you again for asking 🖤🙏 Again, I made a playlist of all the videos + several others. If anyone has any recommendations for me to add to the playlist, send the links my way (especially if they aren't The Offering or Hypnosis lol) and I'll add them in chronological order.

#asks #answered #sleep token #vessel sleep token #vessel #sleepanon rant #i blew this ask way out of proportion #so sorry anon #if i had the ability to gif this would be a much better post lol #also would anyone be interested in that video of ritual iii?#it's literally a minute long screen recording of someone else's video of nazareth #but still interesting to watch

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anoras · 29 days ago

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Limbo rating: gen words: 2355

Rivka Surana dreams, and wonders, and speaks to a friend.

Her vision seemed to shimmer at the edges, like rippling glazed windows, where frost gathers at the edges. It felt as if she once more gazed out a tower window in Kinloch, trying to discern specks of the hinterlands on the distant shore, freshly fallen snow leaving the outside world a hazy, dream-like place. Leafless branches tangled on the horizon, like hands reaching to grasp at the chimney smoke that curled from distant homes, trying to capture the warmth in their gnarled fingers.

Warmth. Warmth in the tower, warmth in a home. A small home, with thin walls and shutters instead of glazing in the windows, where wind would blow through the cracks in winter, and hot summers brought with them the smells of mud and animals. Yet a fire still burned in the hearth, there was food in her belly every night, and she had parents who doted on her; who kissed her cheeks and taught her letters, who tended her scrapes and sang her lullabies in an ancient tongue.

The warmth coalesced her vision, condensed it into something resembling that home. Her mother, red-haired like her, tattoos dancing in the firelight like the halla they represented; her father, arms strong from the potter’s wheel, holding her on his knee, hearty laughter rumbling in his chest. She was there again, watching her mother place the tiny slice of honey cake onto the rickety old table in front of her; her name-day gift, a rare and costly treat in the Alienage.

She knew what came next, and she willed herself to wake, willed herself to leave this dream, even as the shouting began. It played out as it always did, the memory that haunted her from her first nights in Kinloch, until even now, seventeen years after the fact. There would be a knock at the door, metal fist against the brittle wood, hitting it so hard it splintered. There would be no time to move, for her to hide like she had been taught (behind the wardrobe, through the loose slat, run like a mouse in the walls until you reach the alley), no time but for the span of a breath.

The templars had seemed monstrous to her then; were monstrous even now. Great metal beasts with blazing swords upon their chests, voices echoing inside their helms; a storybook monster to her child’s mind. She screamed; a shrill, piercing shriek, that brought with it the smell of ozone. Her skin prickled, static making her shift cling to her woolen stockings for a brief, brilliant lightning-flash of a moment before a gesture of the templar’s gauntleted hand made the air stand still.

That was how it had felt, at least, as her heart stuttered against the bird-bones of her chest and the air settled thick and stagnant over the room. Like suffocating, she thought, like a sense had been taken away.

In her dream, she felt the templar grasp her by the wrist, yanking her to her feet. He dragged her, stumbling, out of their little house — out of the warmth, out of her father’s arms, away from her mother, pleading — out, out to the cold streets, to the half-frozen slush that seeped into her stockings, to the biting cold of the winter air that set her teeth chattering and made her tears freeze against her cheeks.

“Mama!”

Her last shout echoed in her gasping breaths, eyes flying open as Rivka pulled herself from the nightmare at last. The sheets were tangled around her legs and she kicked them away, wriggling until she lay supine on the bed, cool night air bracing against her clammy flesh. She swallowed thickly, letting her breaths come steady and deliberate, her heart rate slowing. For a long moment she stayed like that, fingers tapping out a steady metronome on the mattress as she grounded herself back in reality. What year is it? She asked herself. Nine Thirty-Five Dragon. Where are you? I’m in Vigil’s Keep, in Amaranthine. Name five things in the room with you. Breathe. Steady, slow. Alistair, he’s still sleeping. She could hear him snoring softly, warm and present beside her. Kelev is at the foot of the bed. The mabari had moved when she had awoken, resting his massive head atop her calf as she settled, like some strange, fuzzy anchor to her storm-tossed raft. What else? The fire’s out. No one bothered to stoke it, because the nights are getting warmer. My dressing gown is on the bedpost. There’s a teapot on my desk that’s gone cold.

Her heart rate slowing, and the panic ebbing from her body, she sat up, pulling her leg gently from beneath her mabari’s head and swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. She could scrounge up a cup of tea from the kitchens, or find someone willing to play a hand of cards to distract her. Maker curse it all, she thought, maybe I’ll just walk into the fucking sea. The thought made her grimace, shame lancing through her. It would solve nothing and help no one — least of all herself.

Kelev wriggled closer to her, as if sensing her distress. Perhaps he did; a mabari’s bond with its master was often said to be near magical. She reached out and scratched his ear, rubbing the velvety fur on it, the smooth scar tissue where it had been cropped. Her fingers traced the dog’s scarred head, his wet nose that snuffled against her palm, the velvet muzzle that hid a war hound’s snarl.

“You wouldn’t let a single one of them near me, would you?” She let her body cant to the side, pressing her cheek against the top of the dog’s head. He snorted in response. “Good boy.”

She knew she should wake Alistair, for the comfort of his presence at the very least, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. It felt like admitting defeat, like a weakness she couldn’t bear. A nightmare, that’s all it had been, and nothing in it could hurt her any longer. “— Should have let the past stay there,” She sighed against Kelev’s fur, “Could be dead for all I know, and then what? I’ve bought myself more heartache?”

Dead, or perhaps worse, they had forgotten her, moved on after their mage-child had been dragged away to the circle. She had never been allowed to write them, and if they had written her — she would never have been allowed the letters, even if they had. She knew they had left the Alienage after the templars had taken her away, about a year later, if the memory of one of their former neighbors held true. But where they had gone — and whether they had stayed there — was still a mystery. What remained of their friends and neighbors in the Alienage hadn’t heard from them since, and neither had her aunt, still with the Dalish.

She had put out feelers with her newfound connections, but they weren’t primed to dig up the location of two elven peasants. Even Leliana had been of little help. Her friend was in Val Royeaux, working for the Divine, and while the net she cast was wider and sunk deeper than Rivka’s own, she had little time to chase down an old friend’s whims. Rivka groaned. Leliana would spend every spare moment on this hunt if she felt even a hint that it was what Rivka wanted, that was simply the kind of woman she was, the way she doled out her love to the lucky few that earned it. The thought of pressing the matter still made her itch.

Dragging herself back to some pantomime of verticality, she stood from the bed, feet sliding into her slippers. Judging from the dim moonlight beyond the window, it was still hours yet from dawn, and hours yet from the hustle and bustle of a castle shaking off the shroud of sleep. She grimaced; solitude rarely did her well. Still, she shrugged on her dressing gown, tying it tight around her middle, before retrieving parchment, quill, and inkpot from her desk. Insurance against excuses, at the very least.

Kelev followed her as she shuffled from the bedroom, sliding with shocking grace from the bed to lope beside her. This was hardly the first time he accompanied her as she wandered the castle grounds, walking off a nightmare or a painful memory. He’s good company, She thought, he doesn’t talk back.

“We’ll see if there’s a beef bone the kitchen can part with.” Her palm fell to rest atop his head as they made their way down the keep’s empty halls. She rarely set guards to patrol the halls, keeping only a nominal cohort making their circuits along the outside walls. Any more than that hadn’t been necessary in years — not between her own hard-won control over the Arling, and the simple fact that at least one of her wardens would be just as sleepless as she was now. It was not a job that allowed for much restful sleep.

Blight dreams had subsided considerably since the final retreat of the darkspawn hoards, but they still came, snippets of the groaning, pulsing heartbeat of it, calling out to her own tainted blood. They all felt it, she knew, some worse than others, but always there; an aneurysm ready to burst at any moment.

Tonight, at least, had been a mundane nightmare — one that left her shaken and sleepless, but mundane nonetheless. It was for that reason she was pleased with the solitude. When Blight snuck its way into their dreams, they all knew to check in; to warn one another, and if need be, to send patrols down to the Deep Roads entrance beneath the keep. Nightmares about templars and stolen children could be kept all to herself.

She would feed Kelev and write to Leliana when she got to the kitchens, she resolved (though the dread seemed to grow legs and scuttle like a bug in the pit of her stomach).

The kitchen fire was burning in the hearth, and there was a kettle of something fragrant on the stove when she and Kelev arrived. It seemed she wasn’t alone in her sleeplessness; Velanna was seated at the trestle table, a half-darned sock and a cup of whatever was steeping on the stove, in front of her.

Neither woman spoke, letting the interruption of their individual solitudes hang heavy in the air between them for one long moment.

“Tea is on the stove,” Velanna murmured, nodding toward the kettle. “Herbs for sleep.”

If she had to run into another person as sleepless as herself, she was glad it was Velanna. It was like sitting with a less cryptic Morrigan; just as curt, and just as unlikely to pry when it wasn’t wanted. She nodded at the other woman, setting her writing supplies on the table. Kelev was already sniffing at the crate of dried scraps he was fed from, and she fished a few strips of meat out for him before pouring herself a cup of tea. It smelled good; floral and hoppy.

The darning was back in Velanna’s hands when she returned to the table, tidy stitching making quick work of the threadbare heel.

“Dark dreams?” Velanna didn’t look up from her darning, though she paused to scratch Kelev behind the ear as he passed her chair.

Rivka made a noncommittal sound, taking a sip of her tea. She didn’t look at the other woman, choosing instead to peer at her blank parchment, as if staring at it could will a letter into existence. “When are they not?”

Velanna let out a soft chuckle, “For us? Never.”

They lapsed back into a companionable silence, broken only by the occasional scratch of Rivka’s quill on her parchment. It was just as frustrating a letter as she had anticipated, each word of her request feeling like it was being dragged out with a rough cord. Begging assistance off of anyone never felt good, but it particularly rankled when it was a close friend. What a world it would be, she thought, if I could simply send a missive giving her some pleasant news for once. Maybe ask about the nugs, without using it to couch some need of my own.

Velanna had moved on to a second sock when Rivka finally looked up from her letter, practically throwing the quill away from her as she signed off with an “ever your friend, Rivka.” She groaned. Velanna raised an eyebrow.

“Who’s earned your ire tonight?” Velanna asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“Myself,” Rivka said, leaning back in her chair, “I have a personal request for a friend, and actually writing the letter is like pulling my own teeth out.”

“Dream related?”

“In its own way,” She sighed, “It’s mundane, at least. I’ve… had her searching for someone for me. It’s been weighing on me enough to leak into my dreams, apparently.”

Velanna nodded, hands stilling for a moment. “I dreamed of my sister again.” Rivka knew how often images of Seranni plagued Velanna; the last sight they had of her, blighted and ghoulish, trailing the Architect like some loyal servant hanging in her own mind as well. Another innocent that she could not save.

They never spoke of it, though her wardens all knew of the handful of dealings Rivka had had with the blighted Magister over the years. It was a silent, tacit agreement between them all; whatever it takes, whatever we must do. One tool among many. Yet still, she could sense the ever-present question that weighed on Velanna’s mind, and the desire to ask that warred with the fear at what the answer would be. To voice it would be to invite in the possibility of an answer she did not want to hear, to let it fester at least allowed her hope.

“Don’t live wondering,” Velanna let out a short breath through her nose, mouth tight. An expression, Rivka knew, that was directed inward. “Better to know and mourn, than to sit in limbo forever.”

Rivka closed her eyes, and nodded.

#rivka surana #mara.pdf #ough. anyway.

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cranetreegang · 2 years ago

Text

Home at Last - Ominis x FemReader

Summary: Ominis finally returns to the Gaunt Estate. It's all that he remembers, except he's the one who's changed. He navigates his parents in search of any clues about Ancient Magic and his ancestors.

Word Count: ~7,200 words

Read my other Ominis Fics Here

Warnings: Child abuse, mentions of child abuse, manipulation

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Standing in front of the iron gate, Ominis clenches his wand tightly in one hand and his suitcase in the other. Despite not having been back to the Estate in years, it all feels the exact same. The gate resonates with layers of protective charms and dark magic. He can barely make out the circular emblem locking the gate in place, which he’s sure has a gaudy ‘G’ etched at the center. The feelings he used to harbor for this place hasn’t changed either as his feet refuse to move to take the final steps forward.

He closes his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath, then finally approaches. The gate shutters open for the wayward heir and he walks towards the manor. Under his boots, he feels patches of grass growing between the once trimmed stone path - occasionally kicking some loose bricks as he passes. The steps leading up to the door aren’t fairing much better, deteriorating under his weight and he hears the sounds of pebbles and debris hitting the ground.

The massive double door is his last chance to turn around. With one last sharp inhale, Ominis flick his wand at the door. It groans and whines as it slowly opens. Ominis steps inside, the smells of old wood and marble greet him along with a scent of dust. The still silence sends a brief chill down his spine then the door slams shut, echoing throughout the manor in a deafening boom and rattling him. His back straightens and he knows there’s no turning back now.

He notes how there’s not as much furniture by the entryway. In fact, as he walks through the manor towards his old bedroom, the place is practically sparse. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought they had moved without telling him. But, he does know the harsh truth of the matter and he can’t stop a scornful smirk at how much his proud family has fallen. Oh, if Salazar Slytherin could see the deteriorating state of his esteemed bloodline now, Ominis laughs to himself. There hasn’t even been a single house elf scurrying through the halls, now that he thinks of it. Indeed, his family is truly in tough times for his Mother to forgo her house elves.

He rounds the corner and heads down the long hallway of the east wing towards the last door on the right. With another flick of his wand, his wards pacify then the bedroom door unlocks and shudders open. Waving his wand around, he’s surprised to find he still has a bed. It seems his room is wholly untouched - his four poster bed on the far right wall, his large oak desk in front of him against the window, then his wardrobe on the left wall.

Setting his suitcase on the bed, creating a cloud of dust in the air, his mind starts to drift back to his days here - his days before the Sallow twins and Hogwarts. A soft sigh escapes him as he heads towards his old desk.

Through the layer of grime, his fingertips find the familiar scratches and knicks exactly as they were. He sits down in the chair and recites a spell to unlock the drawers. Notes, books, amateur drawings, and other various knick knacks are tucked away inside - all as he left it. One journal in particular gets his attention. The leatherbound book is cool against his touch and he flips open to a random page to read.

Each day feels like a struggle, a battle. I don’t know what’s worse - Father when he ignores my existence entirely, or when he does acknowledge my presence.

I yearn for his approval. I try to be the son he wishes me to be. But everytime I try, I’m only met with his harsh, cruel words as he berates me - his words laced with obvious disdain and disapproval. It’s days like today that I’m thankful for my blindness, so as to not see the matching disgust which accompanies these words.

Cimsy was able to procure me the spellbook I requested, and I’ve managed to create charms to protect my room and desk. After the incident with Marvolo, I pray I’m able to find brief sanctuary in my room. It’s a shallow comfort - as these charms are rudimentary at best - but I take it all the same.

Next year, I’ll be at Hogwarts. Next year, I’ll be far, far away from here. Next year, I’ll become just as talented as all the wizards I’ve read about in my stories. I’ll be a hero - rising above adversity and slaying fearsome monsters.

Ominis skims his wand over the entry several times, recalling that day all too well. Many memories he hasn’t thought about start to surface. He gently places the journal on the desk then reaches back inside the drawer. Searching along the underside, he feels a shallow, circular indent - which he presses. A soft click reaches his ears and he smiles, tracing along the side until a protruding piece of wood meets his fingers. He opens it, his fingers just barely touching the hidden contents.

“Young Master.”

Shutting the drawer with a swift movement, Ominis whips his head around with a scowl, which quickly melts into a more gentle expression once he realizes who’s at the door.

“Cimsy,” Ominis grins as he stands. “It’s been too long. How are you?”

The old house elf limps into the room, her bare feet dragging on the marble floor.

“Cimsy is most pleased to see the young Master back,” Cimsy sounds more worn, aged, and tired than he recalls. He holds back his pitying frown as Cimsy continues.

“Cimsy has been quite busy since the others were sold. Cimsy tried to clean your room before you arrived, young Master, but Cimsy could not get in. Clever charms, young Master. Too clever for Cimsy.”

“I apologize. I forgot they were in place before I left,” Ominis smiles, “I’m sorry I haven’t visited you, Cimsy. Truly. I've missed you, and our walks in the garden.”

Cimsy chuckles, airy and weak, “Cimsy has missed the young Master Gaunt as well. Cimsy has been sent to retrieve the young Master. Mistress Gaunt wishes to see you, young Master.”

Ominis’ smile fades into a tight grimace, and he nods, “Very well. I shouldn’t keep her waiting. Lead the way.”

Cimsy bows, then starts her slow shuffle towards the parlor room.

Along the way, Ominis is reminiscent of all the times he’s walked to the parlor - through all the winding, rug covered hallways and past all the portraits no doubt staring at him as he goes by. Cimsy opens the door to the parlor and a rush of warm air hits his face.

“Mistress Gaunt, the young Master is here, as requested.”

Ominis strides into the room, registering the presence of his mother by the window lounging on the chaise. By the way her arm is angled, she’s no doubt holding onto a wine glass.

“Have lunch prepared, Cimsy,” Mother’s voice is cold, detached, and without inflection. It sends a shiver down his spine despite the order not being towards him.

“Right away, Mistress,” Cimsy says, snapping her fingers to apparate to the kitchens.

Mother sets down her glass with a clink then rises from her perch. She slowly turns to face him and Ominis feels her sharp eyes upon him. She flows towards him with soft steps and the air chills once she’s in front of him. He notices that she’s not as tall as she once was as she’s no longer able to loom over him. Instead, it appears he’s at least above eye level with her.

“Oh, my little Ominis,” she coos in a far warmer tone than earlier. The change has always jarred him, but he maintains a neutral expression - even when her cold hands cup either side of his cheeks.

She turns his head, examining him, “My, my, how you’ve grown into such a handsome young man.”

Her long fingers stroke through his hair - landing on the back of his neck to bring him into her embrace. Ominis is stiff in her arms as she places a kiss on the top of his head.

“I have missed you, my darling boy,” she whispers. The stench of tart wine fans across his face. Her strong perfume consumes the rest of his senses.

“I’ve missed your letters, my sweetling. Do you know how much worry and anguish I’ve been in? Do you even care?”

Ominis winces at her sweetly sharp tone, her nails threatening to rip into him. He replies as evenly as he can.

“I apologize, Mother. I didn’t mean to cause you distress. My coursework is quite demanding and it requires my full attention.”

Mother’s hands move to his shoulders, her nails digging into him as she yanks him out of her bosom. The heat of her glare prickles his skin and he does well in keeping his blank expression.

“‘Full attention’?! Are you saying I am not worthy of your ‘precious’ attention? After all I’ve sacrificed for you? After all I’ve done for you! This is how you repay my kindness? My love?” her voice wavers, signaling the beginning of tears starting to form.

Ominis swallows the lump in his throat, “I didn’t mean to upset you, Mother. I know you’ve done much for me. Which is why I’m here now.”

She tsk’s then seethes, “You’ve been running away from your duties. Your responsibilities. I have done everything for you. I have created a path that’s best for you, yet you continue to act like a juvenile. I never should’ve allowed you to go off to that school. It’s pulled you too much away from me.”

“Please, Mother,” he says calmly, “Hogwarts is what’s best for me. You said so yourself. If I’m to be truly worthy as your son, then I must be educated. You know this.”

Sensing her growing annoyance and rage, he quickly adds, “I’ve longed to be here with you, Mother. I… missed you. And I haven’t forgotten my duties. I’m trying to prepare for them - as to make you proud. I only want to be a worthy son to you, Mother.”

She’s silent, her hold on his shoulders relax and she shifts a hand up to cup his cheek once more. He remains stoic and still, suppressing the chills and discomfort behind clenched teeth.

“You’ve changed,” she coos while rubbing her thumb across his cheek. “For the better it seems. It’s good you’ve come to your senses. And for you to return home. Return to me.”

He can’t bring himself to force a smile, so he only nods, “Of course, Mother.”

Mother sighs, letting him go then taking his arm to lead him, “Come. Let us eat. I’m sure you’re starving.”

Ominis doesn’t fight her, he needs her. At least until he finds what he’s looking for. Until then, he’ll play the part he knows so well - the good, obedient son.

Arriving at the dining room, they sit across from one another while Cimsy brings out their meal. A bland watery broth wafts up to his nose along with the welcoming scent of warm, fresh bread.

“Cimsy!” Mother hisses. “Surely this must be a joke. You do have something else prepared.”

He hears Cimsy wring her hands together as she stammers, “C-Cimsy is deeply sorry, Mistress. Cimsy could o-only make this. Mistress did not give Cimsy enough to buy-,”

“Shut up!”

Cimsy silences immediately while his Mother fumes. Ominis grips his spoon tightly, wishing he could speak up. But, he remains silent.

“Leave us. I expect something more worthwhile at dinner,” Mother sneers.

Cimsy doesn’t hesitate to leave. Their meal is in silence, thankfully. Once it’s done, Ominis finally decides to ask,

“Mother, would it be alright if I were to read through some of the records in the archives?”

There’s a long silence and Ominis holds his tongue to keep from groveling. His true intentions are on full display and he worries he may have shown too much.

“Why?” She questions.

“It’s time I’ve learned more of our namesake and heritage. I want to continue family traditions,” he replies quickly with the excuse he’s been repeating in his head since he first arrived.

Another long silence, and his tongue is bleeding from his sharp teeth digging into the flesh.

“I’ve been looking forward to this day,” Mother beams as she stands. Ominis releases a breath, going to stand as she continues, “Our family history is one which many don’t have the privilege of knowing.”

She goes over to Ominis, gripping his arm again as she leads him to the library. He can’t deny his excitement, his curiosity. The implications of his ancestors having a connection to Ancient Magic would give him as many questions as answers. He wonders if his path was always meant to intertwine with his love’s. The thought troubles him - the idea of him and her fated to be together instead of wanting to be doesn’t sit well with him. That his actions up to this point have been meaningless as they were always meant to happen this way. He shoves the idea aside, not wishing to dwell on the possibility any longer.

Mother pulls him through the dusty library to the locked room at the back. She produces her key, the door softly unlocks then opens, and they head inside the musty room. Mother taps a glass object and he hears the soft humming of what he assumes to be lights. Despite not having been in the archives in some time, it’s exactly as he remembers it.

The archives is a long rectangular room, adorned with shelves, cabinets, and display cases. The air carries a faint scent of aged paper and taxidermy beasts - beasts that have long since been wiped to extinction. Framed portraits of ancestors, their watchful gazes keeping a vigil over the room, stare into Ominis. He can imagine the sneers of these portraits as the disapproving mumblings of his blindness reach his ears.

Along the walls, rows of sturdy wooden shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, neatly organized and laden with volumes of journals, diaries, and bound manuscripts. Cabinets with glass doors stand proudly, showcasing delicate heirlooms and cherished mementos. A silver pocket watch, a set of wands, and worn leather gloves are among the treasures preserved.

In the center of the room, a large oak table serves as a workspace, adorned with magnifying glasses, quills and ink, and carefully arranged parchment paper.

The room exudes a sense of order and purpose, meticulously sorted and organized through generations. If there is one thing the Gaunt’s pride themselves on - it’s their family heritage.

“Ah, where to begin?” Gliding around the room, her fingers dance along the spines of journals and tomes until she stops on one. She pulls it from the shelf and flips it open.

“Gormalith will be of interest to you,” she begins then dives right into reading a rather boring account of what Gormalith had for breakfast and the subsequent torture of the house elf which made him said breakfast.

Before she can continue, Ominis interjects, “I was hoping I could find a certain time frame.”

Mother stares at him, shutting the book with a huff, “And what time frame would that be, Ominis?”

“I was thinking upon it the other day, and I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with any of our history during the 15th century.”

He can feel her brow raise, but she hums as she heads to the other side of the room. He follows, and notes when she lingers on a certain row of books.

“I doubt a boy your age would be interested in that era,” Mother dismisses then heads towards another shelf. “You would be far more pressed to know about Aron and his exploits in the east. In fact, he was able to capture a Ceasg during his voyage across the North Sea.”

Ominis’ brows pinch, but he suppresses his aggravation with a stiff nod, “If that’s what you believe is best.”

Mother continues to read to him about the accounts of his ancestors, and Ominis nods along - his mind drifting to the one row which she lingered at. As the afternoon shifts to evening, Ominis senses his mother growing bored of the history lesson.

“We should check on Cimsy to ensure dinner is being prepared,” she shuts the diary and grabs onto his arm.

“I wouldn’t mind staying here for a moment longer,” Ominis states then quickly adds, “If that’s alright.”

Her grip on his arm tightens, “You shouldn’t be in here by yourself, my sweetling.”

“I can handle myself,” he replies far too sharply. Her nails dig into him to confirm as much. “Besides, I’m utterly fascinated by our family heritage.”

“Ominis-,”

“You were saying I’ve been neglecting my duties,” he says as calmly as he can. “Perhaps this is the best way for me to understand my place. To appreciate the path you’ve set out for me, and understand my role in our family.”

Another long pause makes his shoulders tense.

She has a light, amused laugh before she places a kiss on his cheek, “Oh, my curious little boy. Very well, I’ll leave you to it,” she places the key into his palm. “Lock up when you’re done. I’ll have Cimsy come fetch you when dinner is ready.”

Mother leaves, and Ominis lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He stuffs the key into his pocket then heads quickly over to the shelf he’s been dying to investigate all day. He grabs as many journals as he can carry and takes them to the oak table. Plopping down into the worn leather chair, he begins to skim through the diaries.

According to what his love told him, Isidora would’ve been at Hogwarts in her youth around the 1450’s with the latest dates being before 1500 - when she became a professor. He grimaces at how wide of a year range that leaves him, but she also mentioned Headmistress Fitzgerald serving Hogwarts during that time frame. Rackham, Rookwood, and Bakar were also names he could search for. Hopefully, that’ll be enough for him to go on.

He’s barely made it through the first diary when Cimsy informs him of dinner being ready. Ominis is reluctant to leave, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. As he heads back to the dining room, he stops at his room - free from prying eyes. He takes out the archives key and conjures a duplicate. Satisfied, he hides the key in his desk then heads to dinner.

The air in the dining room is tense, and Ominis pauses for a moment as he enters the room. His father is at the head of the table while his mother is sat next to him. Ominis is hesitant as he takes his place across from his mother. The stench of scented smoke and tobacco emanates from his father. Some things truly haven’t changed, Ominis muses to himself.

Cimsy summons forth their dinner, a roast with potatoes and carrots, then she refills his mother and father’s drinks.

Ominis isn’t unfamiliar with the tense atmosphere - especially if his father is near - but it unsettles him all the same. The quiet clanking of their silver utensils hitting the fine china and chewing is the only noises to be heard. Ominis tries his best to not look like he’s rushing to finish eating, but he longs to leave this dinner.

“It seems you received a letter today,” Mother says in a low voice.

Fear clasps around his throat before he tilts his head with feign surprise, “Oh? From who?”

Paper rustles and tears, sending his heart beating frantically in his chest.

“Dearest Ominis,” Mother begins with a terse frown lacing her voice, “I hope you arrived safely. I miss you already. I hope to hear from you soon. Sincerely yours.”

Ominis lets out a quiet breath, thankful she did not write anything too sweet to him.

“Who is this?” Mother questions.

“A friend from school,” Ominis replies with no hesitation.

More rustling of paper as Mother re-reads the letter once again.

“And this friend,” Mother draws out, “who are they?”

“Just a friend. Nothing more,” Ominis counters.

“Friends do not write, ‘I miss you already’.”

Ominis can’t help his smirk, “Perhaps not yours.”

Mother scoffs, igniting the letter on fire - the smoke reaching his nose and making him scowl.

“It’s a girl, isn’t it? This friend?” Mother hisses. “Tell me, are you involved with her?”

“I’ve already said, she’s a friend. Nothing more. I don’t know what else you wish me to say on the matter. I can’t control what she writes. Perhaps she does hold some infatuation with me, but I do not return the affection,” Ominis clenches his jaw, his hand gripping on to his pants.

He hates it. The lies. But, he can’t afford to argue with Mother. Not when he’s only just started his search.

“She’s a Mudblood, isn’t she? It’s why you aren’t telling me her name,” Mother states. “Filthy things. I’m not surprised one is trying so hard to cling to you. She probably sees you as her only real way to any sort of status.”

He sits straighter, suppressing his anger at his mother’s vulgarity, “No. She’s not of pure standing, so you know I have no real interest in her.”

“You shouldn’t be fraternizing with Mudbloods in the first place,” Father’s deep, grating voice interjects with disapproval lacing his words. “Even speaking of them is enough to ruin my appetite.”

“Your father is right. Why are you writing to a Mudblood?” Mother demands. “She’s not worth your time. Not when there are plenty of others you would do well to correspond with.”

“She… has connections,” Ominis states. “Connections I require.”

“What sort of connections? What connections could a lowly half-breed possibly offer you that I cannot provide?” Mother’s voice raises with every word.

“Does it matter? Shouldn’t you be pleased that I’m at least capable of forming connections on my own?” Ominis hates how quickly he’s rising to her goading. But he can’t stop himself. “With how things are going here, it’s a wonder you aren’t praising me for finding anyone willing to associate with us.”

“Do not speak to me that-,”

“Enough!” Father’s voice booms as he slams his hand down on the table - rattling all the dishes. “I grow weary of this discussion and your disrespect. Leave!”

Ominis doesn’t need further prompting and he quickly rises from his chair. Before he can fully leave, his mother’s voice calls out.

“Leave the key.”

He sighs, going through his pockets to produce the duplicate, and slams it at the end of the dining table. Then he quickly retreats to his room. As soon as the door shuts, he falls back against the door with a heavy breath.

He wishes this was the first time a dinner had gone sourly, but alas it isn’t - and it won’t be the last. The dusty smell from earlier has faded and he catches the faintest aroma of clean sheets. Oh Cimsy, he smiles to himself. She does too much for him.

Pushing himself off the door, he heads to his desk to write to his love - since going to the archives now would be risky. The stationary in the top drawer is slick under his fingers, and he enchants the quill to begin writing.

He lays in bed, waiting as time moves slowly by. He hopes to leave soon to continue his reading. With his siblings being mercifully absent, he can somewhat relax as he waits. His mind drifts to her. What might she be up to? He focuses on her, and he senses her worry, concern, and anticipation.

Turning to his side, he reaches out in a vain attempt to feel her next to him - to comfort her. She voiced her displeasure of him going as he left, and her concerns were valid. But, he’s tired of sitting idly by as she wrestles with this Ancient Magic on her own.

The tips of his fingers warm and, for a moment, it’s like she’s touching him back. In his mind’s eyes, he can picture the dip in the bed of her laying next to him - facing him with a soft smile as he traces her face. Despite having just been with her, it feels like they’ve been apart for too long.

“Don’t worry, my sweet,” he whispers. “I promise I’m fine, and I’ll return to you soon.”

Feather light touches brush along his cheek and comb through his hair. A pleasant shiver rolls down his spine, and the pull of sleep starts to draw him deeper into her phantom caresses. With a sigh, he reluctantly gets up from the bed and heads to the archives.

Sneaking towards the library is a feat he’s done numerous times. He has all the portraits which would rat him out mapped, and since he doesn’t require the aid of light he can stay hidden in the dark the whole time. Once in the archives, he continues reading the journal from earlier.

He repeats this process over the course of the week, growing more and more frustrated as the days pass. Navigating his mother and dealing with the forced dinners is exhausting enough, but reading through the mundane, sadistic ramblings of his ancestors is a form of torture in itself. He barely sleeps, not that he has any desire to in this place.

Since the letter, Mother has felt it apt for him to truly understand why Mudbloods are ‘lower, primitive beings’. These ‘lessons’ are enough to bring him to the edge. He’s nearly voiced his displeasure on several occasions, if not for the reminder that he hasn’t found what he’s looking for yet. And if he were to go against his mother now, then everything would have been for nought. So, he remains silent, letting his mother prattle on.

He gets a brief solace when Mother is ‘too tired to deal with him’, allowing him to roam about without her watchful gaze. It’s in these moments he retreats to the gardens - overgrown and dying - and he naps in his secluded spot behind the bushes under the gnarly tree.

It’s another late night as he flips through the pages of Amphelisia’s diary, finding her accounts to mirror his own in terms of schooling. It’s during her Fifth Year that things get interesting.

I can’t believe the events that transpired today. By my troth, a student joined Hogwarts as a Fifth Year! Completely unheard of. I didn’t hear her name over Mathias’ prattling, but she was sorted into Ravenclaw. Tragic really, as I would’ve been keen on observing her.

How could someone be admitted into Hogwarts so late - is the question on everyone’s lips. I’m determined to find out more anon.

Ominis nearly rips the page as he quickly turns it to find out more. He skims through the entries until a familiar name jumps out at him.

Isidora Morganach is by far the most ghastly, presumptuous girl I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Not only does she have all the professors charmed, but she has most of the class absolutely enamored. Methinks it’s because she’s new, and, similar to a two-headed beast, she’s a spectacle.

But the final insult was when we had our mock duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts today. She swiftly dispatched my Protego charm as if I didn’t even have it up then she knocked me off the platform. The entire class laughed. LAUGHED! At me! I shan't forget this.

He can’t believe it. He’s finally found mentions of Isidora. He continues his reading until another entry strikes his interest.

Isidora may have her uses after all. In Transfiguration, I struggled with the conjuration of a simple cup. Meanwhile, Isidora had no issue conjuring her own. Before Professor Rookwood could see, Isidora conjured a cup right on my desk. Professor Rookwood was so impressed with me, he used ‘my cup’ as an example for the rest of the class. Perhaps, befriending her may be advantageous to me.

A few entries later, he finds mentions of Amphelisia showing the Undercroft to Isidora as their own private hideaway. He grins as he reads over their growing, albeit reluctant, friendship. But as he finishes the diary, there’s no mention of Ancient Magic. Amphelisia comments on Isidora being gifted in magic, with her spells being quite powerful, but Isidora never discloses the nature of it to Amphelisia.

Ominis searches the shelves, summoning down more of Amphelisia’s dairies. He knows the hour is growing later - with the morning soon upon him - but he’s close. He has to be. It isn’t until Amphelisia is a young woman when Isidora is mentioned again.

I received the strangest owl today. My old friend, Isidora, wrote to me. The contents of the letter were somewhat troubling, but she insisted we meet. I shall see what she wants, and I pray it isn’t a waste of time.

The next entry makes him scowl.

Isidora gave me a book of some kind. Locked, and I have no way of opening it despite my best efforts. Always the clever one. I’m tempted to throw it away as burning it does nothing.

The rest of Amphelisia’s diary makes no mention of Isidora’s book, nor what she decided to do with it. Ominis paces the room, scanning the shelves for any signs of this possible journal. He frowns - cursing Amphelisia for possibly throwing away the one clue he desperately needed. Collapsing in the leather chair, Ominis debates about continuing his reading or leaving. He taps his wand in thought when a familiar vibration makes him pause.

His breath catches in his throat as he turns his wand towards the source. It’s… just like hers. He scrambles from his seat, rushing towards the vibration at the corner. Throwing open the cabinet door, he pulls out the boxes until he’s able to reach the one he’s needing. He tears his way into the box, shoving aside the various knick knacks and trinkets until his whole arm shoots up with magical sparks.

There, in his hand, is a journal. He slowly picks it up and cradles the leather-bound journal in both of his hands as if it were a delicate, priceless jewel. He laughs, almost manically. This is it. It had to be.

Footsteps approach the door to the archive and Ominis can’t spare any more time in rejoicing. He shoves the journal into his coat pocket then he grabs a random object in the box to hold.

The door flies open and Mother storms inside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She exclaims as she strides over to where he is.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Mother?” His reply is calm and level.

She stands above him and snarls, “It looks like you’ve made a mess of things in here.”

Ominis places the artifact he’s holding into the box and rises up. He’s practically eye level with her and he doesn’t back down from her scornful gaze. He feels her take a step back.

“H-How did you even get in here?” She questions in a quiet voice.

“I made a copy of the key, obviously,” he replies with a smirk.

“You…,” she falls silent. “You… insolent little child!”

The air parts and the sound of skin hitting skin rings in the air. His cheek blooms in a heated flame and he registers the pain which accompanies it. He turns his head back towards her, unphased.

“If you’re done, I’ll take my leave,” he says in an eerily calm tone.

He doesn’t wait, but instead brushes past her and heads out of the room. He hears her calling his name, but her cries fall on deaf ears. Once in his room, he’s quick to write to his love - informing her of his finding and his soon to be departure. His hand shakes as he commands the quill to write, giddy to be with her once again. As soon as his owl takes flight, it doesn’t take him long to have his bag packed.

Before he leaves the room, he goes back to his desk. So many memories, tucked away - and likely to be burned once he leaves. He sits back at the desk, reaching into the drawer to find the protruding piece of wood. He opens the secret compartment to grab what he’s kept hidden for so long.

He holds the ring delicately in his fingers. The cold metal is intricate with stones inlaid within the band to accent the well-sized jewel at the center. He’s sure it’s a beautiful piece of jewelry. A frown comes over him at having left it here in the first place. Aunt Noctua gave it to him before she left - believing he needed an heirloom for himself since he was bound to not receive any.

Aunt Noctua made him promise to keep it safe. At the time, he was so angry with her leaving him that he threw it in the garden. Cimsy was the one to place the ring on his desk one afternoon, polished and clean of dirt. He hid it in the desk after. Feeling over the ring, a smile starts to form on his lips. He tucks the ring into his pocket then he’s out of his room.

It’s Cimsy which awaits him in the main entryway. He makes out her figure hunched over, scrubbing at the floors. Cimsy looks up to him and stops her cleaning efforts.

“Oh, young Master,” her eyes drift over him and she gasps. “A-Are you leaving? So soon?”

Ominis sets his suitcase down and kneels down to be closer to the house elf.

He nods, “I’m afraid I am. I’ve… gotten what I came here for. And I don’t know when I’ll return. If… I’ll return,” he sighs. “I never gave you a proper goodbye last time, Cimsy. I would like to give you one now.”

He holds out his hands and Cimsy places her wrinkled ones in his. He holds her hands with a soft smile.

“You’ve always been kind to me, Cimsy. Thank you. For all you do. And I wish you the best,” he whispers.

Cimsy squeezes his hands, “Cimsy lives to serve the Masters of the Gaunt family. Cimsy is proud of the young Master. Cimsy… wishes you well, young Master.”

Ominis squeezes her hands once more before he stands. He grips his suitcase and wand.

“Goodbye, Cimsy,” he says as he heads towards the grand double door.

Just as he flicks his wand to open the door, frantic footsteps rush towards him.

“Ominis!” Mother practically cries. “Y-You’re leaving? You’re leaving me!?”

Ominis feels the breeze of the mid-morning air hitting his face. The sun is just out of his reach.

“I am,” he says without turning to face her.

“But, you can’t leave me, Ominis. You need me,” she sobs loudly, the sounds twisting his heart. “If it was because of earlier, I’m sorry. But, you know better than to make such a mess! And to sneak in without my permission-, you’ve never been so disobedient! What was I to do?”

“I know. And I apologize for doing such,” he states flatly. “But, my time here is done.”

“No!” Mother hisses as she snags his arm, her nails digging into his flesh through is clothes. “You don’t get to decide when you’re done. You have duties to fulfill. Obligations and responsibilities. You are my son!”

Ominis closes his eyes, sighing to himself with pinched brows. He turns his head towards his mother.

“I’m leaving. And you can’t stop me.”

Yanking himself free, his first step forward is met with her sharp gasp, then the next is a wailing sob, but once he’s in the sun he’s all but free. Going down the steps, Mother cries out.

“Ominis! Ominis!” Mother’s voice is all but a screeching wail, and it sends shivers down his spine at how angry and desperate she sounds. “You can’t leave me! You need me! I love you. I’m the only one who loves you! My little boy! Come back to me! Don’t do this to me, Ominis!”

Ominis can’t stop smiling. There was a time when he believed her words to be true - that no one would ever truly love him. But now, he knows it to be nothing more than empty words meant to chain him. And as he steps through the gate, the weight of those chains all but fall as he continues towards the ones who truly love him.

-------------------------------

BONUS

She’s putting up the dishes from breakfast when a letter lands on the table. A notable Slytherin crest seal gets her attention. Nearly shattering the plates as she drops them, she rips it open. She’s just reached the end when Sebastian calls out.

“It’s Ominis!”

She’s out the door, finding him walking towards the shop with a bright grin on his face.

“Ominis!” She grins as she rushes towards him.

“Good morning, my-,”

He’s nearly tackled to the ground by her as she throws herself into him. Her arms wrap around his neck and he laughs as he drops his suitcase to embrace her.

“I missed you,” she whispers in his ear, making him hold her tighter.

“And I you,” he whispers back.

She slowly releases him, her hands cupping his face, “Oh, Ominis. You look exhausted.”

Worry bubbles in his chest - stemming from her. He holds her hands, an action he’s been dying to do since he left, and he smiles.

“I’m alright. I promise.”

“Ah, there’s the heroic knight, back from his adventure,” Sebastian grins as he joins them. “Well, have you come back with anything?”

She releases him and steps back while Ominis reaches into his jacket pocket. Producing the journal, she gasps.

“It’s… glowing,” she whispers.

“It is?” Sebastian questions.

“It’s protected by Ancient Magic. It’s how I found it in the first place,” Ominis states as he hands the journal to her.

“Wait, you found it because of the Ancient Magic?” Sebastian wonders. “Does that mean you can ‘see’ it like she can?”

“I believe I may be able to sense Ancient Magic, yes.”

The journal clicks open and she looks up to Ominis with wide eyes, “Amazing. I… I’m happy you were able to find something.”

Ominis gives her a warm smile, but his tired eyes only make her frown. She grabs his hand, motioning for Sebastian to take the suitcase.

“Here, come inside. Are you hungry? I can make you something. Then you should rest,” she says while tugging him inside.

“I wouldn’t mind some toast and tea. Then a nap wouldn’t hurt.”

Ominis sits at the kitchen table, enjoying the warmth of the sun as it filters through the window. He hears her as she bustles about the quaint kitchen, bringing him toast, eggs, and fruit along with his tea. He laughs to himself, but he can’t say he doesn’t mind the attention. Once he’s eaten he heads to her room upstairs, barely able to change himself out of his clothes into something more comfortable before collapsing.

His eyes are heavy, and the soft knock at the door startles him.

“Come in,” he says.

She steps into the room, walking towards him as the door shuts softly behind her, “Is there anything I can get you?”

He chuckles, “No, my dear, I’m quite alright,” he turns towards her then holds out his hand, “But, I wouldn’t mind if you laid with me. At least, until I fall asleep.”

She doesn’t hesitate to take his hand and she crawls into bed to lay next to him. Her lips are on his in another second, and he hums in both surprise and approval. His fingers are quick to tangle in her hair and he smiles into her eager kisses. When they part, it’s a soft sigh. He traces over her cheek with a warm smile.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

“And I missed you. Terribly,” she whispers just as quietly back. Her fingers brush his hair from his temple and he closes his eyes at the gentle touch. “I love you.”

A thrill shoots up his spine and his brows pinch. He opens his eyes to direct them towards her.

“Can you… say that again?”

She lets out a gentle laugh, kissing his cheek, “I love you, Ominis.”

A whimper escapes his lips and he presses his forehead to hers, brushing their noses together.

“I could go on about all the things I love about you, Ominis,” she strokes his cheek with a smile, “Shall I tell you?”

What his words could not say, his pleading eyes did.

“I love your smile,” she says while kissing the corner of his lips, “I love your gentle touch,” she kisses his palm, “I love your laugh, and sweet voice,” she kisses his neck, making him gasp, “I love your heart - your kindness and compassion.”

She drifts back up to his face, which is now flushed in a beautiful pink hue.

“I love your intelligence. Your quick and clever mind,” she kisses his forehead then she lingers just above his lips. “But, most of all, I love how you see me. You love me, for me. You accept me as I am, and encourage me to become better. You see all my flaws, and you still choose to love me. With you, I feel seen.”

He kisses her, his passion coming fully forward. Little whimpers and gasps escape him at her matching his intensity. As their tongues tangle and their breaths grow heavy, he hopes this will be enough to convey how much she means to him.

They slowly part once more with soft smiles and heated faces. He tucks her hair behind her ear, finding the warmth of her closeness slowly lulling him to sleep.

She lets out a content sigh, “Get some rest, handsome.”

Feeling her warmth next to him, it’s easy for him to fall asleep.

------------------------------

They wake up from their nap still tangled in each other’s embrace. The afternoon sun begins to shine into the room, and Ominis tells her of how he found Isidora’s journal.

“As it turns out, my ancestor was indeed friends with Isidora. She thought it odd that someone would arrive at Hogwarts during their Fifth year. Remind you of someone?” Ominis grins.

She laughs, “It seems some things never change,” her brows pinch as she hums in thought. “I suppose even us… to a certain extent. Perhaps meeting each other may not have been an accident at all.”

Her fingers play with his hair in deep thought and she finally whispers,

“Do you believe us to be soul mates? That we were destined to be together?”

Ominis frowns for a moment then shakes his head.

“No. I don’t.”

Her eyes widen, but he continues before she can say anything.

“To be bound by fate, means that we were always destined to be together. That we didn’t get a choice in whether or not to love each other,” he states with a growing smile. “But, I choose to be with you. Me. Not fate, nor destiny. It’s because I choose to love you, and you me. And, I would choose you every time.”

Tears well in her eye for a moment before she giggles, “I’m glad to be chosen by you then. For I choose you too.”

He kisses her and smiles against her lips, “And I’m grateful to be considered yours.”

Ominis sighs, the last of his worries melting away in her warmth. He’s thankful to be here - with her.

His home.

--------------

AN: Well... this took forever. But I really wanted to capture the tensions and the 'walking on eggshells' feeling of Ominis trying to navigate around his mother. Idk, i tried lol. Also the bonus is just lil thoughts i had after the fact but I didn't want to expand on them any further than what I had so figured why not just add it to this one LOL

But, yeah I think that wraps up my 5th year stuff. I'll probs post some oneshots/6th year stuff as im writing the BIG 7th year project.

Also, I'm almost at 400 followers which is wild to think about. Was thinking about maybe doing something for it -> but idk what. any ideas would be appreciated <3

Thanks again for reading and feedback is always welcomed <3

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