#the staircase leads directly into the piano room | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

words-after-midnight · 8 months ago

Text

Boy, @flashfictionfridayofficial, do I ever have a contribution to this one! I've been waiting for an opportunity to share this piece, which I wrote a while back as a warm-up for my wip The Dotted Line's narrator's voice. I polished it up to share. It's technically 123 words too long, so just think of it as 123 bonus words. 😅

For undisclosed reasons I suspect this may be of particular interest to Life in Black and White's beta readers. 😉 @sunset-a-story @joeys-piano @ananarchie @catchingbigfish

IN CONVERSATION ✉️

Stream of consciousness | 1,123 words

I’m told my friend is visiting today.

He visits once a month, on the dot. Tries to, at least. When my will and that of the swine overlords allow it; when boredom or restlessness or the fleeting desire to see a man who thinks I hung the stars coincide with his schedule. When all necessary factors align like celestial bodies in a ritual, I suppose. I see him then.

He visits more than anyone else. More than my father, my wannabe stepmother, my doting long-distance grandmother. Certainly more than the other losers on the outside who've long since abandoned their misguided notions of me. Don’t misunderstand me - I appreciate his dedication, foolish and perplexing though I may find it. Considering how little I offer in return, it’s impressive.

He loves me, you see.

We were close, once, in a sense. I’m sure he recalls it that way. I’m skilled in the art of beautiful illusions; I cannot provide “close,” but I can craft a convincing approximation, which can be useful. It can even be fun. With him, it was often fun. But it’s been years, now, and still he clings to me like a pathetic, starving puppy I cannot shake from my leg. I don't always want to, but sometimes, I do. I find myself of two minds today, like bouncing on a seesaw. Ambivalence declawed.

And so, shortly before the scheduled time, I’m led through the security checks. Clearance obtained, a C.O. takes me down to the basement floor, down a Silence of the Lambs-esque hallway, to the gray-walled room, seventh door on the right from the clanking, rusting metal staircase.

He’s already there when we walk in, as always, sitting stiffly at a table along the far wall, near the vending machines. The room isn’t busy, I note. The wall clock above his head reveals I’m here hours earlier than usual.

Today's escort, Stella, leads me directly to the table. She’s on a power trip, but she's not hard on the eyes - though the whole ‘glorified mall cop’ aspect ruins it. With a pointed glance she tells me, sternly, “You have an hour.”

“Yes, Mama,” I mutter - sardonically, under my breath - as she walks off. It’s doubtful she heard me, but I don’t particularly care either way.

My sorry bastard of a friend, on the other hand, definitely heard me. He chuckles as he stands. “Behave,” he says, in jest.

I grin, self-mocking. “You heard nothing.”

As always, I feign enthusiasm, pulling him into a brief, casual embrace. Yet his arms always hold me a little too long, and squeeze a little too tightly. He thinks I don’t know. It’s hilarious. It’s revolting. On occasion, I’ve begun to regret creating this monster, I think. I think perhaps that’s the expected response.

We sit across from each other at the little white table. He looks at me, smiling. I can tell he still tastes me when he swallows, a nagging aftertaste at the back of his throat.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Sleepy,” I reply, elbow on the table, chin resting in my open palm. “Why’d you come so early?”

He shrugs. “Sorry. Have to be in shape for work on Monday.”

“Still at the same place?”

“Yeah, same place.”

A loud pause that bounces off the walls. Around the room three other tables are occupied, out of about twelve. It’s quiet enough that I can overhear voices, but we’re spread out enough that I can’t make out words. For their sake, I hope their conversation partners are more interesting than mine. A shame, really. He once worked so hard for my attention, but I suppose he’s lost himself over time.

“What’s new?” he asks, breaking the silence. Squirming, though he tries to hide it. It’s like he scrambles to find words in a mess of strewn-about letters. What’s wrong, hm? They used to come so easily.

I lean back in my chair, draping an arm lazily about its back. “Oh, same old, same old.”

“Still working?” he asks.

“Yeah. They’ll throw me in the hole if I don’t.”

“Right.”

The inside of my brain feels like watching paint dry.

“How’s the wife?” I ask.

He smiles. “She’s good.”

“She know you’re here right now?”

His brow dips infinitesimally, like he caught himself a split-second too late. He’s so predictable. It bores me.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Why wouldn’t she?”

I shrug. Smile. “Dunno. Just figured maybe you wanted it to be our little secret.”

Another pause, delectably tense. His flustered eyes shift downward; mine dart, furtively, to the wall clock to my left. It’s not that I mind the visits, necessarily. They occupy me for an hour - sometimes longer, depending on who’s watching the room - and add variety to a monotone routine too rarely peppered by fleeting chaos. Often, though, the journey to and from the visitation room ends up being the most interesting part. He was entertaining, once, in another time, but now, it’s like he restrains himself. Sometimes I really do wish he would leave for good. It’s not like he has much to offer me now, especially as it seems even our conversations have turned grayscale.

“The table isn’t level,” he comments suddenly.

I force a dry laugh. “No shit. We’re lucky if they stand up at all.”

I glance at the clock again, wanting fleetingly to call the officer over so I can leave - if only so that the walk back upstairs might provide a moment’s respite from the unrelenting, creepy-crawling boredom. It doesn’t bother me that much, to tell you the truth. It isn’t uncomfortable, per se. It’s just always there, near the lower end of my awareness threshold - a low hum, a background conversation that you overhear, but that doesn’t quite capture you.

With an hour spent in mostly dull, meaningless chatter, he finally rises to leave. We hug again - briefly, ceremoniously. He says ‘bye,’ I say ‘see you next time.’

As I’m led from the room, back up the metal stairs and toward a different flavor of boredom, I wonder, bemused, if the expected response might be to take pity on my friend. But why should I? Why should he take it so personally? Why is that my problem? It's not like I get off on being cruel. It's not that I want to not care. I just don’t. Perhaps things would have worked out for him if I were naïve, if I did not know to be ruthless in taking what I want because it’s the only way I will ever get it.

It’s a shame, for him, sure. It's just no one’s fault, but the way of the world. Only the strong survive.

#writeblr #flashfictionfriday #tdl #ic #shorts #literary fiction #fff245

17 notes · View notes

gothdaddyissues · 2 years ago

Text

In The 20s

Welcome to the Church - Available on Ao3

or under the cut (~3300 words)

SUMMARY: Welcome to the Church - the biggest, swankiest speakeasy in town. Terzo has a plan, and he's setting it in motion. But first, he must comfort his girl Evie, and make sure Copia is on his side...

TW: for physical/mental after-effects of physical/sexual violence/abuse

TAGS: Terzo, Copia, Ghoulettes, Original characters, aftermath of violence, implied sexual violence, language, Google Translate Italiano

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

“Yes! Yes, I was just here the other night. Trust me!”

The red and black Model T trundled down an unpaved road on the city's outskirts, the driver and his 5 friends packed in tight. The three in the back seat were giggling, passing a small flask of moonshine back and forth between them. Finally, the car turned off the road in front of a large, weatherbeaten church.

“We’re here!” the driver announced.

“This?” the female in the front seat scoffed. “This ain’t no gin joint. It’s a church!”

“Nuh-uh,” the driver said. “You’ll see!”

He drove the car along the side of the building, through a passage partially overgrown with trees, wide enough to only allow a single vehicle through. It led behind the building to a large plot of land used as a car park, well obscured by the foliage. He parked among the dozens of other vehicles already there.

“C’mon, cats and kittens, let’s go!”

The group entered the church from a side entrance, which led them down a hall and directly into the main chapel. “Are you sure about this, John?” one girl whispered, grabbing onto his arm and holding close to him.

“I sure am, Ruthie. Just watch.”

Standing in the chapel in front of the altar was a man in a long, hooded priest’s robe, his face obscured by a black masquerade mask. He turned to them when they entered. “Greetings, my children. How may I guide you this evening?”

“Um, we’re here for confession,” John replied.

The masked man nodded. “Of course. Right this way.” He led them to the confession booth along the side of the chapel, pulling the curtain away to reveal an opening in the back wall and a staircase leading down to the basement.

“Go in peace,” the priest said.

The group hurried past the mysterious ‘priest’ and into the stairwell. The steps were rough-hewn wood planks with a wide, well-worn groove down the center from the sheer amount of foot traffic. The further down they went, the cooler and darker it became as they made their way deep underground. The sounds of laughter, glasses clinking, and music grew louder and louder the closer they got to the bottom. Another man stood at the end of the stairwell, bathed in the warm light emanating from an open doorway to the left. “Welcome to The Church,” he greeted, “The show starts at 1 am. Blessings be upon you.”

Stepping through the opening revealed an enormous speakeasy, easily the biggest and most elaborate in the whole city. It was already teeming with well-dressed patrons, most holding wine, whisky, or cocktail glasses in their hands. Gilded crystal chandeliers hung from a tin ceiling over the large seating area. Along the length of the wall near the entrance was the bar, heavy dark oak, with arch-framed shelves behind it housing a generous array of glassware and liquor bottles, and tended by two distinguished-looking gentlemen in pinstripe waistcoats. There was a wide variety of seating: stools, tables for two, four, and six, and benches and banquettes along the wall across from the bar. The carpeting was plush and the upholstery rich and luxurious. At the far end of the room sat a grand piano on a large stage hung with lights and deep red curtains trimmed in gold fringe. And in front of that, a roomy dance floor, already in use by several couples frolicking and doing the Charleston in time with music coming from a Victrola in the corner. The area on the far opposite side of the stage was a raised dais that held two extravagant private booths, each within carved wood arches, and with heavy gold drapery hanging in front of them to obscure those who sat there from view. The entire establishment was as ostentatious as the notorious gangsters that owned it.

John grabbed Ruthie’s hand. “Let’s get us a drink, sugar.”

The group made their way over to the bar, and as they stood in wait Ruthie noticed one of the private booth curtains flutter open, a man dressed in a shiny black suit and pristine white spats emerging from within. He was hard to ignore - his face painted white, with deep black markings on his eyes, nose, and cheeks, reminiscent of a skull. His black hair was slicked back which enhanced the face paint and his dual-colored eyes, one green and one white… the birthmark of the Emeritus clan.

He sauntered across the room, greeting and shaking hands with the patrons he passed until he caught sight of her staring starry-eyed at him. She tried to look away but it was too late. He looked her up and down with a flirtatious gaze, gave her a nod and a wink, and walked off before her companion noticed.

Chuckling to himself, he made his way across the dancefloor and slipped behind the stage. It would be showtime soon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Terzo made his way down the small corridor beyond the cluttered backstage area. It was a short distance to the dressing rooms, the first open room filled with the male members of the club’s band preparing to take the stage, going through their warm-ups, and tuning their instruments. Terzo greeted them as he passed through: “Good evening, fellas.” Across the room were two doors. One was Copia’s dressing room/office, but the other - the ladies’ dressing room - was where he was headed first. He knocked and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

He shut the door behind him quickly, leaning his back on it and standing in admiration of what he saw before him. Three lovely women, a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, in various states of dress. “Buonasera, ladies,” he purred.

The women continued their preparations unbothered, quite immune to Terzo’s flirtatious behavior. The blonde even rolled her eyes at him as she pulled on her stage dress over her silky undergarments. The brunette was threading a feathered headband through her waved hair, while the redhead - dressed in a black pantsuit matching what the men in the band wore - was standing before a large mirror, busy rimming her eyes with a dark black liner.

“She’s here?” he asked.

“Of course,” the blonde said motioning to the other door in the room, “She’s been holed up in there for an hour.”

“I hope she’s okay,” the redhead said, while still concentrating on her makeup application, “She’s been awful quiet.”

“Allow me to check on her then,” Terzo volunteered. He made his way through the room, seductively taking each woman’s hand and kissing the back of it as he passed them. First the blonde: “Lovely Cumulus.” Then the brunette: “Sweet Cirrus.” Then, as she finished her makeup, the redhead: “Fiesty little Sunshine.”

They weren’t falling for it. “Just go cheer up your girl, ya goon,” Sunshine sighed, ushering him away.

Terzo knocked twice, this time waiting until he heard a reply before entering. A soft “Yes?” came from within and he let himself in, shutting the door behind him.

The room was no bigger than a large closet - it was, in fact, a storage closet before they converted it into a singular dressing room for their star songstress. It was big enough for only a chair, a rack filled with fringed, sequined, and sheer stage dresses, and a vanity table placed in front of a large, lighted mirror. It was there she sat, already in costume, black hair in a sleek bob, putting the finishing touches on her stage makeup. The beautiful Evelyn Stewart, or Evie as they called her.

Her back was to him, but he could see the reflection of her face in the mirror. He noticed redness around her eyes, puffiness on her lids that she was futilely trying to hide with creams and powders. She glanced at him in the reflection, just briefly, before returning to her work. There was no joyful gleam in her eye, no rosy cheeks dimpled in happiness as they usually were. There was only sadness there, heavy and dark, rolling off of her as she sat slumped at her table. He hated seeing her like this. He had seen it before, in her and in so many others. He knew the cause of her despair: Papa.

His father, Papa Nihil, the head of their family and the leader of their gang. Almost 100 years old, he was an ancient relic of a time long past. He was old-fashioned, resistant to change, too comfortable in his role as patriarch. He ruled through intimidation and fear, and no one dared to cross him. His two eldest sons, Primo and Secondo, had tried. They challenged his way of thinking - they challenged him - and their only reward was to be shunted out of the hierarchy, pushed down the line of succession due to their insolence. Now Terzo was the heir apparent, and he played along, doing everything his father wished and more to gain his trust… while at the same time taking initiative and making new connections behind his back, laying the groundwork for the future. It was a dangerous game and he was preparing his final play: pushing the old man out for good. His brothers had his back. It would be all for the sake of the family business.

Until then, they all had to take the knee and kiss the ring.

Poor Evie never asked for this. She was never looking to be a mobster’s girl. All she wanted was to sing and entertain. But once Papa got a look at her, there was no going back. Evie was his, whether she liked it or not. He kept her on his arm as a trophy, as a symbol of his power, and there was no way he would give her up willingly. Terzo had seen Papa be cruel to her, knew he would force himself on her for his own pleasure since he was too old to ‘perform’ in any way that would be satisfying for her. Not that her needs mattered one bit to him. She was beautiful, talented, and clever, but essentially, she was Papa’s prisoner. She deserved better. Terzo tried to be the one to give that to her and he felt no guilt in doing so. He wanted her to have all the attention, all the affection, and all the orgasms she desired. Papa’s increasing possessiveness was making that more and more difficult.

“Hello baby girl,” he murmured. He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, giving a light squeeze before leaning down to kiss the nape of her neck. The kisses continued downward, past the pearl embellishments draped across the back of her dress, until he knelt behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her tight, he rested his head upon her shoulder, making eye contact with her through their mirrored reflections.

She smiled back at him then, a genuine smile. She melted into his touch, leaning her cheek against his. “Hello handsome,” she replied. “What’s with the face paint tonight?”

Terzo scoffed: “Papa wants us to start wearing it again when we’re here. He says it makes us more intimidating, shows everybody who’s boss.” He kissed her cheek softly, belying his menacing appearance. “You okay? Anything I can do for you?”

She slid her hands down to cover his, entwining their fingers. “I’m okay,” she said, a small tremor in her voice. “Better now.”

Terzo studied her face in the mirror. “Did he hurt you again?” he asked, scowling in pre-emptive anger.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No,” she said. She wouldn’t look at him again.

He sighed. Her reticence told him she was lying. He laid a string of gentle kisses along her neck. “My sweet girl, you deserve so much more than this. You deserve a man who will worship you like the goddess you are.” His hands slid up from her waist to her breasts, cupping them in his grasp ever so reverently, while his kisses continued. “Mmmm… I’ve missed you,” he hummed in her ear.

“I’ve missed you too,” she whispered, sliding her hand up the side of his face to tangle in his hair.

“C’mere baby.” He spun the stool around until she was facing him, and he wasted no time, capturing her lips in a tender kiss, pulling back momentarily to nuzzle his nose alongside hers. He felt her smile, heard her soft giggle. He kissed her again, his tongue gently slipping past her lips. He pressed himself into her, his passion taking over as the kisses continued, his hands moving to her legs, parting them, pushing the hem of her dress up past the satin garters adorning her thighs. His fingers danced along her bare skin…

Evie abruptly put her hands over his, stopping him in his tracks. She pulled her lips away, reluctantly, pressing her forehead to his instead. “Terzo, no,” she protested, “Please. I don’t have time. I have to finish getting ready.”

“I’m sorry, dolcezza,” he apologized, “I can’t help myself, you are so irresistible. So delicious..” His lips were back on her neck, the other side this time, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive flesh until he felt her tense up. A mewl of pain escaped her lips.

He pulled back, his brow furrowed in concern. He could see the bruises on her neck now, a column of angry fingerprint-shaped marks on her pale skin. His fingers ghosted over them. “Evie,” he gasped, “You said he didn’t hurt you…”

Evie pulled away and spun back around to face the mirror. “It’s fine,” she said firmly, going back to her preparations. “You need to stop worrying about me so much. Fussing over me. Papa’s getting suspicious, he knows something’s up. We gotta be more careful. You’ll probably be in big trouble if he finds out you came back here to see me.”

Terzo stood up, coming around to lean against her vanity table so he could see her eye to eye. “Actually, he’s the one that sent me. He has a message for you.”

She glanced up at him while powdering her face. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“He wants you to sing ‘his’ song for him tonight.”

Evie made an annoyed face. “Again? The band is sick to death of it.”

“But he’s not,” Terzo said, “And what Papa wants, Papa gets. We know that all too well, both of us, si?”

She sighed. “It’s not on the setlist. I’ll have to tell Copia.”

“No, no,” he tutted, “You leave that to me. I have to speak with him anyway.”

“Fine.” He watched as she struggled to cover up the marks on her neck. There were tears welling up in her blue eyes, but she blinked them back, steeling herself with a determined huff of breath. She put up such a brave front, keeping that tough-as-nails exterior of hers from breaking. He was one of the few people who knew just how sweet and vulnerable she was on the inside.

Terzo went to the jewelry box on the table, rummaging for something big enough to cover her wounds. He found a multi-strand pearl choker with a large faux-diamond pendant dangling from the front. “Allow me,” he said, placing it around her throat and moving behind her slightly to fasten it for her.

She examined herself in the mirror, satisfied that the necklace would conceal the bruises. Her eyes met his in the reflection once more. “Thank you, Terzo.”

He turned her around again, taking her hands in his and placing soft kisses on them. “I wish I could stay longer, tesoro. But I will let you finish getting ready. And after the show, I will take you back to my place, hmmm? Pamper you. Candles, a bubble bath, champagne?” He nudged her chin with his fingers, running his thumb along her bottom lip while staring into her eyes.

Evie placed her hand around his wrist, caressing small circles around his pulse point with her finger. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby, I promise.”

“Be careful, Terzo. You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” she warned.

She was right, but he was damn sure going to try and keep that promise to her. Terzo smirked as he pulled away, heading for the door. “Are you calling me a liar, cara?” he teased, trying to at least make her smile on the way out. “How dare you…This is the most honest face you’ve ever sat on and you know it.” He winked and slipped out of the room.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“20 minutes to showtime! 20 minutes!” the stagehand called.

Terzo knocked on Copia’s dressing room door and opened it enough to poke his head in. “You got a minute?”

Copia was standing in front of a mirror, pulling on his red tailcoat. He took a quick glance at his watch. “I have a couple, but not much more than that. Why?”

Terzo stepped inside and shut the door behind him, giving Copia a glance up and down. “Going with the red suit tonight, eh?”

“They’re still trying to get the blood stains out of the white one,” he retorted, giving Terzo a sideways look. “Thanks to your brother and our little policeman friend.”

“Actually, turns out he was Imperator’s little policeman friend,” Terzo revealed as the flopped down into Copia’s desk chair. “One of our inside guys told us he was on her payroll.”

“She couldn’t come for us with someone better than a rookie? She’s going to have to try harder,” Copia said, adjusting his collar.

“No doubt she will,” Terzo agreed, “Especially after what I found out today.”

Copia turned to his friend: “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Capone is coming to town.”

“When?” Copia was wide-eyed. This was big.

“To be determined,” Terzo said, “But it’ll be soon. And I’m going to arrange a meeting with him, make him a deal.”

Copia scoffed. “Your father won’t like that.”

Terzo leaned over the desk. “I don’t care,” he stated, punctuating each word by jabbing his index finger onto the desk. “The game has changed and Papa doesn’t get to play anymore. It’s our time now, Copia. Partnering with Capone will make us stronger than ever. And if we don’t do it, Imperator will! Then we’d really be fucked, right? I’m not taking that chance. Papa doesn’t have to know until the deal is done.”

For a few moments, it was silent except for the faint sound of the girls doing their vocal warmups in the room next door. Copia adjusted his cuffs and smoothed down his lapels, his brow furrowed in worry.

Terzo stood and approached Copia with his arm outstretched. “You’re with me, aren’t you fratellino?” he asked. “I can count on you, si?”

Copia took hold of Terzo’s forearm in a Roman handshake. “Of course, you can,” Copia said, their arms still locked, “I’m always with you, Terzo, you know that.” He put his other hand on Terzo’s shoulder, gripping him tightly. “But I hope you know what you’re doing. We’ve seen what Papa is capable of when he’s angry. There’s been a lot of funerals… I don’t want to have to go to yours, you understand?”

“Have some faith in me, Copia,” Terzo smiled, clapping him on the back affectionately.

There was a knock on the door. “10 minutes ‘til showtime!” the stagehand announced.

The two men separated, Terzo heading for the door. “Oh, speaking of angry Papa, I almost forgot,” he said, turning back to Copia, “He wants to hear his favorite song again tonight so you’d better put it back on the setlist, yeah?”

“What?! You tell me this now?” Copia groaned.

Terzo took his leave, as quickly as he could. “In bocca al lupo!”

#ghost #the band ghost #ghost fan fic #my fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost fan fic au

15 notes · View notes

illuveterian-archives · 2 years ago

Text

Tale Of The Last Illuveterian - Part 4

When I woke I found myself to be in seemingly the exact same spot and position I had passed out in. However, the area around me looked entirely different. My blood no longer covered the floor, which now appeared to be made of a dark polished wood. There was now a large woven rug beneath me, providing some cushion. To my left was a small coffee table, which looked to be hand crafted and also polished. To my right was a raised hearth of nested fitted stones. They blended out into what was now a wall maybe of a combination of wood and stone. It had no windows. Within the hearth a decent fire flickered. It was considerably small for the room provided to it. High on the wall above the fireplace was a large portrait. A painting I hadn’t seen in a long time. Sunni and I were sitting together in a large armchair, while our siblings and parents stood around and behind us.

In front of me I could see a large oaken door, it was ornate and had gold detailings. I propped myself up carefully and made my way to my feet. I was still in my gown which remained stained crimson. I checked where I had been injured and sighed as each one was fully healed over. I began looking more around at my new surroundings. Directly opposite the oak door on the far wall were some double doors, both of which had windows on them. I made my way to look out to maybe get some semblance of where I was. In the corner by the doors was an old grand piano, I had to walk around it partially to get to the doors.

“This is a little too far out.” I commented to myself as I placed a hand on the key cover. Much to my surprise it then moved on its own to be pushed completely into the corner, leaving the walkway clear. I stared at it for a good few minutes before continuing to make my way to the doors.

Outside the windows I could see a short porch with a swing and a cover. It seemed to wrap around towards the right and I couldn’t see where it ended. Beyond the porch I could see the endless white void. So I was exactly where I had passed out. This house had just crafted itself within the void. I turned back to the fireplace and where I had been on the floor was now filled with a few pieces of leather furniture. A couch, two chairs, and a loveseat. Opposite the fireplace was a tall staircase, above it a small balcony with two doors on it. The stairs came straight down for several steps before rotating to the right, where it met the floor. Examining them further, they also appeared hand crafted and polished, like the coffee table. There were distinct carve marks on each step and large posts which seemed to each be entire tree trunks marked each point in the turn. It had a rail all the way up which was carefully detailed.

The walkway at the base of the stairs went further away from the living room with one branch off. The break off walkway went behind and under the staircase. It seemed to wrap back to the living room. There were more stairs immediately beneath the ones leading to the indoor balcony, leading down into the floor, curving in the same direction so I couldn’t see what all was down there. I went back to the main path.

Just a bit further there was a small nook out to the right. There was a large table with each seat already set. Once more the table and the chairs each appeared hand made. And further along was a really large kitchen which contained just about everything. I remember staring at it for several minutes just taking all of it in. Eventually I broke myself away to go see what was up the stairs. Once I was on the balcony I turned to look back over the whole of the living area. I was now at the same height as the painting and when I looked at it, my eyes instinctually met my mother’s. I quickly looked away and made my way beyond the doors.

On the other side was a massive bedroom. In the center was a bed I could only call “huge”. It looked at the very least king sized but it was definitely bigger. The frame itself, like almost every other piece of furniture, was visually handmade, and there was a thick comforter draped all the way to the floor on either side. Star patterns sewn in against a deep purple.. To the left came a shock. Against the far left wall, in a corner, there was a large bathtub. It appeared to be built into the room as it had its own walls and steps leading up to the edge. I decided to ignore that for now.

Over to the right was something I didn’t expect in the slightest. There was a large triangular window, following the roof line on one side. Outside the window I could see trees and sky. Like the window sat on a mountain cliff. Which of course didn’t make a lick of sense at first because the two doors downstairs just led out to the void of this pocket dimension. Putting too much thought into it made me dizzy so I made my way back to the center of the room. I sat on the end of the bed, still in that gown.

“I need new clothes,” I said aloud to myself, and to my surprise a door appeared near the bathtub. That was something I definitely had to work to get used to. I stood back up and walked to the new door. Beyond it was a considerably large walk in closet. Why every room ended up being so big I do not know, at the time they were quite overwhelming but I’ve adjusted since then.

I picked out some jeans, a button down, and sweater to wear, along with a pair of tennis shoes. I chose not to question how they all fit so well. I looked into the mirror on one of the walls to make sure it looked okay. I believe that was the first time I ever picked out my own clothing, and I was quite proud of it. I was curious how it would look if I tied my hair back. It had become about medium length. However as I held back a small pony tail with my hand all the scars on my forehead became fully visible. I let the hair fall back to cover it.

I made my way back downstairs and over to one of the only two places I hadn’t yet checked. The ornate door in the living room. I had no interest in going down to the basement yet. I pushed down the knob and pulled it open. Outside that door was dense forest. I stepped out and looked back. The door was against an outstandingly massive tree. Redwood. I couldn’t see anything behind the tree to indicate a house of any sort. And the door was seemingly swinging into the trunk itself. With the limited knowledge that I had at that point it didn’t make a lick of sense to me, so I just went back inside and sat on the couch facing the fire which still burned in the hearth.

I sat there for hours, I think, I can’t be certain. I had put myself into something called “soul space”. Which is essentially just my species’ way of disassociating. We withdraw ourselves from our bodies into this room within our minds. When we do this our eyes seem to “catch fire” and visually look like small suns. Which, given my species’ origin, makes sense, I suppose. It’s sort of a physical space we can exist within. Twins share a soul space from birth. So, I now try to avoid it if possible, but occasionally I check, just to make sure she’s not there. The silence is absolutely maddening. I sat in soul space on that couch for a long time.

Once I came out of it, I had decided that I would go to bed then, and when I woke up I would go to find Atticus and Virginia. I wanted to see them again, and let them know I was okay. I went back up the stairs and climbed into bed. The comforter was heavy and the mattress soft. I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow and It was the first actually good sleep I had gotten in years.

When I woke up it looked like mid afternoon according to the window, however I can never be sure exactly where it’s showing unless it’s a widely recognisable location. I was still wearing the clothing I had put on from the closet, aside from the tennis shoes which I slipped back on. Yawned and stretched to wake myself up before making my way back downstairs. I didn’t know where they were, but I knew I had to find the Millers. That was my first mission, and I was determined to complete it no matter the costs.

I went into the kitchen. Breakfast would come first. I hadn’t eaten in well over a year at that point and I could use the energy boost. On the peninsula island was a bowl of fruit: apples, bananas, and oranges. I picked up an apple and carried it to the sink, washing it off before taking a bite. A red delicious. When I turned back to the peninsula there was something new that definitely wasn’t there just moments prior. It was a newspaper dated September 29th, 1938. The top fold front page story title read in bold: “Horrible car accident kills 2.” As I stared at it I noticed another of the pages seemed to be dog-eared. I finished the apple and tossed the core in a trashcan. It promptly vanished entirely. Lifting the newspaper I unfolded it and flipped to the marked page, brows furrowed. The top of that page read “Obituaries”. There were only two names on it.

Atticus Miller, 28, 1910-1938

Virginia Miller, 25, 1913-1938

I was frozen. That couldn’t be right. They were always so careful, what happened? The front page story. Shakily I closed the newspaper to read it.

HORRIBLE CAR ACCIDENT KILLS 2: On Monday, September 26, a Ford Coup careened off the side of Cadillac Summit Road and caught fire at the bottom of a small valley between the peaks, killing the two occupants later identified by their dental records as Atticus and Virginia Miller. It is unknown as to the cause of the crash, however speculation suggests car issues or drunkenness as the road was in good condition for driving.

I couldn’t read any further. The paper fell from my hands and I collapsed to my knees. That wasn’t an accident. They had been killed because of me. Their death was on my hands. It was my fault. I yelled out to nobody, overwhelmed with despair. They were all I could have had. And now I was left with nothing.

That was when an entirely new emotion washed over me, something I wasn’t used to for sure. Rage. They were all going to pay. Each and every single one of them. I stood from the floor, my face was neutral but anger coursed through me. That rage lasted for at most a minute before I came to my senses. I was still angry, that was certain, but that was overwhelmed by mostly sadness. The rage didn’t feel like me at all. I left the newspaper on the counter and went into the living room.

On the coffee table there were two things, another newspaper, and an open 1946 calendar which had two dates circled in red. The first date circled was November 3rd, and in the box was written “escape”. The next date was November 12th, which read “today”. Since I had initially woken up the day before I concluded that meant I was unconscious on the floor for 8 days.

The Newspaper, which was dated November 11th’s front page header read: “Investigation Causes Saint Neumann’s Asylum Closure. Staff Arrested.” I read on.

On Monday, November 4th, an investigation was sparked into the Saint Neumann’s Asylum after a manhunt raised suspicion. Many patients have seemingly vanished from the hospital’s grounds with little searching done in years past, but after one particular patient’s escape on Sunday evening, many staff rounded up local men to track down the patient. The hospital’s reasoning for such a search out of nowhere was that the escaped patient was incredibly dangerous to both himself and the public, though they wouldn’t release his name or where he could be. Police searched the nearby woods and-

I put the paper back down. I already knew what went on within those walls. A smile crossed my face as tears fell. At least I did one good thing.

#archives illuveteris #archive illuveteris #illuveterian archives #tale of the last illuveterian #raymond illuverteris #king raymond #raymond #oc story #oc backstory

5 notes · View notes

xmint-conditionx · 4 years ago

Text

⊹ lava cake ⊹ birthday sex | myg

✜ pairing: yoongi x reader; yoongi x fem!reader; dom!yoongi x brat!reader ✜ word count: 3.4K ✜ summary: your friend dragged you to this huge house birthday party for some guy you don’t even know, and she disappears with her boyfriend, leaving you alone in the crowd. while trying to find her, you lock eyes with a handsome stranger across the room who looks like he could use some company. ✜ warnings: 18+ only, light slapping, casual sex, orgasm denial, overstimulation, sex w/ a stranger, unprotected sex (pls be safe y’all), rough dom, slight public sex?? (idk y’all are behind closed doors but at a party so?????), oral (f), slight degradation. ✜ a/n: hiya! bringing this gem back a day late for the best boy's birthday! wrote this for his birthday a year ago, and one day it will get the sequel it deserves. yoongi w mint hair is my inspiration for my name, so this holds a special place in my heart.

i really hope you like it! thanks, luvs, enjoy!

<3 minty ✧

The crunch of ice in your mouth from your now empty drink is a welcome distraction from the overall din of the loud party guests and even louder music. You scan the large open living room of the house again for your friend and her boyfriend, but they’re nowhere to be found. “Wait right here, we’ll be back in a minute” Micha had said as Taehyung took her over to another part of the house, presumably to meet with another friend of his. That was half an hour ago. You impatiently begin searching the room once more for any sign of Micha’s bright pink hair, furrowing your brows in frustration as you come up with nothing.

As your eyes are rapidly moving from face to face, your search is halted by a minty haired man who is staring directly at you from the other side of the room.

He’s nestled in by the foot of the staircase, back leaning against the railing, red solo cup in his hand. The ends of his hair caress his tiny ears, which are decorated with long and dangly silver earrings, alive in the colored lights of the party. By the time you’ve assessed the man in full and return to his eyes, his eyes are still locked on yours. Unwavering, like a challenge.

You hold his gaze almost threateningly, but he doesn’t flinch away from your heavy eyes. While maintaining eye contact, he gently sips out of the red solo cup before brazenly eyeing you up and down and raising one of his brows in response. After he finishes his sip, he again makes deliberate eye contact with you and runs his tongue over his bottom lip, collecting the drops of drink that was left there.

Your friend is nowhere to be found, so you might as well go and make a new one.

You break away from his lingering stare to fill your cup, and then you make your way through the crowd to the challenger on the other side of the room. You expect him to be looking at you when you return into his line of sight, but are shocked to discover the opposite.

Where his gaze was full of intention, it is now lackluster. Where it had been on you, it now seems to be looking at nothing at all. The empty space in the middle of the room. You walk up and say the only thing you can think of that will get a conversation going.

“Lame party, huh?” you say, taking a sip of your drink and leaning into his direction.

“Yeah,” he says, still looking out into the distance, “I’m not really enjoying it either.”

“I don’t really know anyone here. I’ll be honest with you; I don’t even know the birthday boy. My friend’s boyfriend is a friend of his or something and she dragged me along so she ‘wouldn’t have to go alone’ or whatever.”

“Why aren’t you with her, then? You’d probably be having more fun.” he says as he finishes another sip.

“If she hadn’t disappeared on me an hour ago, I would be! This place is huge and I don’t want to go wandering around some strange man’s house. You’d think with all the money he has he’d at least be able to have better taste,” you say as you point to a bookshelf by the fireplace. “I mean look at that lava lamp! The 80’s called and want their aesthetic back, right?”

The man next to you just shrugs, “I don’t know. Some people like them I guess.”

You move your pointer finger to another corner of the room next to the bar. “That piano too? It looks so beat up! It doesn’t make sense with the rest of the decor at all. I wonder if this guy is alright. His head can’t be right.” you say and the man next to you snickers a little. You turn to him and meet his gaze again. It’s playful and a little dark; it makes you want to continue. “He could literally just buy a much better looking piano.”

His expression darkens further to a playfully scrutinizing one. “You’re awfully bold, insulting the host while you’re still at his party. If I were you, I’d watch that pretty little mouth before it gets you into trouble.”

This is going to be good.

“Oh yeah? And what if I don’t?” you fire back, staring up at him through your lashes. “Doesn’t seem like anyone is trying to stop me.”

He lets out a drawn out sigh and scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah, you’re right. And what a shame that is. I’ve got about a million ideas about what you could be doing instead of running that mouth. More… productive things.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Who says I’d actually take you up on your little ideas, hmm?” you tease.

His eyes darken further, and you know you’ve got him.

“Well, it would be your loss,” he says.

You dramatically roll your eyes for maximum sass, “Yeah right, I’m sure.”

“Is that a challenge, little miss?” he asks, his gaze narrowing and his body closing in on you, trapping you against the railing of the staircase. You begin to feel like prey, a sensation that only dampens your panties further. At this close distance, you can just begin to smell his aftershave. His free hand brushes up your exposed thigh and starts to slowly ascend up past the hem of your short skirt. Your heart begins to pound and your legs start to tingle as you hesitantly meet his gaze again. He leans in closer.

“Aww, cat got your tongue?” he sings in your ear, making you bite your lip. You can feel the heat flushing your cheeks. He can likely feel the warmth that is spreading to other places, because his hand stops just outside of the cloth of your underwear.

“Mmm, let’s see if you can stay this quiet when my tongue is in your slit. Now, be a good girl and follow me.” he says, suddenly backing off and walking up the stairs. You wince slightly at the lack of warmth, but don’t hesitate to grab his hand as he leads you up.

He brings you to a set of double doors to the immediate right of the top of the stairs. The light is already on and you can see that the ensuite bathroom’s lights are on as well. He turns back to shut both of the doors and you hear the faint click of the lock.

“Is this the master?” you ask, taking in the details of the room. “I don’t think the birthday boy will want people fucking in his bedroom.”

He’s back on you in an instant, arm around your waist, pulling you up against his chest. “I guess you had better keep quiet then.”

Your lips are suddenly being pressed against his. He immediately deepens the kiss, receiving your tongue into his mouth with sloppy enthusiasm. He starts backing you up towards the side of the bed. Once you get there, you’re shoved down onto the mattress, bouncing slightly as you recover from his kiss. You watch dumbly as he deftly strips off his leather jacket and yanks off his plain t-shirt. Once his stomach is exposed, you find your mouth open and watering at the sight of the little happy trail under his abdominal muscles. You don’t have time to process any of it though, because in another instant he’s on top of you, straddling your hips.

He hooks his thumb into your gawking mouth, holding it open and says, “I’m going to rip you to shreds, little girl. If it becomes too much, say genius. Do you understand me?”

You nod sheepishly and swallow hard.

“Let’s hear you say it then.” he demands, removing his thumb from your mouth.

“Genius?” you say in almost a whisper and he begins to grin.

“Good girl. Remember, stay quiet. We wouldn’t want to disturb the party,” he says, removing his weight from on top of you while shifting you up the bed so that he can situate your hips under his face. He doesn’t bother taking off your skirt; he just forces the fabric up, exposing your already soaked panties.

“All this for me? I haven’t even touched you yet,” he teases.

You huff in frustration. “Yeah, you should probably get to that already.”

He responds with a smart little smack on your still covered clit. You clench and moan at the sensation, looking down at him with your best puppy dog eyes. He is unimpressed.

“What did I say about watching your mouth, brat?” he says as he hovers right over your heat, just close enough that you can feel his breath when he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” you groan out as your legs begin wiggling in hopes of getting his lips to make contact.

“That’s better,” he says, teasing your entrance outside of your panties with his thumb, sending sparks up your spine. “I just don’t know if you want it badly enough, princess.”

“Ugh,” you scoff, “I don’t know what else I can do! Pleeeeease?”

“Please, what?” he asks with a smirk, sending you a look that is filled with fire. “What is it that you want me to do?”

“Please taste me,” you beg with fistfulls of the comforter, and in that instant, he rips off your panties and is busy sucking on your clit. You let out a silent scream at the new sensation, hands pulling even harder on the blanket. He licks down your slit and then into it, sending another wave of pleasure through you. You’re already so wound up that you’re close to the brink, almost teetering over the edge when you grab his hair and start to buck your hips into his mouth, chasing your release.

He pulls away, much to your distaste, earning a whimper from you.

“Whyyyyy did you stooooppppp?” you whine, and he shoots you another dark look right before he slaps your clit again, this time much harder. You let out a yipe as you involuntarily clench around nothing. “I was about to come…” you say in the most adorable voice you can muster, poking out your bottom lip for full effect.

“Who says you get to come?” the man replies, your slick coating his lips. He plunges two fingers into you and starts a slow, teasing rhythm.

“Please, move faster, I–” your voice is cut off when he starts flicking his tongue on your clit, bringing you dangerously close. You know better than to tell on yourself, and you clench in anticipation of your orgasm… but he quickly stops everything and leaves you to come back down slowly, agonizingly.

You’re desperate and dizzy with desire, on the verge of tears with how badly you want to come. He’s kissing your inner thighs, leaving little marks here and there where he sucks and bites. It’s like he’s comforting you through the torture, by somehow making it worse.

“Ple– Please just let me come. I’ve tried to be good,” you plead, consumed with want.

He stops his little kisses and looks up at you. He says, “One more, you can do one more. I know you can. Then I’ll give you what you want. I think you might have learned your lesson.”

He takes the fingers that were just inside of you and puts them in his mouth, drinking up every bit of your wetness that he can. There’s no resistance when he reinserts them. He sets a menacing pace, curling up his fingers to hit that sweet spot, his lips fixed on your clit and his clouded gaze fixed on you. Before long, your release starts to build again, and you try to hold it back as best as you can. He comes off your clit with a wet popping sound and says, “Not yet. Don’t you dare come,” his fingers still pushing you ever closer.

His gravelly command makes you clench and that does it. You’re rocketing through your high and he fingerfucks you all the way through it. He pulls his fingers out and gets off the bed, leaving you to come down from your climax with closed eyes and labored breath.

Before you’ve fully recovered, you’re suddenly being hoisted up. He’s got your back up against the headboard, that much you can tell. When you open your eyes, you can’t believe what’s in front of you.

The mint haired man’s lips are mere inches away from yours, and he has pinned your arms down at your sides. You’re straddling his lap, which is now only covered by a pair of black boxer briefs that aren’t doing much to hide his erection. The outline of his dick with it’s tiny wet spot at the head makes you swallow, hard.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, I told you not to come, princess,” he teases. “It seems you need a different approach to learning your lesson. Since you wanted to come so bad, you’re not leaving this room until you’ve done it three more times.”

Your mouth hangs open; your eyebrows shoot up. You don’t even know if that’ll be possible.

“But this time,” he says lowly in your ear, “you’re going to come on my cock.”

He takes your hands and puts them on his waistband, indicating for you to remove them. As you do and his cock springs free, you can’t help but to lick your lips at how utterly delicious it looks. If he didn’t have other plans, you would have gladly taken it in your mouth that instant.

He takes his member in his own hand and teases your entrance with the head, mixing his precum with your leftover wetness from before. Just that touch has you ready to go again. You take matters into your own hands, literally, by taking his shaft and lining him up with you. As you sink down onto his cock, his breath hitches and you’re glad that you’re not the only one who is being tortured tonight.

His hands are tight on your hips, your skirt having rode all the way up a long time ago. His eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and before he allows you to start, you see his eyes dart to your cleavage and back up.

“Take off your shirt for me,” he says.

“Why should I?” you snark back.

He quickly pulls out and thrusts all the way up into you, filling you completely up, sending a cry past your lips that was likely too loud. You’re suddenly more keenly aware of the ongoing party right outside those doors. You comply with his request, and he seems pleased that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath your blouse.

“Number one,” he says and unleashes a cruel pace. The lewd sounds of your bodies slapping together only heighten your arousal, and you’re not surprised when you get close to your next orgasm. Sensing this, he grabs your jaw in his hand and directs your gaze to meet his.

“I’m– I’m gonna–”

“Come for me, brat.”

Your second one of the evening shoots fireworks all throughout your body and you clench all over, relishing in being able to fully ride it out. You can’t hold all of your noise in this time, but neither of you seem to mind. As you come down from this one, you notice that he hasn’t slowed his pace at all. What was once the most pleasurable thing has now crossed over into being a little too much, but in a good way. Your sensitivity was almost painful, but this new sensation had enraptured you. You were ready to try for another.

There’s a banging at the door, and you both freeze. A voice comes through the other side.

“Yoongi, was that you in there? We’re about to light your cake. Come out so we can sing to you!” the voice says over the din.

“Give me 5 more minutes, Namjoon-ah! I’m in the middle of something,” the man, apparently named Yoongi, apparently the birthday boy, apparently the one who you’ve been insulting all night, yells back.

You stare up at him in shock, and try to figure out what to say to apologize. He wants none of it, because he covers your mouth with his hand and flips you down onto the mattress. He resumes his unrelenting pace this time with more force behind his thrusts, all while his hand is fast against your mouth.

“That lava lamp,” Yoongi said, “that was the first thing my mother bought when she got her first apartment. She passed it down to me when I got mine.”

You’re moaning against his hand, the embarrassment you feel fueling your arousal even more. He really was out to punish you.

“Number two.”

He grabs your hip with his free hand and digs his fingers into you so firmly, you’ll know there will be bruises there the next day. Yoongi is glistening with sweat, his eyes staring straight through you. All it takes to send you over the edge again is for a smart nip on your nipple.

You scream out into his hand, thankful you can at least be a little more vocal. He still has kept up his pace, and as you come down, it starts to become too much. You’re so wet and sensitive that it’s borderline unbearable. You start to tear up at the feeling, and he removes his hand from your mouth. Without stopping, he leans into your ear and tells you how beautiful you look taking his cock. He tells you how good you’ve been for him, and how he loves the way you taste. He tells you about how he knew he had to have you when he saw you across the room, looking like sin in that short skirt and revealing top. He says he knows you can take one more, because after all, it’s his birthday.

“This time, I want to hear you say my name,” Yoongi says sweetly before taking his thumb and pressing it against your overly sensitive bud. You cry out and then stop yourself, afraid of who can hear.

“Don’t hold back on me; be as loud as you need to,” he says, “this is my fucking house.”

You begin to let yourself whine out, the overstimulation reaching a breaking point. Your mascara is definitely a mess, but the way he was looking at you made you not care.

“Number three. Last one. You can do it.”

He increases the pressure on your clit and deepens his thrusts. He takes his hand from your hip and traces your bottom lip with the thumb before he plants a kiss. The kiss deepens and you allow him to lightly graze his tongue over yours, which he follows up with a little bite on your lower lip. You’re groaning up into him, feeling your next release sneak up. He locks eyes with you, and you can tell he’s holding himself back from his own release.

“Come, beautiful. So I can fill you up.”

At that, the coil snaps and you’re sent reeling into easily the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. As his name spills from your lips, he too meets his own end and you both ride out your climaxes together.

_____________

After you’ve cleaned yourself up a little in the ensuite, you deem it safe to return back downstairs. It’s been long enough that you’ve just heard them sing, so you’ll likely go unnoticed with all eyes on Yoongi as he blows out his candles. You walk down the stairs towards the crowd of people surrounding the birthday boy and his giant chocolate cake. He’s smiling and hugging some of his friends who are encouraging him to cut it open. Once he does, chocolate sauce oozes out and everyone cheers. It’s a lava cake.

He laughs and hugs one of his tall friends wearing an apron, whose laugh sounds like windshield wipers. Yoongi scans the crowd and meets your gaze. He scoops up a bit of chocolate sauce on the two fingers that had been inside you only moments ago and smirks at you as he licks them clean.

Why do you feel like he isn’t done with you yet?

#bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #min yoongi #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #dom!yoongi #brat!reader #fem!reader #happy birthday yoongi!#xmint-conditionx #bts imagines #bts scenarios #emperor!yoongi

682 notes · View notes

wunderlustwriter · 3 years ago

Text

pt 2

another george weasley imagine pt 3

cw: mentions of the party scene, second hand embarrassment, slow burn, SFW

when you woke up you were comfortably laying down with your back angled against george’s chest and one of his legs outstretched next to your hip

after fred and ginny started to gently shake both of you, george’s arm instinctively tightened pulled you closer.

you enjoyed it for a few seconds before becoming fully conscious then both of you jumped up and shook off the sleep, waking yourselves up

“mmmm, shit. i think we fell asleep talking last night. what time is it? i need to stop by my dorm and grab my stuff”

fred is just looking at the two of you, shit faced and grinning, when ginny says there’s still 45 minutes left for breakfast and classes start in an hour

yawning you nod and run your fingers through your hair before collecting all of your notes and putting them in your bag, george helping you with the last of it

he smirks at you and mumbles “mornin’ Sunshine” before picking up your bag and handing it to you

you stretch and raise your eyebrow at him before grabbing your bag “morning Red” you say as you ruffle his hair and walk past him “i’m going to get my stuff, i’ll see you after school, yeah?” you look back over your shoulder as you’re about to open the portrait door to see him putting on a sweater fred gave him and following behind you

“nah, i’ll come with you, I need to see if the dungeons are as cool as you make them sound”

eyeing him up and down you slowly nod “okay, fine, but follow me, we need to take a shortcut”

“wait, what do you mean, the closest secret passageway leading to the dungeons wouldn’t save any time”

you smirk as you reach back for george’s hand and lead him to an engraving of a snake carved into the stone wall above a water fountain

you whisper “lead me back home” in parseltongue and the fountain moves to the side, revealing a short doorway which leads to a tall and surprisingly wide emerald green passageway with a magical light that follows you as you walk

“y/n y/l/n, every day you find new ways to amaze me” george says, not letting go of your hand and following you as the door behind the two of you closes

“oh shush, we’ve only been friends for like less than a week. now stay close and don’t get lost. the thing about this passage is it changes with every step you take in order to lead you to wherever you said while also preventing people from following you from behind.”

“bloody hell, that’s genius,” he says while moving his hand so your fingers are intertwined together, causing you to shoot him a look while trying to hide your smile “what? you said stay close.”

laughing you lead george all the way to the end of the walkway and tap the stone in front of you three times. the wall opens and you step in front of the portrait guarding the slytherin dorms. “mull berry warts” the door opens

“nearly everyone should be at breakfast right now, so you shouldn’t run into any problems, but if you see any of The Goons ™️ please don’t start anything”

the two of you step through the hole and into the common room. right when you walk in there’s a grand staircase to your immediate right and another to the left. a cascading water fountain could be seen through the glass doors that lead to the ‘courtyard’ directly underneath a transparent ceiling that views into the Great Lake.

two crackling fireplaces take up the corners on the left side of the room while pool and card tables are in the middle with a piano against the back wall and a kitchen and dining area to the right. everything was lit by light green edison lightbulbs hanging along the ceiling and there were only two students in the room, both of whom stared at george until they saw you holding his hand and guiding him throughout the dungeon and they relaxed

“hey y/n!” one of them shouts and waves as you make your way up the staircase to your left “hey celeste, save me a seat in divination please! see you later” you shout back

“wow. i have to say these dungeons are definitely intimidating” george chimes in when the both of you make it up the stairs “yeah, i know what you mean, it can get really gloomy, that’s why we have so many parties around here.” you knock on the door which leads to your dorm where a handful of the 6th year girls sleep and enter it when no one responds, making a b-line for you desk

“woah, you can see inside of the lake from here too? that’s so trippy” george wanders around your shared room and stops when he gets to your area, smiling at all of the little trinkets you have “are all of these from the muggle world?” he asks, pointing to your mp3 player, polaroid, and jewelry collection on your night stand “mhm, for listening to music, taking pictures, and wearing” you say, laughing as your turn to face gorge, ready to go until you hear a click and see a flash

“oops-“ george smirks and you hit his arm, he jumps back a little when film starts coming out from the bottom of the camera

“come on doofus, we’re not going to have enough time to get to class if you keep getting distracted. we can stop by the kitchens on our way out and grab a quick something to eat.” you lead him out the door but not before george has time to stuff the polaroid picture into his back pocket

the two of you make your way up the dungeon steps hand-in-hand (george snuck his hand around yours again once he caught up to you) and you step into the kitchen until you find an elf named Minnie that you’ve gotten close with since first year. she slides the two of you a bag of french toast, a muffin, some fruit, and a slice of frittata. you give minnie a kiss on the cheek and say thanks before heading to class

“i’ve never been in the kitchen before without getting yelled at or judged by the elves before, how do you do it?”

“well during first year i would come up here and bake whenever i got stressed. they only let me do it if i let the elves clean up and promised to show them new recipes. and ever since then Minnie and i have always talked and cooked together, she’s almost like a second mom to me”

“do you miss your parents back home?” george asks after a few seconds of silence while you’re eating

“yeah, i never knew my dad but my mum says he was a great wizard. growing up all of my cousins and i would run around our grandma’s farm pretending to be witches and wizards ironically enough. but i don’t know, hogwarts isn’t that bad. there’s a handful of cool people” you softly bump into george’s shoulder and he smiles down at you

“yeah i know what you mean, i grew up in a family where there’s always at least 5 people home at any given time” he chuckles and you both step out of the dungeons when you hear a bell ringing

“shit i think breakfast just ended, what class do you have first?”

“transfiguration, you?” “divination” you groan and he laughs

“yeah, good luck with trawley” “thanks, i’m going to need it, especially since i’m never going to make it in time”

“now i wouldn’t be so sure about that...” george grabs your hand and leads you to a stone statue “you’re not the only one with a few tricks up their sleeves” he taps its nose twice then pulls on its left ear causing the statue to move to the side revealing a secret passage

“george weasley, every day you find new ways to amaze me” you mimic while laughing and following george down the hall way

“whatever you say sunshine” he smirks and pulls you along

less than 5 minutes later the two of you are in the north west corridor, just around the corner from your divination class

“thanks for the shortcut red, i’ll see you later” you say giving him a smile before letting go of his hand and turning towards your first class when george picks your hand back up and walks with you “wait, what’re you doing, i thought transfiguration was around the opposite corner?” you ask him

“it is” he shrugs and keeps walking with you “okay... then why are you walking this way, with me?”

“class doesn’t start yet, i have time, don’t worry about me love” what’s up with him and nicknames today?

after a minute or two of silence you approach your classroom “uh, okay, so-“ “so i’ll see you at lunch” he interrupts while smirking and bringing your hand up to his lips for a light kiss “goodbye sunshine” he winks and you’re too busy blushing and stuttering to do anything but nod and watch him walk down the hallway

after climbing the ladder to the divination tower you take your seat next to the friend who said hi to you back at the slytherin house. the two of you learn about palmistry while gossiping with each other.

Celeste is Luna Lovegood’s older sibling and they’re telling you about the most recent shenanigans their father came up with in his magazine

eventually you’re all let go from class and after descending the ladder you see a familiar firey red head leaning against a nearby wall.

george smiles when he sees you , meeting you halfway “we’ll aren’t you everywhere today” “eh, McGonagall let us out a few minutes early so i figured i might as well see what trouble you’ve gotten into since the last time i saw you.”

he’s smirking and you roll your eyes as fred approaches the two of you “he’s lying, mcgonagall just let us out, georgie boy here ran all the way down to meet you before your next class” george is shooting eye daggers at his twin and punches him hard in the arm “and what class is that again?” he asks trying to shift the subject and you laugh as the three of you start walking

“herbology” you say, noticing the way george stays reclusive since fred came over with his hands still in his pockets and you decide to casually wrap your arm around his, something that doesn’t go unnoticed as fred speaks up “right, and you have Hagrid’s class, don’t ya georgie, so how’re you going to make that work?”

“oh fuck off you git” george pushes his laughing twin down the hall as he keeps walking you to your second class, casually taking his hand out of the pocket so yours slides down his arm and into his hand, making you blush and hide a smile

“wow, can’t go a whole class without seeing me weasley? if i didn’t know any better i’d say you’re whipped” you giggle and stop a hall away from your class

“am i whipped or creating the ultimate diversion..?” george says, holding up what he thinks is one of your rings in his hand

“i’ll give you props, you did take one of my rings, but how’d you not notice i stole it back and switched it with a firecracker from your pocket?”

“bloody hell, i guess the student still has lots to learn from the master” he says, moving closer to you as your back leans against a wall and you’re looking into eachother’s eyes again

“yes he does” you nod and smirk as you lean forwards and kiss george’s cheek, slyly pulling away from him and walking backwards towards herbology “see you later Georgie”

taglist: @gaycatlord-stuff

a/n: fuck, i did not expect me to draw this little drabble/imagine out this long but every night i go to write this one part that i literally dreamt of aND MORE AWESOME STUFF POPS UP but just a fair warning i write all of my pieces between 1 and 4 am without any proof reading so i’d anything doesn’t make sense just come back the next day when awake-me actually grammar checks my work

anyways if you like it feel free to let me know in the notes, i always appreciate it, and if you want to be on my taglist just hmu lmao.

also, i was indeed listening to the spice girls while writing this so i feel like that should explain itself

pt. 4

200 notes · View notes

thirstyforcharacters · 4 years ago

Text

When the Universe Collides (Sam Wilson x Reader)

Summary: Every person has a soulmate. When your soulmate experiences pain, so do you, and any bruises, scars, or other markings that they get appear on your skin. Or, the story of how smacking yourself in the face with a cabinet was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Notes: Hi! Since the first episode of Falcon and the Winter Soldier comes out today, I wanted to write something for Sam! He’s super underrated and deserves more love! Also, this soulmate AU is extremely self-indulgent and has absolutely nothing to do with the TV show, but tbh I don’t care. Hope you all enjoy it too! (no y/n, no pronouns) (PS: any italicized text is Sam texting and the italicized and bold text is the reader texting!)

Warnings: mentions of a stab wound (nothing explicit), cursing I guess

WC: 2.2 k

Your soulmate must have one hell of a job.

Almost every day, you woke up with dark bruises covering your body. It seemed that whenever one faded, another took its place. At completely random times, you would double over in aches that you certainly didn’t inflict upon yourself. One time, in the middle of the night, you woke up with pain in your stomach so intense, it felt like someone had stabbed you! It turned out that it was a stab wound, but given that no one had stabbed you lately (or ever), you figured it was from your soulmate. You definitely didn’t appreciate that hospital bill.

But you still desperately wanted to meet them. Meet that person that completed you: your other half. As a teenager, you made your parents tell you the story of the day they finally met so many times, you knew it by memory. They were both in the library at college, and your mom dropped a psychology textbook on her foot! Her howl of pain was only matched by the “SON OF A BITCH” that came from your dad on the opposite side of the library. When the two of them made eye contact, they instantly knew they were the ones for each other (they were also immediately kicked out for making such a ruckus). You wanted to have that moment so badly; meeting your soulmate was a huge milestone in every person’s life, and you needed it.

Your best friend and roommate, Brianna, had met hers just two months ago. They had met at the beach, when out of nowhere, Bri had shrieked in shock and pain.

“A crab just pinched me!”

When you had looked at her foot and told her nothing was there, she was totally confused, until you saw a handsome guy with a crab hanging from his foot! He had introduced himself as Julian, and the two had been inseparable since. He was living with you now, and you had honestly never felt more lonely in your life. Sure, you had your dream career; you ran a music shop in New York City, selling instruments, making repairs, and meeting all sorts of interesting people. You had a decent apartment, a chill best friend, and the cutest Yorkie, named Muffin, on the planet. By all accounts, you had it pretty good. You were just missing your other half.

It was a rainy day in NYC. The chill of winter was still clinging onto the March air, and you shivered as you trudged from your apartment to your shop. Even though you had an umbrella to protect you from the rain, the wind blew right through the too-thin jacket you yanked off of the coatrack in a rush. Still holding your half-eaten toaster strudel in your hand, you pushed open the doors to Major Instruments and Minor Repairs, your pride and joy.

It was two floors: the first was where you sold instruments, and the repair shop was above. Acoustic panels were attached to the burnt red walls to help quiet down the place, since the hardwood floors didn’t do much to help with that. The checkout desk was directly in the center in the room. Surrounding it were reeds, bottles of valve oil, and guitar strings. Picks were placed in two clear, plastic bowls on the desk itself. In the front left corner of the room was a grand piano, situated right in the window so passersby could see whenever someone plucked its keys. The entire back wall was covered in guitars and basses. To the right of the desk was a large drumset, accompanied by a pair of drumsticks and brushes. On the right wall were string instruments; string basses and cellos were leaned against the wall, while the violins, violas, and bows were displayed on it. Woodwind and brass instruments were scattered across the room in various display cases. Instrument stands, bow rosin, and miscellaneous instrument parts were on shelves throughout the room as well. The spiral staircase leading up to the repair shop was in the back left corner of the room. Behind the staircase was the door to the back store room, where you kept your extra supplies and also where you took your breaks.

“Good morning!” called Andrew, one of your closest friends from college, from behind the desk.

You waved in reply, wandering to the back store room. You were lucky you had Andrew; you could rely on him to run the front desk while you and Brianna assisted customers on the floor. Unfortunately, Bri had the flu today, so it would just be you on the floor, which would make things a little more hectic. You hurriedly finished your strudel, took off your jacket, which left you in a black and white flannel, a matching black tank top reading “Music is Life,” black leggings, and black combat boots (you had an aesthetic to uphold), and strode back out to the main area.

“You seem in a bit of a rush. Everything okay?” asked Andrew, who was currently restocking bell covers.

You sighed, “Just a whirlwind of a morning. Bri has the flu, Muffin nearly choked on a chicken bone, I almost burned my toaster strudel, and I smacked myself in the face with my cabinet door by accident.”

“Oh, that’s where the new bruise on your eye is from,” he mused.

You snorted, “Yeah, for once it’s not from my soulmate.”

“Maybe he’s a spy. Or a superhero!”

“Yeah, or a criminal,” you joined in on the restocking, grabbing some trumpet mutes since the place opened in just half an hour, “thanks for opening up, by the way.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied, “you know I don’t mind.”

The doorbell jingled and two of your instrument repair people, Sarah (for strings), and Natalie (for brass), entered. Natalie was lugging what was unmistakably a tuba case, while Sarah carried both of their instrument repair kits.

“Morning, ladies!” called Andrew.

“Good morning,” Sarah replied pleasantly.

Natalie huffed out a “morning” and dragged the tuba up the stairs.

“Her tuba’s broken. The tubing that holds up her mouthpiece completely snapped off. She’s going to try and repair it before her appointments today,” explained Sarah.

You winced, “That’s rough.”

Sarah dropped off both of their jackets and followed Natalie up the stairs leaving you alone with Andrew again. Soon after, Erik, your percussion guy, and John, the woodwind repairman, arrived, and it was time for the shop to open. For a while, it was just another mundane Thursday. Customers came and went. People tested the piano and drumsets, someone bought $100 worth of jazz scores, and a teenaged boy came in who somehow got a ping pong ball stuck in their trombone (you learned to never ask). But at exactly 1:47 pm, a time you would never forget, two very unexpected customers walked through the threshold of your store. You were up on a ladder, carrying a large, rather heavy, box of violin bows to situate on the wall, when you heard their voices.

“I’m telling you, Buck, I’m a wizard at the saxophone.”

“Sure, Sam. I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

“I’m serious, dude! I played all the time before I joined the military, and I picked it back up a little bit again after the whole Avengers thing. I just need to get a new one.”

“Hmm, okay. We’ll see.”

“Bastard.”

You whipped your head around and saw the Falcon and the Winter Soldier themselves in your shop. Having superheros in your place was a first. And who knew Sam Wilson played the saxophone?

Andrew offered them a cheerful greeting and directed them toward the saxophones, which happened to be near the ladder you were teetering on. Every time you leaned up to put a bow on display, it wobbled so badly you thought you were going to fall. You really needed to allocate some funds toward a new one.

As you continued to place bows on display, you heard the conversation of the two gentlemen browsing the saxophones. Apparently, Sam much preferred the tenor sax (which you happened to play, quite well you might add). Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pick up a Selmer Paris model and inspect it. Those didn’t come cheap, but you were sure that saving the world gave a man a pretty decent paycheck.

“You think I can test it out?”

“I don’t know, dude. You should probably ask.”

You saw him nod, “Yeah, I guess so. And there’s not a reed in here, anyway. Excuse me!”

You realized he was calling you, so you craned your head to look at him. Both men were looking up at you, both with kind smiles on their faces.

“Is there any way I can get a cheap reed to test this out with,” Sam asked, “and are we even allowed to test them in store?”

You smiled back, “Yes, you can. We have test reeds at the front desk, just ask Andrew and he’ll give you one. That’s the only one you’ll get though.”

“Cool, thanks,” he replied while looking around, “nice place you’ve got here.”

Your smile grew a little wider, “Thank you! It took a little while to get it off of the ground, but I’m really proud of how it turned out.”

It was almost as if the universe wanted you to suffer. You stretched up to display yet another bow, and the ladder toppled to the ground, taking you with it! You shrieked in surprise and braced yourself for the impact with the floor.

But it never came.

Instead, you were caught in a pair of (ridiculously) muscular arms. When you looked into the arms of your hero, of course it was Sam himself. He was too handsome for his own good. The thing that stood out most to you were his deep brown eyes. And how, on the left one, was a bruise that exactly matched the one that you gave yourself this morning.

“Are you alright? That ladder must have it out for you,” joked Sam, though you could tell that he was concerned for you.

“I’m okay,” you squeaked, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem. All a part of the job.”

You nodded distractedly, still fixated on the bruise adorning his eye. He couldn’t be your soulmate, could he?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he questioned.

“I-yes. I just got a bit, well, distracted.”

“By what?”

Well, it was now or never. You might as well just go for it.

“When did you get that bruise?”

He looked a bit surprised by the question, “The one on my eye?”

You nodded.

“This morning. It just popped up. Hurt a little bit, like something hit me in the face. Can’t be worse than what I’ve given my soulmate, though. I got stabbed in the stomach once and all I could think about was how confused and hurt they must’ve been,” came his reply.

It was him. It had to be! All of your random, serious injuries made so much more sense now.

“It did hurt,” you murmured back, “but not as much as the hospital bill.”

His face went from apologetic to elated faster than you had ever seen, “Wait, that means it’s you?”

“I think so,” you said, “I hit myself in the eye with a cabinet door this morning, and that-” you gestured to his face, “matches mine.”

“Oh, it does!” he exclaimed.

“Are you two done over there?” complained Bucky.

Thankfully, the Winter Solider had successfully rescued your box of bows.

Sam stood you up, and you could feel the embarrassment slowly creeping over you, “Yeah. Sorry about that, guys. Promise I’m not usually that clumsy.”

“Seems like you need a new ladder,” Bucky told you.

“You don’t say,” you sassed back, prompting a laugh from Sam.

Bucky then strode off to return the fallen box to Andrew. He gave Sam a knowing look as he passed by. He wasn’t very slick, though, you totally saw him.

“Listen, since apparently we’re soulmates and all, I’d love it if I got your number. I’ll take you somewhere nice to make up for all of the times I’ve gotten you hurt,” explained Sam.

You smiled bashfully, “That sounds nice.”

He handed you his phone and you input your digits. As Sam and Bucky were in the checkout line, your phone buzzed.

Hey, gorgeous. It’s your new man.

You giggled softly and looked up at him. He gave you an exaggerated wink and launched finger guns at you, making you laugh a bit harder. You entered his number into your phone and decided to send a text back.

Looking forward to you making up for all of those broken bones.

Me too.

You knew you’d be happy with him. Whenever the universe collided in this way, it always turned out for the best. If your parents and your roommate weren’t enough proof, soon you would discover it for yourself. You couldn’t wait for all of the memories you’d make together.

#sam wilson #falcon #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fic #sam wilson fluff #soulmate au #x reader #x reader fanfiction #x reader fluff #x reader fic #marvel #MCU

157 notes · View notes

hanoella · 3 years ago

Text

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 1)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam's who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he's not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Read Part 2

---

After everything that happened with the Flag Smashers and the GRC, Bucky thought that laying low with Sam in Louisiana was a good idea. He had been looking for a fresh start anyway. Between losing Steve and making his last amends, New York as of late had only been full of sad memories and regrets. Louisiana was so different- slower paced and fresh, no negative feelings. No feelings at all, actually. Sam was more than understanding, letting him stay with them until he found a semi-permanent place here.

Currently, Bucky was staring out the window, watching the breeze make little waves in the grass as he ate his sandwich. Sarah and the kids had gone out to the boat, making the house feel virtually abandoned. There was too much space and not enough people. For just himself, it was only a reminder that he would continue to stay as he always had- alone.

Sam walked into the kitchen where Bucky was, effectively breaking his train of thought. He raised an eyebrow at Sam’s mischievous smile- or maybe it was a regular one. He always looked like he was up to something, at least to Bucky.

“Great news,” Sam started. “I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. She’s moving down here for some work and is looking for someone to live on the property with her.”

“She?” Bucky questioned.

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking but before you say anything else, let me explain. So she already bought the house, it’s less than 10 minutes from here so you can still see us whenever you want. The property’s a couple acres so it’s got tons of space. It comes with an apartment over the shed, so you don’t have to share walls. She keeps to herself so she won’t bother you,” Sam said, counting the pros on his fingers as he talked.

“And the best part is: you don’t need to pay rent. I explained the situation, with you being a hero to the world and all, and she said as long as you can help her out with the heavy-duty stuff like taking care of the property and the occasional repair, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Bucky eyed the couch that had been his home for the past several weeks. Don’t get him wrong- being here with the boys was fun. Unfortunately though, he was still in a place in his life where he needed time to think, heal and meditate. The nightmares, although less frequent, were still occurring. Sam was always supportive, but Bucky didn’t want to keep putting him out. Sam noticed the hesitation and spoke.

“You don’t have to decide right now, but she’s moving here in a few days and could at least use some help. She said we could go look at the property now- no pressure though. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

Bucky paused a moment before nodding.

“Okay, let’s go.”

---

Sam turned into a dirt driveway lined with low hanging trees on one side and a field on the other. Bucky wouldn’t have even noticed it if not for the mailbox on the street.

“See, well this is perfect for you, it’s back in the cut.” Sam said.

Bucky could understand from context clues that that meant secluded. Probably.

It took a few seconds down the driveway before the trees on the left cleared and the water was visible. On the other side, there was a light green house with white trim. With the typical Southern architecture and porch, it was the picture perfect place to live. No neighbors- just trees and water.

Sam whistled as they pulled up at the end of the driveway by the house. Now that they were closer, Bucky could see the large garage on the opposite side of the driveway. It almost looked like another house but much smaller, and with a small dock in the water. The bottom floor of the garage had two large doors that opened upwards, and one regular doorway. The top floor had several windows with curtains in them, shrouding the inside. Getting out of the car, Bucky walked around the car to where Sam was opening the door to the garage.

Going in to inspect the garage, Bucky blinked to adjust to the dim light. He looked around to find several yard tools, some cans of paint on shelves, and a riding mower. On the back wall was a door. Hearing a rustle, he turned to find Sam feeling up on the highest shelf.

“Found it!” He said triumphantly, holding the key to the apartment up.

Walking over to the door on the back wall, Sam unlocked it and pulled it open. Bucky poked his head through the doorway and looked up to the staircase at his left. He turned to meet Sam’s eye, who shrugged before gesturing to Bucky to take the lead. It led up to the top floor of the garage, which was fitted with an apartment that turned out to be nicer than he thought.

It was simple but in good condition. Dark hardwood floor, white trim, pale steel blue walls. Where they had walked up was the living room. Directly across from it was a kitchen area with a veranda to walk out on. The open space then shrunk to a hallway to the left. The bathroom being the first door and a bedroom at the end of the hall. Overall, plenty of space for one person.

“I don’t know about you Buck, but this place seems perfect.” Sam said as he opened the glass sliding door to the veranda. It overlooked the undisturbed landscape, hidden from the nearby town.

“It does.” Bucky responded simply.

He took a moment to walk out onto the veranda with Sam and view the birds wading through the water.

“Well good,” Sam said with a chuckle. “This way, you can stop hitting on my sister.”

Bucky laughed and punched him in the arm. Sam feigned physical and emotional injury.

“Haha, Very funny.”

Sarah was a nice gal, but focused on her life at the moment. Sure, there had been a few sparks, but ultimately she had made it clear that her priority at the moment was her boys and her business. Bucky had been a good sport about it. It just felt good to be back in the game without it feeling forced.

Sam watched as Bucky stared out at the water before switching to a serious note.

“So… You feel like you’re ready?”

Bucky slowly nodded.

“Yeah. This is it.”

Sam smiled wide as he handed the key over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Welcome home.”

---

Bucky had very few belongings from New York that came with him. A small wooden table with chairs. A few books. A bed, a couch, a TV. There wasn’t really a whole lot that couldn’t be replaced if needed. He had been able to take the trip to and from in a few days, already moving his belongings into the apartment. The only big thing he had done was bring Steve’s old Harley out of storage. He probably should get a car at some point since it wasn’t the city anymore but he’d figure it out.

After saying goodbye to Sarah and the kids, Bucky opened the door to Sam's truck.

“Promise you’ll visit?” shouted one of the boys before clinging to him.

Bucky smiled and patted the kid on the back.

“Of course, I will.” He said, looking at the other boy before gesturing for him to join the hug.

“Uncle Buck’s not going anywhere boys,” Sam promised across the center console from the driver’s side.

Both boys eventually peeled off of Bucky’s side. He got in the truck and rolled down the window.

“Be good for your mom okay?” He said to the boys as he waved and nodded at Sarah, who smiled back as the truck started.

“Okay, bye!” They shouted until Bucky could no longer see them in side view mirror.

He really would miss those kids.

They drove in comfortable silence until they pulled up to the house where a light blue sedan was parked next to a storage pod that had been delivered. After parking by it, they exited the truck as you were stepping out of your car.

“Sam!” You exclaimed cheerfully, as you went in for a hug. He lifted you slightly off the ground and you laughed, smiling wide. Bucky stood to the side and observed the interaction, giving you a once-over. You were dressed appropriately for the work you were about to do- light-wash high-water jeans, a white t-shirt with a chest pocket, canvas shoes, and hair up in a slightly messy bun with a few gold bobby pins thrown in to hold back any loose wisps of hair.

After Sam set you down, he turned to Bucky and introduced you.

“… and we met during a charity event that Tony hosted. She offered her services free of charge to help us raise money for the VA.”

You held a hand out to Bucky.

“It’s very nice to meet you! Thanks so much for helping me move in, I really appreciate it.”

Bucky smiled lightly and nodded as he shook your hand.

“Nice to meet you too.”

You smiled and took back your hand before looking at the house.

“Shall we?” You inquired, gesturing towards the storage pod.

“Of course,” Sam replied, opening the door to the pod. As Bucky looked inside, he noted that it was mostly just boxes. The noticeable items were the same as his: the bare minimum- besides a fancy electric piano.

“How’re you gonna fill up this house with a few pieces of furniture?” Sam joked.

“Hey, it’s better than having too much stuff! Besides, don’t guys always say that women have too much stuff?” You quip back as you reach for one of the larger boxes in the pod.

“Ah-ah-ah, no you don’t,” Sam said as he intercepted you and picked up the box.

“Oh, c’mon Sam. I’ll feel bad if I make you guys do all the heavy stuff.”

“You’re not making us do anything. Besides, I’ll be fine, and the old man could use some exercise,” he said, nodding towards Bucky.

You smiled timidly at Bucky.

“I have a bad shoulder.” You explained while gripping the top of your right arm.

“I get what that feels like,” he sympathized, nodding to his metal arm.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry, it’s not nearly as bad-”

Bucky cut you off.

“Don’t be sorry. If it’s hurting you, don’t worry about it. We can handle it.” He said gently, pausing for a moment before continuing.

“Or at least I can.”

Sam tilted his head back and feigned hurt feelings while you picked up a lamp base and shook it lightly at him.

“Does this meet your approval, Mr. Wilson?” You asked teasingly.

“Why yes, yes it does. Now come on.”

He walked into the house, you right on his heels. Bucky eyed the two of you together for a moment before picking up a few boxes himself.

---

A few hours later, he was sitting on the worn leather couch next to Sam while you went to get them some drinks in the kitchen. You appeared under the white trimmed archway into the living area holding three glasses.

“One sweet tea for the guest, one lemonade for my new neighbor, and a half and half for the gracious host.” You said, holding up your glass after handing the others out.

You three clinked glasses and you sunk into a sage green armchair with dark wood.

“So… how does this work?” Bucky asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Mmm, yes.” You said, swallowing the sip you had taken.

“Uhm, basically whenever you’re not off saving the world with Captain America,” You started, smiling with pride at Sam. “If you could just make sure the grass doesn’t get too long and help me with some of the more physically demanding repairs and jobs around the house, that’d be great. Of course, that only applies if you’re here, and even then, as long as it’s not urgent, you can take your time getting around to it. Other than that, you’re free to do as you please.”

“That’s very generous of you.” He remarked.

“Well, don’t say that yet,” you said while laughing. “The property is huge so it might be more of a challenge than you think. But like I said, there’s no need to rush to anything. Besides, I should be thanking you. You’ve done a lot for the world.”

Sam interjected before Bucky could respond, which was okay because he still wasn’t used to accepting thanks instead of apologizing.

“Where’s my thank you for saving the world?”

You rolled your eyes and sarcastically rattled off a thank you. Bucky cleared his throat after a moment.

“Anything you want me to start working on?”

“Oh, please get settled in first. I have some furniture getting delivered that I might need help assembling in a few days but otherwise, there’s nothing else. If you have any expenses like paint or tools, you can just use this card and let me know.” You said, handing over a credit card.

“We should also exchange phone numbers too. What’s yours?”

Bucky stalled a moment before rattling off the numbers. It was a foreign feeling- giving out his phone number. He was most definitely having PTSD from his therapist chucking his phone at him. He watched as you typed away on your phone. Feeling his phone ping, Bucky looked at it and saw a message from an unregistered number.

“Hi, It’s me :)”

“That’s my number. Obviously.”

Bucky nodded his head in thanks while registering your number. It had been a while since he had added anyone’s number. You and Sam started talking about something else while Bucky exited back to the main list of contacts. There, your name was italicized and highlighted at the top. What a strange feeling.

…

Later that night, Bucky was relaxing, enjoying the peace. It was warm for autumn, and the water was reflecting the moonlight. He couldn’t sleep. Not that that was surprising. He walked out of the apartment down to the small dock to sip on a beer and celebrate his newfound independence. Sitting on the edge where his feet barely touched the water, he leaned back onto his hands and took a deep breath in.

That’s when he heard it.

Just barely, with his enhanced hearing, he could hear your crying. It was like you were wailing in pain. Not a sharp new pain, but an intense never ending one. The kind that you hear from an animal that’s been maimed- the kind you put out of their misery. Whatever you were holding in, it had been building up for an impossibly long time and finally, exhausted, you found a chance to let it out. Being able to hear it felt like a dirty invasion of privacy.

Bucky swallowed and took another deep breath before trying to focus on the sound of the wildlife around him. But it was no use. Here you were. Here he was.

No longer the only runaway seeking refuge.

#Bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine

48 notes · View notes

husbandomail-archive · 3 years ago

Text

my own Christmas prompts

this was supposed to be at a party with Jack Atlas, but it turned into. whatever this is lmao

You hadn’t known what to expect when the King of Games personally invited you to an annual Christmas party— a part of your mind was vaguely aware that Jack enjoys extravagance, but for some reason, you hadn’t quite connected the dots. And then he’d handed over the dress he’d had prepared just for you, just for tonight, and it had dawned on you that you might be in over your head.

The stairs underneath your feet are marble, tinged with veins of gold that flow down the staircase and pool into the glistening dance floor below. The sharp echo of your expensive heels pounds in your head alongside the sound of your heart, beating in hyperdrive. Thankfully Jack had offered you his arm before you’d entered the ballroom; you cast a quick glance up at him, towering above you, and he seems entirely at ease. His shoulders are relaxed and his smile is unusually soft as he gently guides you down the stairs, letting you lean against him as much as you need to keep from pitching headfirst into the crowd below.

“You’ll be fine,” his voice is barely audible in the mounting noise of the room, but you hear him. He’s speaking just for you. “I’m here if you need me.”

It’s like you’re caught in a whirlwind; for the first stretch of time, Jack keeps you at his side, introducing you to dozens of people that you know you won’t remember and will never see again. Before you know it, you’ve been whisked from his arms by some other men; the crowd of guests bounces you back and forth until you’ve crossed the room entirely, your tall blond gentleman friend nowhere to be seen. You parrot back people’s names and repeat your script of introduction, giving vague answers to the questions about what you do, why someone like you is here with the King of Games— the first time someone asked, it stung. The tenth time, you ignored it.

At some point in the evening, live music strikes up from the opposite end of the room; Jack surges out of the mass of people, snatching you up by the hand, and dragging you to the dance floor, the long skirt of your gown flowing behind you like waves. His large hand lands on your waist, leading you through the steps of a waltz, one you’d practiced together in preparation for this very night. You try to keep your eyes on him, but as you spin, you’re convinced you hear whispers— other men and women crowded around the edge of the dance floor, hissing disagreements with Jack’s choices. With you.

You spin faster and faster in those fancy heels, twirling back into Jack’s strong arms as the music ends. Once the piano has faded, you gently break out of his hold; when your dance partner goes to protest, you mutter something about not feeling well. The moment you step away, Jack is swarmed by women wanting a dance, leaving you with plenty of time to slip away.

The table of refreshments is still cluttered with people; with a hushed excuse me, you snatch one of the filled mugs of hot chocolate off the table and duck out of the crowd.

While the majority of the party remains in the ballroom, the rest of the venue hasn’t been blocked off entirely; you’re able to slip through the imposing mahogany doors and make your way down the endless hall. Some of these floor-length windows, you realize, are actually balcony doors— you rest your hand against one of the glass panes, barely giving the frost a chance to settle into your palm before you shove the doors open.

It’s been snowing this whole time.

The balcony is covered, of course, so you’re not standing directly in the snowfall as you watch the soft flakes drift past. You take a sip of your hot drink, and the chocolate warms you from the inside out as it pours down your throat. With how. . . lively the party is, it surprises you a bit that the world outside is near silent, with the falling snow dampening the echoes of music at the very edge of your hearing.

The world is peaceful. You’re much more comfortable out here.

From behind you, those large glass doors whoosh open again, a new pair of footsteps tapping their way across the balcony; when you don’t turn to greet him, Jack clears his throat.

“You’re not having a good time?” There’s an odd lilt to his voice, one you can’t say you’ve heard before, and it tugs at your heart.

Finally you look back at him. Your smile feels rough. “Sorry— the way people were talking just kinda got to me. I needed a break.”

Jack hums in recognition and takes a few more steps, until he’s at your side and can rest against the railing, his forearms leaving indentations in the amassed snow.

“—I’m sorry.”

Those sure aren’t words that Jack Atlas says often; when you glance at him, he continues gazing out into the snowy night as he speaks again. “I simply— I brought you along because I wanted to spend time with you, is all.”

Jack pushes himself away from the railing in a flash, but it’s not quick enough to hide the blush on his face. “I’m more interested in being with you than I am this party. Let’s go do something else.”

#yugioh #5ds #jack atlas #scenarios #imagines #christmas list

10 notes · View notes

attina-the-responsible · 3 years ago

Photo

The Triton House

This is part of a series that one day may be complete but also may never be complete. As most of you know I’m like a huge #spatial person in my writing, so all my character’s houses/apartments/living spaces are really well mapped out in my brain? And I thought it’d be fun for people to see. (And a good reference for those who may RP in those spaces at some point.) Also, shout out to the mersisters for letting me force my ideas on them, lmao.

@andrina-the-amazingsupergenius, @adella-the-idyllic, @arista-the-musical, @aquata-the-champ, @alana-the-brilliant

Overview:

The Triton House is a 7 bedroom, 4 bath house in the richest neighborhood in Swynlake. It was built originally in 1909. This chateau sits on a half acre property with an original brick façade and lattice along the front that is covered in sweet-scented wisteria. Even the outside boasts a cheery, warm environment which is only expounded upon by the interior.

*note: click to enlarge floorplans!

**note: pictures in the aesthetic are to give an overall #feel of the house, but don’t necessarily indicate the exact furniture/decorations/floorplan. the floorplan, on the otherhand is not quite to scale but i did the best i could.

1. Living Room

The front part of the Triton household is a spacious, open floor plan, with the kitchen to the immediate left and the seating area on the immediate right. Guests arrive on a dias and descend two steps in either direction, or forwards towards the back of the house and stairs. The living room is decorated in a clean, but homey way, with plenty of seating area, both for the comfort of the large family and the benefit of any guests they may have. There is a chest of blankets that get passed around on colder nights. A large telly can swivel on an axis if someone prefers one seat to another but is large enough and set in a place so as to be viewable from most living room seats. The colours are cream and blues, with other accent colours and many mismatched throw pillows, some with quirky sayings and others that were crocheted by some of the girls.

2. Kitchen

The Triton kitchen is a large, boisterous room of the house. With a large amount of counter space and a six-top stove set into the island counter, it is ideal for cooking for a significant group of people. The oven sits next to the refrigerator and is state of the art. The cabinets are arranged in a neat, organized way, with each girl having a shelf for her own snacks and goodies. Everything is labeled and diligently upkept. The refrigerator is covered in photos of family/friends as well as cards, certificates of merits, medals, and other familial memorabilia. Once again, the kitchen is decorated in a homey fashion, with plenty of cliche sayings hanging on the walls (think: Live. Laugh. Love. style.) (see: the middle, top image.)

3. Dining Room

The dining room in the Triton household is rather cramped, but a much frequented place for the Tritons to gather. Dinners are frequent and even if missing one or two members, still crowded affairs, usually involving guests as well. There are extra chairs that can be squeezed in to make room if necessary and everyone is used to bumping elbows. Still, it is a lovely little room and has served the Tritons well in the almost thirty years they’ve lived there.

4. Sun Room/Music Room

Down the hallway, making your way towards the back of the house, one comes across a door to the left. One of the most peaceful rooms in the house, the rambunctious, fast-paced nature of the Triton abode is usually left behind when entering this room. Originally a sunroom, it still boasts large floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls, facing northwest, in order to catch the afternoon sunlight. Here is where the Tritons store and practice their various instruments, of which only a few are listed here: a grand piano, a keyboard, a classical harp, a saxaphone, a drumset, and several guitars. The Tritons are an actively musical family, though the music room is not as busy as it was several years ago. Now, it is a peaceful place, still used often for practices, but also for contemplative journal-writing, reading, or other such pastimes, when one needs a moment alone.

5. Guest Bedroom/Office Space

Once the permanent home of the Triton’s nanny, Benjamin, the room was vacated several years ago. Located down the hall at the back of the house on the right, across from the music room, it is now a guest room/office that is used on occasion. Even though it is a guest room, it is still stocked with cozy decorations and family photos.

6. Washing Room

If you venture past the music room and guest room, you will turn right and see a door on the right hand side. Always overflowing with laundry, but somehow usually tidy, the washroom sees a lot of action from the Tritons’ various activities. This room also is decorated with typically cliche saying placards and other cozy, homey touches.

7. Guest Bathroom

“It is down the hall, to the right, to the right, and through the washroom!” is a common phrase during Triton parties, or when someone visits for the first time. Though it is tucked into the back of the house, the guest restroom sees frequent use, both from inhabitants whilst downstairs, as well as the copious guests that flow in and out of the Tritons’ doors. Decorated in an ocean/beach theme, because Athena thought she was very funny and now it is a bit of an inside joke that they won’t change.

8. Underwater Grotto

Instead of entering the washroom, if one looks straight on after turning right down the main hall, they will spot a door with a state-of-the-art lock on it. If asked, a Triton will reply with a laugh and--depending on who it is--you will get any number of responses as to what the room is used for, from a superhero lair to their father being paranoid about storage. The mysteries of what is in the Triton basement are revealed to only a select few. Behind the door is an indoor saltwater pool. Damp and dark, the pool is magically enhanced to be quite large and deep, perfect for mermaids. The floors and walls are made of stone, so the whole place looks more like a cave than a room. It has an inclining entrance to the pool and spreads the length and width, with a few places for sitting around the edges and dotted in the center in large rock croppings. The Tritons can often be found here with each other or the other mermaids/selkies in Swynlake. It is known as a haven for mercreatures of all kinds.

9. Upstairs Hallway

Back at the front of the house, if one does not enter the hallway, they have the option to ascend the plain staircase. (If one looks behind the staircase to the wall, one will see dozens of notches in the wall, labeled with dates, heights, and names of the Triton girls.) Along the wall leading upwards is a collage of family photos that cover the wall in the most typical fashion one can imagine. On the second floor, the stairs float in the middle of a large hallway. Directly in front of the top of the stairs is the master bedroom. Up slightly and to the left is the Adella and Arista’s room, up slightly and to the right is Aquata and Alana’s room. If one turns around, they will see Ariel’s room to their left and Attina and Andrina’s room to the right, as well as another set of stairs that leads upwards once more.

10. Attina and Andrina’s Room

The two eldest Triton girls’ room has been vacant for several years, though is often still used by either or both girls when they are home for holidays or other such events. In their youth, the room was haphazardly decorated on one side--with mostly pink decor; on the other side was a more tidy version--mostly decorated in orange. It has two desks, one for each girl, as well as a spacious closet that was shared (and the site of many battles.) Now, it is mostly barebones but vestiges of Andrina and Attina’s childhood and adolescence remain. Often, Alana commandeers the room as her own, or second room, nowadays.

11. Attina, Andrina, Adella, and Arista’s Restroom

The bathroom is shared between four sisters: Attina, Andrina, Adella, and Arista and was also a site of much contention. The counter was full of products and it was always a battle for getting ready in the morning, especially in the unfortunate years when all four girls were in secondary at the same time. Arista would always somehow manage to use someone else’s hairbrush and it was extremely obvious by the blonde hair left behind. The little racks and shelves are decorated with shells on the outside of them from when they used to go hunting the beach in Bournemouth for the prettiest shell. There’s jars full of them still somewhere in the house. It’s a lot less cluttered now that Arista and Adella mostly use it.

12. Adella and Arista’s Room

Adella’s side of the room is closest to the window. The head of her bed is pushed against the wall, and her nightstand table’s top drawer is where her hearing aids live while she sleeps. Her desk was never used for school work - she’d go elsewhere in the house for that - and instead houses her sewing machine. Her guitar is mounted on the wall when she isn’t using it, the guitar is decorated with political, ideological, and cute stickers. On the nightstand is a cute little touch to turn on lamp with seahorses on it. There are battery-pack powered strings of lights all over the room as decoration, hung neatly around any posters and other wall decor. The main light in the room is barely flicked on -its usually illuminated by the battery pack lights and the nightstand lamps, or natural light from the sun.

Arista’s side of the room is closest to the door because she doesn’t like thunderstorms and the changing weather always used to distract her when she was younger so her desk is next to her bed and turned to face away from the window. She has a rolling spinny chair that she’s frequently seen curled up in and writing on a notebook in her lap. Her desk is filled with sheet music and notebooks and binders full of all sorts of things that Tina helped her make so she could keep track of what music and manuals went with what instrument. She has cases of instruments and spare parts and shoe boxes under her bed from all the Christmases when she didn’t know what to tell people she wanted aside from shoes and cool instrument accessories. Typically Arista tries to keep all of the instruments in the music room because if she starts bringing them into their room, things get very cluttered very fast and it would stress Tina out and distract her from other things growing up so she just learned to keep most instruments in their designated room. (A keyboard or extra guitar still sometimes manages to find its way into their room every now and then though). Arista’s nightstands have several sets of earphones, headphones, earbuds, and a bowl of guitar picks on top of them so she can just grab one and go. On the nightstand is a pull chain lamp covered in shells. Much of Ris’ closet organization was Tina’s doing, it’s the only way the two girls managed to have closet space with her ever growing shoe collection and sentimental keepsakes stash (she doesn’t like throwing a lot of things away because they hold happy memories) in addition to their clothes. Her wall has both a dry erase board of “things she absolutely cannot forget about” for the week and a large cork board filled with all the showcases she’d played in, playbills from the productions she’d worked on, postcards of cities from tour, and photos of her sisters with her making the biggest smile imaginable.

13. Aquata and Alana’s Room

Alana and Aquata's room has light blue walls, a color chosen by Aquata before Ariel was born and neither knew that they'd share a room one day. Alana's side is closer to the window, since Aquata historically got up earlier and had to leave earlier. On Alana's end, there are boho tapestries,fairy lights, and strings of photos and scrapbook style bulletin boards. The bed has purple and turquoise sheets and is full of throw pillows. The desk opposite the bed used to have a pretty fancy video and computer setup (it's now with her in her flat) There's tons of candles and also just a lot of...stuff in general. Even though she doesn't live there anymore, it's not near clean. Clothes, makeup, half completed experiments litter the available surfaces. Aquata’s side is somewhat neater and sparser. She has a shelf full of swimming memorabilia (photos, trophies, medals, etc) above her bed and the rest of her sport memorabilia is on a smaller bookshelf at the foot of her bed. She also has a signed team photo framed at the head of her bed from her last meet at Pride U. Her bedspread is a steely blue color and over it she has a T-shirt quilt made out of old swim camp shirts that date back to primary school. Aquata doesn’t spend much time in her room, so it doesn’t look overly lived-in.

14. Aquata, Alana, and Ariel’s Restroom

It used to be a lot messier when Alana lived here, absolutely chaotic on her side with products and hair curlers and stuff that Aquata always had to yell at her to clean up. Sometimes the sink would be colored with whatever experiment Lana was working on. Ariel’s space is small considering the few beauty products she actually has. Shockingly, it's the most cleaned space she has designated to herself, but only because of her current lack of interest in makeup. Though a couple small pallets for events are stowed away in a drawer, they’ve hardly been put to good use. Really, it’s mostly just the essentials for her. Aquata’s space is mostly clean as well, with one trusty makeup set that she almost always uses (occasionally she’ll borrow something from Alana if it’s a special occasion). She does have an absolute mess of scrunchies, headbands, and hair ties in one of the drawers, and she usually leaves her Tiger Balm out on the counter.

15. Ariel’s Room

With Ariel being the only Triton sister with her own room, she takes full advantage of the space. She’s able to spread her things about (or leave clothes lying around when she’s in a rush), and not argue or worry about someone else’s space or an imaginary divider in the room. The room is decorated in an array of posters from bands she adores to the newest anime she’s binging with Finn and just had to have the poster for. She’s also a big fan of hanging Christmas lights haphazardly around her room and using that as a source of light instead of the actual ceiling lights in her room. When home, she spends most of her time here, so the bed is rarely ever made. Instead, the blankets are in the shape she left them, normally nest like, where she spends hours on her computer from watching drumming videos to just browsing odd forums late into the night. Of course, her trusty shark plush since childhood, Billy, is present on her bed at all times, holding down the fort when she’s gone.

16. Master Bedroom and Bathroom

The master bedroom is the largest bedroom in the Triton household. It is decorated in warm, muted colors. Much has not changed in the years after Athena’s death. Even some of her clothes are still in the closet, which Triton never had the heart to remove. It is only a few items: her favorite sunhat, a dress he had bought her for her birthday she wore all the time, her favorite pair of trainers, well-worn, stuff such as that, that was not removed to the attic.

17. Triton’s Study

A place of mostly mystery to the girls when young, Triton’s study is tucked away on the third floor, and is most often frequented by Triton on restless nights when he cannot sleep. Though, it is also used while he runs his business from home on occasion. The room is one of the more decadent of the house. The rest has a warm, inviting atmosphere, but the study is much more reserved. Decorated in deep blues and greens, it boasts lovely oak bookshelves, of which Triton is very fond. There is a large desk and even a deep brown leather couch, which Triton can often be found napping on before dinner.

18. Athena’s Studio

A room that has been untouched since the death of Athena, the studio was once a bright, lovely space where Athena spent much of her time that was not occupied by caring for her seven daughters or when she was not out volunteering in various charity positions. Athena was not as talented an artist as a musician, but she still enjoyed creating things. Athena’s studio was a charming crafting space, full of yarn, scrapbooking, canvases on easels, and other such projects. Some are still unfinished.

19. Guest Bedroom/Old Playroom

This room used to be where the girls had their playroom so that their parents could keep an eye on them while they were upstairs also. It has only been packed up and converted in the last ten years or so, after ARiel finally grew out of it mostly. Now, it’s just a nice guest space for when people are over.

20. Attic

The attic in the Triton household is less of a storage space and more of a tomb for Athena. After her death, all of her possessions were moved to this space, except for the jewelry, clothing, and knick-knacks which were distributed amongst her family and friends. There is also a large storage of photos from the girls’ childhood. While many litter the house, the extras and all of Athena’s scrapbooks were put away in the attic. The attic is seldom visited, except for when someone is searching for Christmas decorations, or the like.

#triton house #mersisters #mersisters stuff #inspiration #i have had this done for like TWO years #fuck me lmao #no time like the present i GUESS #shout out to everyone for contributing <3 #it's a little out dated bc obvi adella has left since but #oh well

8 notes · View notes

thesimpireblr · 4 years ago

Photo

Welcome to Sims Petersburg Imperial Palace!! A private tour of HIM Tsarina Alexandra Private Apartments

Welcome one more to Sims Petersburg Imperial palace, the official residence of the Simpire Monarchs and my never-ending undergoing building project for the Simpire simblr story :).

This project wouldn’t have been possible without the amazing contents of numerous creators, many researches and photos but ,most importantly, The Winter Palace Research blog (for floor plans and old photos of the palace in use) and the amazing Hermitage museum 360º tour!!

Without them it would be nearly impossible to build this palaces as close as I can ( and as sims 4 allow😅)!!

Thanks to all!!!

Now let’s start our exclusive tour through HIM Tsarina Alexandra Private Apartments, hope you enjoy the tour as much as I’m loving building this Palace :)

Her Imperial Majesty, Tsarina Alexandra Simnov of Simpire, welcomes you into her Private apartments on the official residence of Simpire, the grand Sims Petersburg Imperial Palace. Since Her Imperial Majesty is not in residence, for she is visiting Her sister-in-law, HIH Grand Duchess Anastasia Duchess of Oldenburg, a special permission for our so requested tour of HIM Private Apartments in the Piano Nobile, was finally granted. ( just finished them 😅)

Arriving at the Imperial Palace from the Grand Palace Square, we find it’s main formal façade. HIM’s Private apartments face the grand square and the private garden of the palace and is located in its southwestern block

As we head to the southwestern block of the palace and climb through one of the ramps, we find HIM private entrance, this entrance leads directly to the private apartments of the Tsarina and is used whenever HIM arrives at the palace and wants to go directly to Her private quarters.

Entering throw this doorway and turning right we find the October Staircase the grand ...

... entrance to HIM private apartments. Restored and redecorated after great fire that destroyed the palace in 1837 the monumentality of the entrance was accentuated with sculptures and reliefs.

Today this room does not bear its original name and instead of HIM Grand Staircases, It was changed into October Staircase. A name chosen in memory of the revolutionary events of October 1917, when those storming the Palace entered the building by this route. The Staircase gives access to all of HIM private apartments, from the left we get access to the State Rooms of Tsarina Alexandra private apartments and from the right Her most private rooms...

We will take the door of the left and start our tour through the State Rooms of Tsarina Alexandra private apartments... please follow me...

The first room in our tour is HIM Own Staircase Landing a passage room that gives access, in one side, to the Hall of Cuirassiers first room of HIM State Rooms, and in the other side...

... to HIM Own Corridor leading to the Small Fieldmarshal Hall, that we will visit shortly, some small rooms and a staircase... now please follow me and we will continue our tour to the...

...the Hall of Cuirassiers. This hall is part of HIM state rooms and, at the same time, the first of the Military Halls. It is in this room where a Garrison of the Imperial Guard was an d is placed to protect and receive HIM (as in the last post) on formal occasions in Tsarina Private apartments.

continuing with our tour, this hall leads from one side to the Military Halls and in the other side to...

... the White hall. This magnificent hall was designed by Alexander Briullov in 1841 before the wedding of Grand Duke Alexander Nicholaevich (future Alexander II and Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna.

This tremendously large ceremonial hall, elegantly decorated with shades of white, is used for various celebrations and balls. The sculptural decoration of this hall designed for the Heir to the throne, and his wife, became the embodiment of the future Tsar reign, calling to mind the might and greatness of Simpire and symbolizing the flourishing of the arts...

This great hall connects manny rooms around it, from one side the Hall of Cuirassiers, the Gold Drawing Room, the Green Dining Room and HIM Private corridor. Now If you may follow me we will enter...

...The Gold Drawing Room. This room redecorated by Alexander Brullov in 1841, is notable for the opulence of its decor and its abundance of gold leaf. Ita was originally based on the Bavarian kings’ throne room in the Munich Residenz.

This Drawing Room is used for receptions, dances, and dinners for guests- in this room guests who just arrived wait for the private audiences. In December the Gold Drawing Room would be decorated with Christmas trees: each member of the Imperial Family have their own personal tree, with a table nearby for presents.

This magnificent Hall connects the white hall from one side, the green dinning room and the crimson Drawing room. Now let us take the door in our right and enter the...

Green Dinning room. In 1840, A. Briullov designed an interior staircase between the Gold Drawing Room and the White Hall in the apartments of Empress Marie Alexandrovna on the 2nd floor of the Winter Palace. As the rooms of the Empress had no space for books, she arranged bookcases on the walls of the staircase landing.

There was no dining room in the apartments of Alexander II and Empress Marie. They ate their meals with Nicholas I’s family in one of the three dining rooms in Empress Alexandra’s suite. In 1850, A. Stakenschneider demolished the staircase and created the green dining room in the rococo style we see today.

There are no windows in the dining room. The three doors that led to the Gold Drawing Room, White Hall and service pantry allowed the architect to add three fake doors for symmetry. The table extends to seat the 24 chairs and is normally used for small family dinners, meetings and receptions.

Let’s now return to the Gold Drawing Room and continue our visit to...

... the Crimson Drawing Room or Study. This room serves as a transition between HIM Private and State Rooms. The room was decorated by Briullov in 1841 and reworked by Stakenschneider in the 1860s.

The room gets his name from the silk fabric color. The rich red color of the walls and curtains combines perfectly with the white stucco highlighted with gold leaf decorations on the ceiling. This room was, and still is, the setting for small concerts in which celebrated musicians and singers participate.

The crimson drawing room is used by HIM to receive relatives and personal guests as well as study to the Tsarina.

Now if you’ll follow me into the next room...

... HIM Boudoir. The boudoir was created for Tsarina Maria Alexandrovna 1841, by Briullov and lately reworked, by HIM request, in 1850′s by Harald Bosse one of the leading architects of the 19th century.

Bosse produced an interior in the Rococo revival style in white, gold and Red and with a alcove is framed by a rich and elaborately shaped arch with caryatids.

This room is used by the Tsarina to entertain family meetings and some more close friends.

Following the tour, the next room we will enter is...

... HIM Tsarina Alexandra’s Bedroom. This bedroom was created for HIM Tsarina Maria Alexandrovna by Briullov In 1840.

The deep blue color of the walls contrast perfectly with the white and gold exquisites arabesques of the vaulted ceiling, pilasters and columns.

The interior of this room gets a sense of dynamism from the combination of the coved vaulted ceiling, over the main part, and cross vaulting above the sleeping area. The cubicle marked by a pair of columns and silk drapes to enclose the bed area. Although a part of HIM Tsarina Alexandra Apartments the Bedroom is used by both sovereigns.

TIM’s Bedroom gives access to, from one side, HIM bathroom and, in the other, the more modern and private rooms. Let’s follow our tour to the...

... HIM Bathroom. After the revolution and the transformation of the palace to a museum this bathroom was destroyed. After the restoration of the Imperial Regime, Their Imperial Majesties started the reconstruction process of the main apartments as they were. This bathroom was made to resemble the one Marie Alexandrovna had in this same room, but with the modern amenities. Let us continue our tour to the...

... HIM Dressing room. Briullov in 1841, decorated the dressing room all in pink; draped walls in pink fabric, curtains, upholstery, bed covers. The door on the left of Marie’s dressing room led to Alexander’s library and on the right to her bathroom and bedroom.

But, in 1845, Briullov redecorated the dressing room in dark blue using silk damask on the walls. He added the frieze along the top of the walls that incorporated Drollinger’s paintings of Peterhof, i.e. the Farm Palace, Gothic Chapel, etc., that are still to be seen today.

A small door hidden behind the screen on the right led to the staircase to the 1st floor children’s nurseries.

This room connects HIM’s apartments with HIM the Tsar apartments and to the Small Fieldmarshal Hal.

We will continue our tour of the palace through the door in the back, the one that connects HIM dressing room to...

... the Small Fieldmarshal Hal...

...it is in this hall where a garrison of the Imperial Guard is placed to protect HIM’s bedroom. Here we can find portraits famous of Simpire rulers and today this Hall is used for small receptions, private concerts, meetings, dinners and larger events for the 1st Spare apartment.

This Hall connects Her Imperial Majesty’s private apartments, the Dark Corridor, the 1st Spare apartment and HIM Own Corridor leading to the October staircase.

Now let’s see HIM’s most modern additions to the palace, Her private and most daily used rooms...Passing through HIM Own Corridor...

....HIM Own Staircase Landing...

...The October Staircase and pass throng the right side door this time into...

... HIM Private Corridor. This corridor links the October staircase to HIM Modern Dining room, Modern drawing room, the Green Dinning room and the White Hall... for this corridor a contract between classic and modern was chosen... let's continue to the...

... Modern Dinning room...

... since the revolution and the later palace conversion into a museum, many room where simplified and lost their royal appearance, a fact that allowed the current monarchs to leave their mark in the palace. In these 3 rooms her majesty decided to use dark wall colors to contrast with the rest of the rooms in her apartments and decorated with a collection of modern and contemporary art.

With the intention of representing the best of Simpire artists on the Imperial collection, and being a well known patron of the arts, His Imperial Majesty Tsar Nicholas III Simnov decided to invite all of them to paint the vaulted ceilings, walls and other objects in some of the palace rooms.

In HIM’s Modern Dinning the artist invited was the well known painting МАКСИМ КАНТОР.

Following the tour we will enter...

... HIM modern Drawing room....

Here a dark grey wall color and modern furniture was chosen to contrast with the new striking red vaulted ceiling...

... for this room His Imperial Majesty chose the famous painter Vitaly Komar... this set of modern rooms connect directly to...

HIM Tsarina Alexandra bedroom... Now, I’m sorry but we have to leave the apartments... just got the information that Her Imperial Majesty’s car is arriving at the square... having already seen all the rooms in our tour, please follow me as we exit through the Palace inner courtyard...

Hope you enjoyed our tour through HIM Tsarina Alexandra Simnov Private Apartments of Sims Petersburg Imperial Palace. Those will be some of the palace rooms featuring in the story!!

Sorry for another very long post, but I could not find a way to reduce the number of photos 😅.

Thanks to all the cc creators that made the most amazing content!! to @felixandresims for the always amazing architectonic and decor objects, @harrie-cc for building inspiration and re-colors, @thejim07 and @the-regal-sim for the amazing paintings, sculptures and furniture, and many others that created wonderful objects (sorry if I forgot someone)

Hope you continue to enjoy the story and the many other buildings, still WIP, I’m working on (Sorry if I never show the full building, but I’m always working on so many projects at the same time and the first parts I finished are the ones needed for the Story, in this case HIM Tsarina Alexandra Simnov Private Apartments. Next to be visited will be His Imperial Majesty Tsar Nicholas III Simnov Apartments :) )

#simpire #ts4 #monarchy #simnovdynasty #gen1 #sims royalty #sims 4 royal #sims 4 royal family #sims 4 royalty #simsroyalty #royalfamilychallenge #simblr #ts4 monarchy #the sims #the sims 4 #simpire imperial palace

155 notes · View notes

ghostsofruefell · 4 years ago

Text

The Other World in the Woods

Hello, I was in a big magic mood the past few days and felt like writing about something happening in a different part of the MoR world, so enjoy this erotica about a Fae and a Witch (approx. 5k words under the cut)

The air is thick with the feel of unreality as the trees part to immerse you within the bubble where the magic is heavy enough you can feel it upon your skin and even deeper weighing down your soul. The trees form a perfect circle around this abode, not even a twig protuding over an invisible line drawn in the grass. The complete, utter silence in this clearing is a pulsing in your ears.

Before you is a house, although some might contest that description, sitting atop a tiny hillock in the center of the perfect circle. It looks like nature has reclaimed it, or it was always a part of nature. Like a massive tree trunk, bark is its skin. Roots all twisted up feed into the ground like veins. Gnarled branchs burst from the walls just to twist and turn back in, hugging the body they come from. The circular window you see is half-swallowed by the bark and so covered in grime you're not sure you could see inside if you were close enough.

The moon, full as a dinner plate, looks almost too big and seems to reflect the sun's shine directly onto the house like a mirror-made spotlight.

Doing your best to steel your nerves, you step up to the first stones. Like a moat, the hillock is surrounded by water. Even the grass is soft and wet, squelching as your boots pull themselves from where they're sunken into. This "moat" looks man-made, lined with purposely cut rectangular stone, and the crystal clear water lets you see the moss creeping up between.

It's only deep enough for the water to come up to your ankles, but you don't fancy ruining your boots anymore than you have with this journey into the forests and so you opt for the stepping stones leading an uneven path to the other side. You hop from one large, flat stone to another and, as your feet touch down, you swear you hear in your head a little chime play, like a piano key hit with every step. The pleasant, yet simple melody leaves you wondering if that's just a childish part of your mind or if it's actually real. Maybe this place still has some whimsy, after all.

The door is before you before you know it, but rather than knock, you stop.

Your heart is thundering against your ribcage, so hard you're starting to doubt your decision to come here. Your hand raises to rest tentatively on the door. If you thought the radiating magic was choking enough, your palm feels, beyond this dark, dark teal wood, an even greater magic flows in and out of this reality and the next, like a torrent you realize you're about to unleash.

There's a knocker.

It's disturbing, a gold-painted, ornate square and, protuding from it, a gold-painted hand, upside down with palm facing out like you're taking someone's hand if you want to enter this home.

But it's a knocker. That means... you're welcome to knock, right? That's what it does. That's its sole purpose as a knocker.

You swallow the rambling thoughts alongside the lump in your throat and slide your hand into the knocker's, doing your best not to let yourself notice the almost-living warmth that fills your palm as you do so. Wrapping your fingers around it, you rap its knuckles against the door. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then you step away.

You stand there for what feels like a quarter of an hour, but you rationalise must have been mere seconds, and just as you're about to turn and retreat with your tail between your legs, there's a click of a doorknob turning.

The door creaks open, the sound almost like an ominous croaking in someone's throat. But you realize that might just be the anxiety saying that.

There's nothing but darkness beyond the threshold. Or so you thought.

As your eyes adjust, you see the figure seeming to glide from the darkness. You can barely make out any features but a chance of light glances his face, revealing only half of it, but still not enough to put any logic to the formation of his visage.

A pearly, pupilless eye looks you over and you get the distinct feeling it trails down and up from head to toe before finding your face again. His expression sours.

"Witch," the deep, gravelly voice spits. "I've told your fellows I'm no longer donating bones. The regrowth has slowed too much."

"Witch...? How did..." The words spill breathless from your mouth without a thought.

You see the shift of shadows proving wry amusement crinkling the skin by his eye.

"The Call of After crackles upon your skin." His smile widens enough you see the full lips pulling outward at the edge. "But, the Father Fae, its voice is weaved deeply inside of me, so of course I can see that."

In just an instance, all trace of amusement and civility drops away. His voice rumbles.

"Now. Leave.”

The door trembles, ready to be slammed.

"I'm not-" you find yourself stammering, taking a step forward with a hand outstretched you've resigned to the risk of being broken with this incredibly stupid, risky movement.

Yet, it seems to have paid off, as the door remains open and a certain curiosity eases his expression

You swallow and try again. "It's not bones I seek. I don't plan to use you for an elixir or... anything else."

The hint of a face you'd been trying to make out vanishes and it takes you a second to realize he's tilted his head. Silence follows but he doesn't leave you wanting long.

"Hm," he hums.

And the door swings wide open.

The darkness that engulfed the interior was a falsehood as the opening reveals gas lanterns mounted strategically along the walls to illuminate the living space just right. But that's not what you're staring at.

The man, the Fae before you is easily a foot taller than you. In a battle between the warm, flickering orange of candelight and his skin, somehow the blue iridescence of his flesh is winning. His hair, pulled into a half-down style, flows in soft, pearlescent waves over his shoulders and down his back. Ears lengthened and pointed to the ceiling hug the sides of his head. Dark, stiff clothing covers the details of his muscles, but is tight enough on his broad chest and thick biceps to let you know they're there beneath.

His handsome face, with a straight nose, full lips, and well-manicured eyebrows, is marred on the side that hadn't been revealed to you. A massive scar that seems to have lost the iridescence of his skin tears itself down from his forehead, over his eye which seems just a touch narrower than the other, his cheek, and the corner of his mouth, all the way down to his chin.

You're shocked away from drinking in his mesmerizing appearance when he speaks.

"Come inside, witch." His voice isn't so welcoming, but he glides to the side to allow you by.

You hesitate for a brief moment, but noticeable enough that his eyes twitch narrower and that alone startles your feet into carrying you past him, even as you nearly choke transitioning from Out to In.

The door slowly swings closed behind you, without physical input, sealing you within the Fae's home.

The interior is much larger than the exterior of the house betrays. It must be a trick of reality. Candles lining the path he walks ignite with the perfect timing of his footsteps, like a trail of fire following him as he leads you deeper into his dwellings.

That torrent of magic you felt outside must be responsible for this space and that's why that pressure in your chest tried to kill you as you forced your way within. Now it's settled around you, no longer an oppressive force pressing in on you, but just the soft swirl of magic in the air like scattered petals picked up by a stray breeze.

It's almost... a comfort.

Until something moves on the shelf beside your head and your attention snaps to that. It's contained in a jar, but the spiky, shifting, dark mass inside tumbles over and over as if trying to find something past those glass walls it can never again get to.

Beside it, your curiosity piques, something is hidden beneath a velvet cloth but that's not enough to smother the light whatever it is is emitting. You can only imagine how bright it'd be, were it uncovered.

Your gaze is drawn forward again as the short hall opens up to a circular room. The shabby, unrefined exterior of the building was more than a farce. Smooth, detailed, carved and polished wood and the hard edges of a sophisticated influence make up the architecture inside. But you care more about the chaos before you than the interior design.

It's like a library but one made to fulfill every witch's dream. Shelves upon shelves of oddities to be studied or used in elixirs. Glass bobbles of beauty belonging to the night hang from shiny, delicate threads. The desk that sits in the center is overflowing with the scatter of papers and the magic scholar within you jolts with excitement at the very idea of being able to read what After-related secrets they might detail. The knowledge of the Fae... how you wish to devour it to your heart's content. Isn't that every witch's wish? Think of the spells...

A clearing of the throat snaps you out of your awe. The Fae has drifted around you to stand between you and his treasures. Sheepishness overcomes your demeanor but he just seems amused. You idly wonder if he's invited many witches into his home and witnessed the same wonderment as your eyes zero in on the spiral staircase over his shoulder, leading up to another floor. You definitely pegged this as a one-story cabin from the outside. Curiosity pricks the back of your mind again, not at what that second floor might be and if there's any others, but at how much power must be used to create a space like this.

Finally your eyes slide back to his patient face, prompting him to speak.

"What is your name?"

Your lips part.

Then shut again.

That twinkle of amusment in his otherwise pearly off-white eyes returns, his own lips thinning to a wry smirk.

"I'm no Faerie, witch. I'm not asking you to give me your name. Or your soul." He practically scoffs at the notion. "I'm an Omni Fae; I don't need it. Just share this knowledge and I will return it."

Your instincts say this is a bad idea. But, they've been saying that since you left your house and you've been ignoring them this whole time. So, you do. You tell him your name with just the slightest hesitance weakening your voice.

To your surprise, his smirk fades to a genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his harsh features suddenly seeming so friendly with just the one gesture. His voice softly echoes your name and it's never sounded more magical resting on anyone else's tongue.

He turns to the desk he was leaning against, fingers with an inhuman grace fluidly sliding crooked papers back into their neat stacks.

"My name, witch, is Yewfie Frosthart," he speaks with his back to you and from this angle you finally take note of the thin, blue tail spouting from beneath the back of his coat, hanging down past his knees with the slightest sway. It ends in a tuft of fur that same pearlescence as his hair. "However, certain comrades call me Needle."

He slowly raises his head, then straightens his shoulders like something's clicked.

"Or, I suppose, I can say that..."

He spins on his heel so fast you jolt. His rough voice booms with the authority of a Rakian General.

"Kneel!"

Your mettle snaps within you like no more than a pitiful twig. You can feel it, like an arrow shot straight through the base of your skull. Your knees buckle and you don't even flinch at the pain as they hit the wood floor.

"Huh." It comes out more like a huff of amusement from his lips, which open to a loose smirk, almost like he wasn't expecting that to work as well as it did. "I see you have submissiveness inside you. Quite bold, then, for you to have stolen that power you wield as a witch."

Your vision shakes, as do your cold hands as you stare up at him in awe. He knows too much without you saying anything. He can do too much. This Fae is far more powerful than you were told and this was a bad, bad idea... right?

His biceps bulge as he crosses his arms over his hard chest. He shakes his head, hair moving in shimmery waves, as if reading your thoughts—but that's impossible, right?

"I'm not here to pass judgement, submissive." His voice has softened once again as he leans over, but doesn't take a knee, in front of you to brush his calloused fingers along the line of your jaw. "Just tell me what you seek and I might be able to provide."

Your voice catches in your throat, nothing more than a broken moan making it past your trembling lips. You swallow, as difficult as it is, and try again.

"Kn... knowledge," is the whisper that breaks past the oppressive dominance radiating off this Fae towering over you. Your arm feels heavy but you force it to lift, to reach for him. "I... I seek knowledge."

"Knowledge..." He tastes the word thoughtfully. "Knowledge has a price, you know."

His eyes narrow at you. "And I don't think you're ready to pay my price."

Your hand shoots out before you realize, the heavy burden that weighed it down completely forgotten in your desperate instinct to reach for him, keep him with you. Your other soon follows and your fingers latch on the leather belt wrapped around his hips, leverage as you shuffle forward on your knees.

"I prepared myself," you say almost like a plea, and it must show in your eyes too. "Before I came here, I prepared myself."

That causes him pause, a pregnant pause that hangs between the two of you as his muscles barely shift, the slowest turn back to you. The look on his face... like a shark that's smelled blood. And then his large hand lands gently atop your head.

"Prepared... mentally? Or physically?" He smiles with the words, a dark glint in his eyes. Your fingers tremble.

"...I prepared myself," you repeat and his fingers curl, gripping your hair.

His other hand reaches to his belt.

"Very well, witch."

***

The candelight has dimmed significantly, either through his will to set the mood or the passage of time. Your jaw is tired by now, but you're pushing forward.

It doesn't feel like a chore. It feels like a rite. You can't stop until he's pleased. The taste that fills your mouth, layers on your tongue, is unlike anything you've experienced before. It's musky, it's masculine, it's sexual, but it's also inhuman, pleasant, and powerful. Your tongue craves it, lavishing the underside of his lengthy cock and worshipping the blushing purple head now shining with a mix of pre and saliva. Your hands move on their own, weighing and massaging his hefty balls, those delicate orbs that contain the source of your sweet craving, and sliding up and down the part of his shaft you can't cram down your throat, making sure not a single inch of his incredible cock goes unattended.

He sighs in pleasure, graceful fingers playing through your hair to pull it out of your face. His length jumps in your mouth. His abs shiver like he's feeling it. But he's not cumming.

You pop off, panting like a dog, and take to filling your hand with his cock. Soft and wet skin, it slides through your fingers with the movements of his hips, the franticness of his pulse, brought on by multiple hearts, twitching against your palm.

He curls a lock of your hair around his finger. "That's good, little witch," he murmurs, the growl of his voice having dropped enough to a deep something almost soothing and sweet.

"Is it?" you pant.

"Yes..." He smiles. "I seldom have company as good as you're being right now. I can sense your eagerness. It energizes me."

Then why aren't you good enough to make him cum? His cock feels hot as you press your lips to the side of it in a kiss too loving to be given to something so lewd. Looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, you let your desire leak out in a whisper, "I want you to cum..."

His eyebrow quirks, eerie smile unmoving. "Is that so? This was just foreplay. You are very good at it, however..." He grasps the base of his cock, bouncing it against your willing tongue. "Then, keep going. I'm close. I'll let myself this time. Go on."

You need no more prompting. Revitalized, your hand redoubles its efforts, closing your fingers around his shaft like a makeshift cocksleeve for him to fuck. Your mouth kisses and sucks gently at the skin of his sack, willing the churning balls contained within to let loose already.

His fingers move from your hair to curl around the nape of your neck, encouraging you to lavish the base of his cock with your tongue. His ombre claws scratch your skin as his grip tightens ever so slightly, a grunt escaping him.

You can't get enough of this taste. You wish you could force his length down your throat, but you know you'd choke on his size, so you have to settle for lovingly polishing his shaft with your mouth and feeling his intense pulse fluttering like a hummingbird shot up with caffeine squeezed between your fingers.

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning back on one hand. "Oh... So good, little witch. Don't stop," he moans. You can't tell if he's putting you on, or if this is what it means that he's letting himself feel it this time.

Two of his fingers press against the pulse behind your ear and, as he whispers for more, you realize you're moving your hand in ways you hadn't thought of, reacting to what he wants without him having to say it, like the remaining half of his soul is reaching deep within you to connect with yours, encourage to slow down and speed up, tighten your grip as you slide your hand up and loosen as it falls back down, to tease the underside right below the head with your thumb. You're rewarded with copious amounts of shimmering pre, the involuntary twitching of his cock, and his breathy groans that send shivers down your spine.

"Like that," he gasps. "Keep going- n- ah- oh Gods." He releases your nape to wrap his hand around yours, tightening your grip for you, and forcing your hand to pump faster and faster. His lips pull back in a snarl, eyes shutting as his head tilts back. "Gods- yes- yes- y-"

His whole body jerks, hips jumping against your hand. He groans, stilling your hand at the base of his cock. It twitches in your grasp and you watch in awe as a couple shots of his dark blue, semi-translucent semen fly free and the rest begins to leak down his length, thick and warm sliding over his and your fingers.

After a moment of tension, he finally relaxes and releases your hand, letting you pull it back and stare at the blue cum coating your fingers. He lets out a long breath and looks down at you again.

"Like I said..." He pauses to bring his hand to his mouth. His white tongue slides out and he drags his fingers down it, catching the taste of himself. His tongue then flicks across his lips, like he's savoring it, a lewd sexiness you never expected from a Fae scholar. You squeeze your thighs together a little tighter, the excitement that's been brewing between them finally reaching the point of unbearable neediness. "You're an eager one."

"But," he continues. "This was just foreplay."

Not bothering to tuck himself back in his pants, he simply bends over, gripping you under your arms. "Up we go." Rather than hauling you to your feet, he lifts you up, catching you easily with his hands on your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He steadies you with one hand on your back, but otherwise seems to have zero trouble holding you up.

"Let's go upstairs, to my bed, so I can love you properly," he whispers in your ear and begins to pepper your neck, jaw, and cheek in kisses. All you can do is hold on tight as he carries you up the spiral staircase, not even having to look at where he's going.

It's an unceremonious drop, but the bed that meets your back, that bounces you once then lets you sink in, is soft and comfortable, welcoming you with the feeling of safety and, beneath you, a handmade quilt that surrounds you with the distinct, puzzling essence of a mother who loved her son.

The fleeting feeling is gone in an instant as his weight presses you down into the bed. For the first time, his lips meet yours and sparks the sweetest of feelings deep within you.

Instinctively, you take his face between your hands, holding him gently as you move your mouth against his in the rhythm dripping with ardor that he leads you through. The softness of his lips, the faint scratch of his stubble, the taste of his mouth, and the air from his lungs filling yours, you lose yourself to the haze, like sinking slowly and warmly into the spring of Nothingness. Your fingers find his hair and take the ribbon holding his locks together with them, letting those waves flow down to frame his face and brush ever so softly against yours.

He breaks the kiss and his shadow falls over you as he sits up. His hands find the ties at his side and then his top is coming undone, tossed into a heap on the floor followed by his dark undershirt. You were right, those clothes hid so much of his hard, toned, scarred body.

You reach a hand out, your fingertips desiring to feel the uneven terrain of those well-maintained abs, but one firm word from him—"Stay."—and your hand snaps back to its place on your chest.

He shuffles forward, parting your thighs to fit his hips in between them. His hands make quick work of your clothes and you let him, giving yourself over to the feeling of his palms lighting a fire up the silhouette of your body as your back arches off the bed to meet his touch. A smirk plays at his lips as your top comes off, but as soon as he's slid your pants off your legs, he leans in again to seal his lips against the column of your throat.

His hand dives between your legs, fingers finding your wet heat and you sigh in pleasure. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest.

"So you did prepare yourself." His breath fans your skin and his teeth scrape you in a small nip at the V shaped muscles in your neck. "Good... Because I can't wait anymore."

Another shift and he's pushing your legs up. His forehead meets yours. You can't see where his eyes are looking but you're pretty sure, right now, it's directly in your own eyes.

"Is that okay?" The question catches you off guard. He's paused against you, but the eagerness he teased you for previously is now radiating off of him. Not trusting your voice, you nod emphatically, trying your best to brace yourself and calm your skyrocketing heartrate.

He reaches one hand between the two of you, lining himself up. Just as his hips push forward, his lips capture yours.

It's unlike anything you've felt before. The way his girth splits you open, stretching your sensitive walls to welcome himself inside, driving ever deeper and filling you, filling you until his hips meet yours. You prepared, but not for this. You're melting around him, whimpering into his mouth. He pulses inside you, feeling just as connected to you as you are to him.

"Just breathe," he breaks the kiss to whisper against your lips. "Don't hold your breath. I've got you."

You whine in response and he seals the sound in again with his lips. His body rocks against yours, barely pulling out before sliding back in. You don't feel empty for a second. You feel full, so full, and you let yourself melt completely into it, wrapping your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. His tongue sweeps through your mouth and you slide your tongue along his, tasting the sweetness of whatever berries have satiated him today.

You moan against each other, his grip on your waist gradually tightening as his short thrusts grow in force until he's tense. His tail lashes against your legs in frustration. He grunts, slamming his balls against your butt at this point, trying to find a stimulation he seems to be lacking. Finally, he can't take it anymore. He breaks the kiss again.

"Hold still," he growls.

Twitches seize your muscles as he sits up and takes your hands in his, his tail curling around your ankle as you loosen your legs from around his hips. Lacing his fingers with yours, he slowly pulls out. His hands squeeze yours and then he thrusts forward with a force that drives a loud cry of pleasure from your now unburdened mouth.

He molds your inner walls to the shape of his cock, stretching your insides around every contour of the thick, lengthy, hard shape spearing into you; you'll never feel the same again.

He doesn't give you a break and you wouldn't ask him to, pistoning in and out like it's what he was made to do. The sound of skin smacking against skin mix in the air with the sounds of your non-stop moans and desperate cries. His own groans escape unbidden from his mouth as his head tilts back.

Pleasure rides like tsunami-level waves up your body. His hips beat against yours, fucking up into your stomach so hard tears spring to your eyes. But you don't beg him to stop. You beg him for more. He calls your name, for the very second time since you met him, your name shapes his voice. And you see it.

The air sparks with magic and you finally see it; the white flame that surrounds his aura, emerging from his incomplete soul. The black fog that creeps up behind him, like eyes watching over his shoulder, seeing all your vulnerabilities.

The Call of After crackles upon his skin. It's weaved so deeply inside him he'll never be untethered. Never free of Father Fae.

The flame that licks down his arms flows into you and you feel Power.

That split second where the sensation of sex faded away slams back into you full force. Your nails dig into the backs of his hands, your hips move on their own, bucking up to meet his every earth-shattering thrust.

You beg him not to stop, never to stop, crying out your pleasure, calling for the Gods that abandoned this world, anything to work this feeling out of you, the feeling that makes your body move on it's own, that makes you want to scream your head off. Jolts rock through your body, sparks firing off in your brain. It's building. The tension grips your muscles. Control is snatched from you completely. The power bundling up in your core expands into every crevice of your body, shooting up your spine, straight into your brain and then-

You throw your head back, a scream tearing claws up your throat as you climax explodes through you, from this reality to the next.

Your insides' frantic spasming around his cock proves too much for him, too, triggering his own orgasm, but you barely get to see his reaction before everything goes black.

***

A weak moan escapes you before your eyes manage to crack open. Your bones feel gelatinous as your bleary surroundings slowly come into focus, the darkness at the edge of your vision receding.

The vague feeling against your cheek sharpens to familiar stubble and soft lips placing kiss after loving kiss on your neck, jaw, and cheek. You then realize you're cradled against a warm, bare chest. And the clothes upon your body are not the ones you came here in. In fact, they're a size or more too large for you, though comfortable.

"Are you awake, little witch?" His voice rumbles soothingly.

"...Tired..." you mumble in response and he chuckles deeply. You really want to close your eyes and turn your face in to those sculpted pecs and sleep for the next century, but you force yourself to look up at him.

He smiles, all hostility from your initial meeting now completely vanished from his demeanor. He leans in to greet your swollen lips with two kisses. He then turns away and sits up on the side of the bed, leaving you lonely.

"Well then." He locks his fingers together, stretching his arms above his head and letting you see the way his muscles move and stretch in his back.

"...You owe me knowledge, Fae," you find the strength to shoot back, though your voice sounds as sore as your throat is.

He laughs lightly, snatching his discarded shirt from the floor and standing up. "Of course. I haven't forgotten." He coyly glances back at you over his shoulder as he wrangles his shirt back on. "Find your strength, witch, then join me downstairs. You've more than earned the knowledge you seek and I will answer all your questions."

His smile grows upon his lips.

"Tell me, do you like tea?"

#not safe #Magic of Ruefell #lore #Fae #Ghosts in the Gaslamp #Vainglorious Demons #worldbuilding #Yewfie Frosthart

33 notes · View notes

photiniainsummer · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Audience Participation Can Tip the Scales (2/?): Hunting Blind

Genre: GenFic - Action, Mystery, Humor Rating: Teen and Up Story Summary: There’s a strange group living at the old Markiplier Manor. They’re the villains of their tales, they’re looking for information, and they need your help putting Mark’s scattered egos back together to get their lives back. And stop Mark and the Entity breaking reality. Small goals. (Second Person POV, vaguely fem-coded Reader) Chapter Summary: The one where you gin up the courage for some minor trespassing Word Count: 5810 Author's Note: Decided to cross-post from my Ao3! The next three chapters are already up, and I try to post every Tuesday. :3

Interested?

Read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30510852/chapters/75668213

Hunting Blind

With the Manor’s heavy gate behind you, you tug your shirt back into place and loop your bag to hang securely across your body before beating a quick path up the driveway toward the Manor. There’s no real point in trying to be sneaky about it - with the dusk wrapping around you and the nearest neighbors seemingly out, there isn’t much to try to sneak around. Regardless, your nerves push you onward at a steady pace up to the large front plaza, your thoughts roiling. Jonah had seen to that, giving you just enough to be suspicious of, to drive you onwards in his absence.

What could be bad enough that a decade after Mark’s death, and even longer after whatever might have happened actually happened, that the boards of practically every paper in the state would nix any mention of him? What could he have possibly left behind at what was likely the scene of his crime that would unveil the truth?

Most importantly, what or who would you find when you made it inside?

Shaking off the thought, you dig out the little collapsible nightstick your parents had insisted you carry when you’d moved into the city proper. Thankfully, you had never been in a position where you needed to use it, but many where you had been grateful for its reassuring weight. You hold it now in your hand, thumb on the release as you make it up the annoyingly long and snaking driveway to the silent plaza. Shrouded by trees, the space is even darker than the rest of the grounds, all awash in strange, late evening shadows. It had clearly been meant for welcoming in guests, for hosting a number of their vehicles at a time, but now, overly quiet with the added dampening of the trees and without even a security light to cut through the shade, it was eerie. Lonely.

Again, you have to focus on the task at hand and keep your mind off these wandering asides. You’d always had an active imagination, but now was certainly not the time to let it run wild. You gather your wits about you (really, you just take a really deep breath and hope that’s what that looks like) and approach the large, wooden double door entrance. A built-in eaves houses it, and even in the gloom, you can see a family of spiders have made the nicely sheltered spot their home. Reflexively ducking your head just in case there are any low-hanging creepy-crawlies, you press close to the doors. They still gleam despite their disuse, well-burnished dark wood carved in elegant yet simple patterns.

It’s only when your hand finds one of their brass handles that you consider the Manor could be locked. You try it anyway, pressing on the latch with your thumb. It makes some downward progress but sticks halfway before popping back up to its original position. You curse quietly to yourself and try again, but the latch repeats its stifled motion. You start clicking the latch repeatedly, tugging on the door for good measure. You lean your weight into it, and a particularly good press-and-push combination sends the latch snapping suspiciously like you’ve broken it, and you stumble into darkness.

Catching your weight on the swinging door, you pull up short in the entryway, stunned by the sudden reveal of the yawning belly of the Manor. Although your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, you don’t need them to be able to tell that the place is massive. You can feel it. A cool breeze of emptiness strokes your face, and you straighten up to get your bearings. Out before you is a massive room seemingly a little lower than the tiled entryway where you stand. Along with the vaulted ceiling directly above you, your stumbling footsteps echo back loudly.

“....christ on a cracker,” you breathe, then reflexively cover your mouth as you remember you’re meant to be sneaking around. After your entrance, though, you’re not sure if that’s a totally viable strategy. Regardless, you drop your hand from your mouth and retrieve your phone, turning on its flashlight and casting a somewhat shaky light around the core of the Manor. Just as Jonah had said, it’s still full of… well. Stuff. The massive room you felt before is filled with what seems to be heavy furniture, ornate shapes covered in white sheets and pushed around at strange angles. You swing the light around, catching yourself in the eye with it as it falls across and is reflected by a massive, cracked mirror directly to your right. Thankfully, you manage to stifle a hiss of surprise before it slips out between your teeth. Blinking through your self-injury, you move the light to the side, allowing you to see the rest of the surrounding area more clearly.

The mirror there is uncovered, spotted with age and covered in a thin layer of dust. You can see a few handprints on its gilded frame, but the massive, multifingered, spiderweb crack running along the center demands your attention. It looks as if it’s dented, almost, the rounded crack pressed inward from the force of impact. Your inwardly warped expression stares back at you - do you always look so much like a deer in the headlights?

The feeling of being watched strikes you again.

Lifting your unextended nightstick, you instinctively shine your light up to the second floor, illuminating a landing with dark wood to match the floors of the house. Emptiness is all that greets you, although you can feel a shiver hiding down in the muscles of your shoulders, now. There’s nothing enough to shiver at, but something in you knows, instinctively… something. You aren’t sure what to call it, but there is something there.

All the more reason to stop standing around like an idiot and look for what you came here for, your brain helpfully supplies.

Resolving to speed this process along, you shut the door somewhat behind you before easing across the tiled floor to keep your steps from echoing so loudly. An imposing statue of a woman in flight welcomes you to what seems to have been the main sitting room. Now, it seems more like the main workspace for whatever restoration crew was here last. The wooden floors, likely once as burnished as the exterior door, are dim with dust, cut through with work boot footprints. Your light falls across a far alcove, home to a dustcloth-covered piano that fits so well in its corner that you wonder if the house was built around it. Everything about the place feels intentional, if a bit over the top - the walls’ dark wainscotting connects to the interestingly arched ceilings above with intermittent, delicate strips of wood, drawing your eye up into its inlaid patterns. They feel designed to capture your attention and hold it, demanding of your gaze and keeping it there to let it dance through complicated tiles and curling designs that disappear as soon as you try to intentionally follow them.

But there’s nothing here along the lines of what you’re looking for, so you almost reluctantly pull your gaze away from the craftsmanship of the Manor and keep searching. The sitting room connects through to an intimate dining area and further on to a large kitchen, as far as you can see, so you turn back toward the main entryway. The passageways here, apart from the grand entrance to the sitting room, feel horribly narrow despite the size of the rooms they lead into. You wonder idly if it’s the size of the occupying furniture eating up space as you carefully move your weight across the old wooden floors, cautious of traitorously creaky spots.

Mindful of the cracked mirror, you swing your light to either side, realizing the entryway sits almost at the midpoint of the house. With the sitting room behind you, a narrow hallway to the right opens onto the dining room and kitchen and ends in a staircase. To the left is the cracked mirror and a winding bit of hallway that seems to open onto another, larger room. Unsure of what you’re looking for but knowing Mark’s personal possessions would very likely not be in the kitchen, you opt to head left, winding around the sharply angled walls and their shadowy corners. You realize, then, that the narrowness is intentional. It’s meant to make the rooms feel bigger - the hallways squeezing you before releasing you suddenly into a wide open space.

All it does is make you claustrophobic.

The larger room you’re let into is a bit of a let-down, clearly also meant for entertaining and barren of anything of note but another cloth-covered couch near the far wall’s fireplace and a sizable bar to your left. There are a few dusty bottles on the mirrored wall behind it, but some have been knocked over and most seem empty, their contents long evaporated. The barroom feels larger and emptier than the others. Although you’d think you’d feel less closed-in here, the air feels heavier. That creeping sensation of someone watching you only grows. You don’t feel much desire to linger - it’s already starting to feel like you’ve been in the house too long, even though it’s probably only been minutes since you broke through the door. You wonder if the realtor has a silent alarm on the place, the thought settling more of that desire to shiver in your muscles. Come on, come on. Just keep moving and stop getting all squirrely.

The hallway continues past the bar room, tight and dark except for the light of your flashlight which sends strange angles of shadow twisting across the walls and floor. It ends in a door, about where the far wall of the barroom seemed to end, but you find it locked tight. Because of course it is, you gripe. A massive suit of armor looms to your right, standing guard over a staircase that draws your eye up its tight spiral. The top isn’t immediately visible, and dread settles into a pit in your gut as you crane your neck and light in tandem to peer up its length. Of course the first abandoned house you end up exploring is absolutely massive and endlessly creepy. Not that you necessarily want more experience exploring abandoned houses, but. You shake the errant thoughts away, just pushing your feet to take you up the stairs, its once-rich carpet beaten thin and worn with age.

Where could his office have been? you wonder as you climb, assuming Mark might have left some suspicious letters or blank checks, maybe even a diary if you’re lucky. You reach the top of the quietly creaky steps to find that the landing here opens onto yet another sitting room -- really, how much sitting did people do back in the day? Putting your bewilderment aside, you notice it’s much darker up here - all of the curtains you can see are drawn so even the rising moonlight can’t creep in. It’s quieter and stiller, too, warmer as you check your surroundings. Another door to your left, which you test and also find to be locked. Swearing softly to yourself, you try to ignore how your breath shakes as you exhale. You’re starting to feel like this is all pointless, that you’re just scaring yourself for no reason or benefit to either you or Jonah. How did he even know the house was still full of stuff? Even if the historical society had left the furniture behind, surely they would have removed books, papers, things people could easily steal long ago. You had no reason to believe there would be anything useful here, beyond, what, Jonah’s hunch?

You kick the old door out of frustration, still leaning on it and rattling the handle. It immediately strikes you as childish, especially after your explosive entrance to the Manor, and you let go with a quiet mix of embarrassment and frustration swirling in your throat. You wish Jonah was here, he’d have some crazy idea about how you could get in, he’d break all this skin-crawling tension that threatens to suffocate you. He’d make you laugh, at the worst possible moment, and it would be just a stupidly big, dark, empty house and not the imposing darkness that felt like it was watching your every move. He’d…

Suddenly, a bone-chillingly loud creak comes from back towards the stairs. You turn in a rush, heart leaping into your throat. But as you do, you fumble your phone and lose your grip in your panic. The device uselessly flings light across the walls around you as it clatters to the floor. You’re thrown into darkness and your free hand reflexively scrabbles on the wall for a lightswitch while you shakily raise the night stick in your other. The release jams when you press it, and your chest tightens as you hunt in a blind panic. Finally, you feel a smooth metal casing and its switch under your fingers, and you snap it up sharply.

The switch was, apparently, connected to more lights than you had thought - practically every light in the hallway and stairwell bursts to life and briefly blinds you. You blink through the spots dancing across your vision, driven by fear to find whoever was creeping up on you. The hallway you’re standing in seems to follow that of the first floor, running the length of the front of the house - you can see clear down it even from your far position.

Or you could, if not for the man standing about twenty feet away on the other side of the narrow, cat-walk-like landing that winds around the entryway below. In a beige coat and dark pants, he occupies most of the hallway’s width with his broad shoulders, and is staring directly at you with...

… a thick, fabric blindfold, deeply stained with blood.

Suddenly, he’s advancing on you, catching the crooked railing to guide himself. He moves so quickly it startles the breath out of you - how can he see me? But you jerk into motion, scooping up your phone from the floor and rushing to the staircase between you. The man is fast, his mouth twisting in rage, but you’re closer to the stairs. In your rush, though, you stumble and almost throw yourself down the steep flight, only narrowly catching yourself against the heavy banister pole. The impact manages to shake loose a nearby picture from the wall and it crashes to the floor with your bum nightstick. None of this does anything to slow the man closing the distance between you, and you thunder down the stairs in what feels like broad daylight compared to the gloom you’d been in, begging your feet to stay underneath you where you need them.

He hits the stairs shortly after you, taking them quickly with heavy steps, so close behind that you can hear him muttering gutturally to himself as he goes. His voice makes that deep, horrible shiver that’s been building in your muscles all night finally burst to the surface and send your skin up in goosebumps. But you just push your legs harder, rushing down the hall toward the entrance. Finally able to see where you’re going with the ambient light from behind you, you clear the barroom and can just see the tiled entryway - your escape - when you hear a dull thwack and pain blooms across the back of your head and neck. Your balance lost, the floor rushes up to meet you and sends you back into the all-consuming darkness.

---

It’s darkness to which you awake, too, head pounding. Your ears ring, dully, and everything hurts - your neck, jaw, the side of your face… The memory of your skull bouncing on the Manor’s black and white tiles forces a soft groan from you.

“Oh, look, our little spy finally decided to finish her nap.” A deep voice echos around you, and you feel like you’re somewhere… low. There’s a distinct chill and stillness to the air that makes you think ‘basement’. You don’t immediately sit up, the effort of trying to lift your head feeling like too much all at once. Its weight isn’t something you’ve ever really considered, but now it’s all you can think about - it might as well be a sack of rocks. A firm tsk breaks the silence. “Come on now, we know you’re awake. No point in playing dumb,” the voice comes again.

It’s strange, a man’s voice, vaguely British although impossible for you to place. Stranger still, it’s as if he’s rather poorly practicing his enunciation, both overworking and mashing his syllables together into a dizzyingly paced patter. And despite its warm timbre, it’s clear this man has precious little patience to afford you.

“Sit up, little spy.”

You blearily blink your eyes open, although the darkness you’re swimming in is only slightly less than that behind your eyelids. You’re slouched forward, staring at your legs and sitting in a chair supported by some kind of restraint wrapped around your chest and arms. Your hands are bound behind you, tied together themselves for good measure. You can feel that whatever your captor used is digging into your skin the longer you stay curled over. When you lift your head and try to scoot yourself up in the chair, though, you only succeed in awkwardly bumping it around as if trying to escape. The motion messes with your balance and makes you sick, and you fall still, firmly secured. “Ah, ah, ah, none of that, stay right where you are… we’ve got a few things to ask you, don’t we…”

“Indeed, we do,” a second voice agrees. If you thought the first one was strange, this one defies explanation. Although it speaks as one, it is complicated, multi-throated, reverberating. It bounces off the bare walls of the darkened room as easily as it does around those of your mind. Like an agonizing accompaniment, the dull ringing in your head rises, as its owner seems to approach you. The sound of his steps across the floor partners with the ratcheting up of your throbbing headache. More pressingly, though, the voice’s tone is terse, focused, and has none of the lilt and implied smile of the first. A clammy, cold sweat breaks out on your neck. Fear coils in your stomach for the first time - whoever had spoken, whoever is so near you that you can feel how he displaces the dank air of the basement is not human.

You feel horribly small in the dark with these… beings. But you force yourself to look deeply into the shade and try to make them out, to know their faces should you get the chance to escape - as unlikely as that possibility seemed. Your throat is dry, and you croak out, “What… what do you want?”

“It would be simpler to ask you the same,” comes the multi-voice again. Despite its many layers, it is steady, assured. “Tell us - what, exactly, brought you here tonight.”

The ice it carries makes your mind seize up. How weak you realize your story will sound, in your creaky voice, in the face of such sharp intensity. You try to begin, anyway. “I. I can explain, it’s just. Weird…”

“Well ‘weird’ is pretty much our constant bedfellow at this point, my dear girl, give it a shot,” the first voice goads. Against the tight restraint of its companion, it’s like if a rainbow bouncy ball had suddenly stood up and spoken. It’s hard to tell if its lilt is earnestly playful or just hiding a crueler edge. You try to focus despite the whiplash between the two, pushing through the throbbing of your damned head.

“I… This friend of mine, he asked me to check the place out with him. We’re reporters, and he’d heard on his police scanner last night that a neighbor had seen, just, someone wandering around… Which isn’t super weird by itself, but when an officer showed up, there was nobody around and there were lights on inside, despite… I mean, it’s been basically abandoned for years. And… we just thought we’d look around, but he couldn’t come and he asked me… He really wanted to check it out, so. So I came in.”

You’re surprised you even got to finish your jerkily delivered explanation with how quickly the first man interjects. “Oh, a very likely story, ‘just simple curiosity, that’s all!” His voice goes a bit falsetto in a crude parody of yours before dropping sharply back to his original range and practically roaring, “You really expect us to believe such hogwash? For all we know, you could’ve killed this so-called friend of yours before breaking your way in here!” He’s so close to your face, you feel his breath across on your skin and despite your best efforts, your legs shake against the hard wooden chair beneath you. What is he talking about?

“Wilford, please, she isn’t one of your interviewees,” the second man sighs. “Control yourself.”

The first man, Wilford, retreats with a muttered exclamation, apparently trying to calm himself. “Let’s just get rid of her quick, Dark, she’s no better than the last one.” The tell-tale click of a pistol hammer being drawn back is bright and sharp in the close room, clearing your foggy head. Pain replaced with cold fear, your feet scrabble slightly on the smooth floor. From the sound of it, the whole room is tiled in stone.

Would anyone hear you if you screamed?

“N-No, I mean it, I’m serious, it,” your voice is strangled, too obviously panicked. You struggle to swallow, steady yourself. “It really was just… just curiosity, he’s so nosy, and… and he wouldn’t let it go, he practically twisted my arm, but I only came t-to keep him out of trouble. He just, we… please. Please, don’t kill me, I won’t tell anyone you’re here, that I ever came here--”

“Stop.” The being’s tone is slightly less terse than before. He allows silence to fall for a moment, only broken by your damnably shaky breathing. You try to calm it, but your body’s panic switch has fully flipped, short, ragged breaths echoing in the darkness. The ringing in your head reasserts itself, sharper in the silence, and you squint against the way it so easily exacerbates your wounded head. You wonder if you’re bruised, if you’re bloodied. Finally, he speaks again. “Nobody is going to kill anybody. Not yet, at least.” Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as he seems to intend it to be. “Who sent you here tonight.”

A weak groan creaks out of you unconsciously, although whether from pain or dread you’re not sure. “Nobody, I mean, Nobody but. But my friend, like I said, he was the one who wanted to come here, but, h-his car, it. Something happened, it practically exploded on him. He couldn’t afford a ride over, so. So he just asked me to come in and look around. That’s all…”

“And your friend, who is he, again.”

“Another reporter, we work together, we basically share a desk… He covers crime, I’m. I do politics…” Another pause, another almost unbearable moment with the ringing. Your stomach churns, everything awash in pain and just feeling… too much. The ringing is either steadily getting louder and that much worse, or your tolerance is rapidly declining.

“Nobody asked you to come here, apart from him? And nobody asked him to come here?” You shake your heavy head. “Answer me,” he suddenly growls, the ringing rocketing to excruciating heights. Your head feels like it might split open.

“No!” you cry. “Nobody asked us to come here! Nobody told us… nobody told us to…” After a brief moment where it sustains that splitting frequency, the ringing begins to recede, and your pain along with it. Although the pounding remains, it feels more appropriate to the blunt force trauma you’d been through. The relief is like sinking into cool waters and you do your best not to sob.

“She is telling the truth.” The first voice groans, clearly unconvinced.

“And how can we be so sure someone else didn’t put the idea in her little friend’s head and she just doesn’t know it! Someone up the line from them pulling the strings for Mark. We can’t trust her, Dark, and you’re just going to let her go-”

Wait. Mark?

“You forget yourself,” Dark interrupts, his voices losing focus, thundering in the small space as their unity unravels. He echoes, pitch dipping as if intentionally warped before returning to normal. “Did you not say yourself that you are a part, not the leader? I believe it was me you foisted that title on. So when your leader tells you that she is honest, I expect you to trust me.” Silence reigns for a moment. Dark seems to be putting himself back together in the silence, corralling. He sighs, quietly, then speaks, unified once more. “I did not say anything about letting her go just yet. Possess yourself with patience.” Wilford settles with a not-so-subtle harrumph, but seems appropriately chided for the time being. Shoes scuff quietly on the floor as Dark turns back to you. “My apologies. We are all a little… tense these days.”

Realizing he expects a response, given his pause, you look in what you think is his general direction. With how long you’ve been here in the dark, your eyes can make out a faint figure of what appears to be a man, standing tall with his arms clasped behind his back. His head tilts in your direction. You work your brain for something to say. Play along, keep them talking, don’t panic too much. “...It. It’s all right… I mean, I did break into your house.” It’s hard to tell with him, but it seems for a moment like Dark chuckles, albeit without humor. An acknowledgement more than anything.

“Yes. You did…” He pauses, considering you. “But I believe that you did not do so for any ulterior reason… apart from your own curiosity. Or, rather, that of your friend’s. However, you do now know of our presence here, and you’re somewhat of a… liability to our continued residency.” You swallow thickly. In the dark, you can see him twist, as if craning his neck to one side to crack it. It’s a tortured gesture, demanding its performance. Is he in pain? He returns his attention to you, moving on. “Now… Why should we allow you to leave? Alive, I mean.”

It’s you now, who pauses. Your mind is spinning, lost in the darkness and overwhelmed with new information. What had Wilford meant, ‘pulling the strings for Mark’? He was dead, why would a dead man need strings pulled on his behalf? Did this have something to do with whatever the actor had done and its cover-up job? More pressingly, what could you possibly give some… nonhuman entity and his paranoid partner to earn your freedom? And was his name really Dark? It felt too cheesy to be true.

It all seems beyond belief or explanation, but the silence between the three of you is only growing longer, and now you really feel watched. You push your mouth to move, to just start speaking - your brain promises to catch up.

“Well. Apart from me… not having anything to do with… whatever you’re doing here. I. I’m a reporter, I have connections. I can get you information that… that you might want.” You pause, letting the offer hang. The other two are silent, but they’re still watching you. They’re not disinterested, and that’s the best you’ve got right now. You swallow, trying to get your dry mouth to cooperate. “I. I heard you mention Mark.” The air in the room seems to go tight, but you soldier on. “Part of why my friend wanted to come here is because he’s been… paying attention, I guess. Any stories about Mark, even now, they. I mean, our board, at the paper, they kill them, nothing ever gets to print, not even puff pieces. Other papers have been doing the same thing, too. The most famous guy from this place, and we can’t even write about him. That. It’s weird.”

“I am failing to see the purpose of this explanation,” Dark presses, as if through gritted teeth. You keep going, your voice coming out in even more of a breathless rush than before.

“Our. Our editor, he keeps all the stories we put up, even the rejected ones. There was a big one my colleague did, nearer the anniversary of his death, I know she did a lot of work on it, did a lot of research into what happened after… after he basically became a recluse. I. I could get ahold of it for you. And more, if that… if that’s something you’re looking for. Or something else, just. I can get you something about anything. I swear.”

Again, the room falls silent with you. Your pulse thrums in your throat, rushing in your ears. It’s a thin connection, barely there, but it’s what you have. Jonah might kill you for offering to basically be a mole for god knows who these people are, Walker might have questions about why you suddenly want everything about the man, and, hell, this might put some invisible target on your back given how the board’s been treating articles about Mark... but that would just have to be a bridge you cross when you get to it. You have to be alive to approach that metaphorical bridge, and for now, this is the one card you can lay that you know has any value to your captors.

It was like the two men began communicating telepathically in the dark, debating back and forth the value of your offer. You can see them staring at each other and shifting ever so slightly, but they never speak. Time creeps by, and after what feels like an eternity, Wilford makes an irritated noise while Dark decidedly turns back to you.

“By when could you have these articles.” Yes. You feel light enough to float on the ceiling. You’re going to get out.

“The earliest, tomorrow evening, but it could be two or three days, depending on when my boss is in. The cabinets are in his office, and he locks up when he’s out.”

Dark hums. “Two days, then, to return with what you find.” You open your mouth to agree to the terms, eager to be freed, but Wilford interrupts again.

“You are letting her go. How do we know she won’t just skip town on the first train out of the station?” His tone is still blistering, but his ire is a shadow of its former self. “We don’t even know if she’s a real reporter. You know, little missy, I’m a reporter myself, and I’m just not sure you’ve got the--”

Thankfully, Dark asserted himself once more, sounding as if he was physically restraining Wilford from re-invading your personal space when he spoke again. “We will just have to trust her, won’t we. Something you seem to need a little practice with. Besides, something tells me she’s honest about that part, as well.”

Wilford rounds on him, then. “And if she’s not?” Dark however, doesn’t take the bait, maintaining his chilly smoothness.

“If she’s not… well. You always say you prefer a moving target, don’t you.”

A beat passes wherein all of Wilford’s suspicion and frustration seem to melt. He chuckles in pure glee. Although it doesn’t have a drop of malice in it, that sound makes you shiver in your restraints. “Ahh. You’ve got me there, old boy, you know I live for the hunt!”

Dark gives that barely-there chuckle again. “But we will handle that… business if and when it comes to that. For now… see her out, Wilford. Carefully, this time, she doesn’t need a concussion.”

“Fine, fine… All right now, dear girl, up you come.” Two solid hands take hold of your forearms and draw you up from the chair. You start to exclaim, but the ropes binding you fall away, like they had only been loosely draped around you. They had been digging into your skin only moments before, you were sure of it… Wilford places you back on your feet but stays close, and even in the gloom of the basement you can make out snippets of him - a loose mess of curly, dark hair hangs over a strong brow. Similarly dark eyes crinkle with a mirthful, massively mustachioed smile as he registers your surprise at being so easily freed. “No peeking for this part now, close those peepers for ol’ Wilford.” Before you can formulate any kind of response, one of the man’s hands covers your eyes.

“And… voilá!”

Suddenly, a cold night breeze swirls around you, and you can see again. Moonlight illuminates the quiet neighborhood street before you. You realize, blinking against even the dim light you’re now washed in, that you’re back to where you started: standing alone outside the locked gate to the Manor, bag hanging from one shoulder, cell phone in hand, staring up at the imposing building. The stars shine down brightly on you without the city’s light pollution to hide them, but the Manor is all dark.

...what?

If not for the remaining dull ache in your head and the ghost of Wilford’s touch on your face, you would be certain you had just had a very violent and vivid hallucination. But your head does ache, and you can still feel the callused touch of the man’s hands on your arms, on your face, clear as anything. Dumbfounded, you stare at the Manor for a moment before you hear the crunch of gravel. You jerk and look towards the sound - the Manor’s neighbors are home, a sleek car pulling into the driveway. Quickly, you move behind one of the trees ringing the Manor’s massive grounds and unlock your phone. Your rideshare app is still open, still waiting for you to select your driver. Without hesitating, you pick one and press the confirmation button.

You wait until the neighbors are well inside their similarly opulent house before you make your way quietly back down the street. Even with your head swimming like it is, you try to fix every detail of the experience in your mind, just as it had happened, fighting the blurring tides of adrenaline and, now, exhaustion. It’s hard to hold on to any one thing, especially with how much time you spent in semi- to total darkness, but by the time your ride pulls up, you are keenly, yet strangely, aware of one detail for certain.

Although his hair was dark, Wilford’s mustache was tinged with a rich pink.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #markiplier lore #actor!mark #actor mark #wilford warfstache #darkiplier #who killed markiplier #mad market pliers ramblings

2 notes · View notes

sleepdepravity · 4 years ago

Text

DISTRUTHS - second case

exactly one person asked for it which means that that’s all the ask i need

NOTABLE EVENTS AND INFO:

ever since the end of the first trial, I had sneakily snuck into Mori’s inventory, a knife! Without saying so!

(this is because immediately after her convo with Nakamura she does what she intended to do in the first place, which was get a weapon to defend herself with.)

The rooms that open up are: library/rec room, the pool/garden, sauna, the gym, the laundry room, and storage. Two of the doors actually lead to staircases that go to the second floor. There is still one door on the first floor that will not open, besides the entrance of course.

back when i was in the middle of hoping I would get back into the swing of things and continue DISTRUST, I had made a sideblog, which you can find as distrustmenu. it has a map page and inventory page and cast page and all that jazz. If I remembered to do all that. It will be useful to have that info up if you want to try to see if you can follow along with the events and figure out what the fuck’s up before I tell you the fuck that is up.

in any case: the second night, many people (including Mori) are woken up by a rattling doorknob. The morning during the girls’ club meeting, Tsubame freely admits that she was the one who did that, as she wanted to explore, but sue also was making sure that everybody’s doors were in actuality secure. Good news, they are! This is deemed ‘creepy’ and ‘super suspicious.’

Akane does not leave her room the entire time, and does not respond when people ring her buzzer. Nobody ever sees her outside of her room, and it’s of considerable concern that she does not seem to even leave to eat.

At a certain point in the day, everybody realizes that Yuu is nowhere to be found. Everybody goes out to search everywhere they can, but cannot find him. When they reconvene, someone suddenly notices that the piano is being played, and investigating the sound, they finally find Yuu, who just says that ‘whoops, we must’ve kept missing each other! haha! isn’t that weird!’

The third day, there is a group meeting and Tsubame casually tosses out that any family members that had arrived with them, or had dropped them off at the school building, probably are also in trouble or, at the worst, dead. This upsets everybody in the room.

The fourth day, three people complain about someone ringing their buzzers like crazy last night. The three complainers are Noboru, Shinobu, and Mori.

Also, Minoru cannot be found.

Everybody splits up to try to find Minoru, but when that fails, Mori suggests maybe, that corpse-smelling flower...could that hide a body? Mostly everybody goes to check. (Katashi, of course, is not even joining, Tsubame says she would barf, and Yuu is supposedly there, but thinking back nobody really remembers hearing or seeing him.)

And in the flower is...nobody again!

Everybody’s worried. Someone mentions that, at this point, really the only potential place would possibly be Akane’s room. Going upstairs again, they suddenly find Minoru, with a huge stake in their stomach, against a wall next to Akane’s room.

NOTABLE CLUES AND INVESTIGATION THINGS

Akane still does not come out of her room, so there is not really much that can be said about the state of Minoru’s body.

Though for some reason, there are some band-aids that seem to have been caught in the folds of their outfit.

(someone taps Mori and points out that there’s a band-aid stuck to her shoe too. whoops, how silly!)

There is a painting hanging above Minoru’s body that hadn’t been there before. It obscures a hole that looks to be the same size as the stake that is in Minoru’s guts. Directly across the hole on the opposite side of the hall is one of the rooms that haven’t been unlocked yet.

Eventually, Tsubame will mention that sometime in the night, someone had posted a note on her door asking her to go to that locked room, but when she wandered over there, nothing seemed different. Though she did remember seeing the shadow of something long sticking out the wall on the other side of the hall.

For some reason, in the library, there’s a band-aid stuck under one of the shelves.

Noboru remembers the notes that had been played on the piano the day Yuu was missing. Playing the tune opens a secret stairway behind the bookcase, leading up to the locked room. Inside the locked room seems to be a workshop. Facing the door is a contraption that looks like a large and unwieldy crossbow, and it seems to trigger when someone opens the door to the hall fully. There’s a mark on the door frame about six feet up, and that seems to be the level that the crossbow was aiming at.

The hole in the wall is at an altitude that matches the six foot mark.

Tsubame is the only one around who is around six feet tall.

There are a couple of errant band-aids fallen on the floor here as well.

Anyways, that’s all the clues that I remember being relevant. WHO could be the KILLER????

#dangan ronpa adventure

5 notes · View notes

charlesjosephwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Another Test Scene - Morgana City Murders

I wrote another test scene for my side project! Okay, it technically ended up being two scenes, but I got really into it, so whatever. I thought I’d share since I also posted the other test scene I wrote.

Overall, I’m pretty happy with the way this is starting to come together, especially considering this is the first stuff I’ve actually sat down to write in this WIP, and I definitely have enough to start on the actual first draft! I’m so excited, y’all!!!!!!!!

By the time Bellamy landed on the roof of the Morgana Police Department, she was about ready to collapse onto the cold cement and go to sleep. She may have done that, but after a long night of arguing with people that, no, you can’t fly your broom within five-hundred feet of an active airport and, yes, you need some form of illumination attached to your broomstick if you’re going to be flying after dark, she was pretty sure she deserved to at least make it somewhere warm and soft before she passed out.

She sighed and shouldered her broom as she made her way inside. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier with each step, and her body practically shifted into auto-pilot as she started on her way down the stairs.

She tucked her hat under her arm so that she could fix the way her curly red hair was starting to fall out of the bun she’d tied it into to keep it out of the way.

“Ogden.” In her tired state, she didn’t notice the dwarf lingering by the bottom of the staircase until he spoke directly to her. In fact, she’d been so laser-focused on making her way to her locker to get her things and get out of there that she didn’t stop walking until several moments after he had called her name.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” the dwarf asked.

“Uh…” Bellamy stifled a yawn with the back of her hand as she reeled around to face him. As much as she would’ve loved to continue on her way to the locker rooms to grab her things and then get out of there, she knew that a senior officer like Detective Yewblade wouldn’t be speaking to her unless it was important. “Sure. What is it?”

Yewblade scratched his scraggly beard and narrowed his eyes as he stared up at her in thought. “You were near the top of your class at the academy, weren’t you?”

“Uh…” Bellamy frowned, unsure of where this conversation was leading. “Yeah.”

“And now they’ve got you on broom patrol?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Waste of perfectly good talent if you ask me.” Yewblade crossed his arms and studied her with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you want something more exciting?”

Bellamy started to open her mouth to say that all she wanted right now was a nap, but something in Yewblade’s voice had piqued her interest. “That… would be nice.”

“I’ll tell you what…” Yewblade tilted his head at her. “I could use a bit of help on my current case. You help me out with this one, and I can put in a good word for you up top. We’ll get you promoted in no time.”

“I…” Bellamy’s voice caught in her throat, and she did her best not to look as caught off guard by that suggestion as she felt. “It would be an honor.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Yewblade’s lips. “Excellent. How about we get you up to speed on this case over a cup of coffee?”

Bellamy nodded, possibly a bit too enthusiastically. “I… I know a good coffee place.”

“Good, good.” Yewblade’s eyes twinkled, and he reached up to pat her on the shoulder. “I’ll take a coffee with a shot of caramel and room for cream. Bring it to my office, and then we can chat.” With that, he hobbled away much faster than his little legs should’ve been able to carry him, leaving Bellamy staring after him in stunned silence.

*****

Bellamy slid her broomstick into the rack on the side of the sidewalk as she made her way past the familiar blue and white striped facade of the Ogden Family Cafe and Bakery. Despite the exhaustion that had been weighing down on her shoulders after such a busy night shift, the smell of freshly brewed coffee that wafted into her nose and the soft music that drifted into her ears from the piano playing itself in the back corner the moment she stepped through the door managed to perk her up enough to keep soldiering on.

“Hey. Bels,” a familiar voice greeted her. “You look like shit.”

Bellamy fought the urge to roll her eyes as she took her place at the back of the line. She smoothed down the front of her dark blue uniform shirt and turned to face her sister. “Shouldn't you be in school?”

“No.” Gwyneth blew a strand of dyed purple hair out of her eyes as she glanced up from where her mop was dancing around, cleaning the floor on its own. “It's Saturday.”

“Oh.” Bellamy frowned. Was she completely losing it, or had one week of working every day without much of a break already made the day of the week seem completely meaningless? “Right.”

Gwyneth hummed and held out her hand for the mop to return to her. “You arrest anyone lately?”

“Uh… no.” Bellamy’s frown deepened. “Not recently.”

Gwyneth pursed her lips. “What's the point of being a cop if you don't arrest anyone?”

Bellamy started to open her mouth to respond to that, but she quickly thought better of that. She didn't really have the time or the energy to get into an argument with her sister right now. She stared at Gwyneth for a long moment before pulling her gaze away to return her attention to the task of waiting in line. Luckily, she didn't have to wait for long before her mom's warm smile greeted her from behind the counter.

“There’s our favorite police officer!” Her smile widened as she leaned forward on the counter on both hands. “I haven't seen you in days. Come give me a hug.”

“I can't stay long.” Bellamy couldn't quite help the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips at her mom's enthusiasm as she made her way around the counter. “I've gotta get back to work.”

Her mom opened up her arms, and Bellamy hesitated for only a moment before sinking right into the hug. Her shoulders slumped as some of her pent up stress leached out of her, and she buried her face in her shoulder to murmur a quiet “I love you.”

Her mom pulled back after a few seconds. “You're gonna work yourself half to death at this rate.”

“I'm fine, Mom,” Bellamy murmured.

Her mom gently cupped her cheeks in both hands to pull her down to place a kiss on her forehead. Bellamy was tempted to accuse her mom of babying her too much, it felt way too nice right then to complain about.

“Can I…” Bellamy’s voice caught in her throat as she struggled to remember what Yewblade had wanted. “Can I get a black coffee with a shot of caramel and a vanilla latte with a Full Night's Sleep?”

“Sure thing.” Her mom patted her on the shoulder and turned to punch her order into the cash register. “That'll be one hug.”

“You know, I do have actual money,” Bellamy said.

Her mom hummed in acknowledgment and turned to hold her arms out for another hug.

“Mom…” Bellamy heaved a sigh as she accepted the hug, though this time she pulled back after only a couple of seconds. She pulled her wallet out of her back pocket, but her mom grabbed her before she had a chance to pull out any money.

“Go say hi to your mama,” she said. “Your coffee will be ready in a minute.”

Bellamy pursed her lips and willed a couple of five dollar bills from her wallet to teleport into the tip jar before she finally returned her wallet to her pocket. “Mama's in the kitchen, right?”

At her mom's nod of confirmation, Bellamy turned to make her way past towards the kitchen, but she stopped just short of the swinging door as she noticed her brother slamming the lid onto the cup he was holding hard enough that she was momentarily concerned that he was going to spill coffee everywhere.

“Are… you okay?” she asked.

Fabian grumbled under his breath as he tossed the cup over his shoulder so that it would float through the air towards whoever had ordered it. He glanced towards Bellamy for just long enough to give her a good look at his puffed up blue eyes under his glasses.

“I’m fine,” he said, much too forcefully to make himself sound believable.

Bellamy raised an eyebrow at that. “You sure about that?”

Fabian huffed as he yanked the next ticket off of the rack over the counter and grabbed a cup to start brewing the next order.

“Riley broke up with me last night,” he grumbled.

“Oh.” Bellamy frowned. “That sounds like their problem.”

“You don't understand.” Fabian grabbed a second cup to fill. “They texted me to say they didn't want to see me any more. They couldn't even be bothered to call me.”

“You were together like three weeks,” Bellamy said.

Fabian put the lids on both of the cups and sent them flying over his shoulder. “It was four and a half.”

Bellamy rolled her eyes. Honestly, she would have had more sympathy for his situation if she wasn't fairly certain that he would find himself a new partner within the next couple of weeks, but as it was it took all of her willpower not to chuckle at him.

“You'll be fine,” she said instead. She patted him lightly on the back and continued on her way into the kitchen.

The smell of warm chocolate washed over her as soon as she stepped into the kitchen, and her shoulders slumped as she did her best to let the familiar scent help her relax. A smile turned up the corners of her lips at the sight of her mama carefully measuring out muffin batter into a tray, though that smile quickly fell at the serious expression stuck on her face as she looked up from her work towards Bellamy. The line of freckles dotting her cheeks and nose was broken up as she scrunched up her nose in thought, her bright green eyes regarding Bellamy as if she was unsure of what to make of her presence.

“Uh… hi?” Bellamy sounded unsure of herself as she did her best to interpret her mama's expression.

“I've been expecting you.” Bellamy wasn't so sure that her mama meant to sound so ominous, but God she did a good job of that. “It's a big day.” Her mama stepped back from the counter to approach her, leaving the batter frozen mid-pour as the bowl stayed suspended in mid-air. “Isn't it?”

“I…” Bellamy’s voice caught in her throat. “I guess it could be. Why? Did you see something about today?”

Mama didn't actually answer that question. Of course, Bellamy hadn't actually expected her to do so, but it would have certainly made for a pleasant surprise to get a straight answer out of her for once. Instead, she straightened the badge pinned to the front of Bellamy’s shirt and placed a gentle kiss to her cheek. A small white box flew from the shelf behind her into her hands, and she offered the box to Bellamy. “I made you some raisin bread.”

Bellamy accepted the box with a murmur of thanks, though she wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it. Sure, her mama was a damn good cook, but that didn't mean she was good enough to make Bellamy want to eat a raisin.

“Don't worry.” Judging by her tone, Mama must have sensed her confusion. “It'll be important later.”

“Um…” Bellamy took a deep breath, but she fought the urge to question that point. She wasn't so sure there was a proper answer to that anyways. Nevertheless, she trusted her mama's intuition, so she nodded and tucked the box under her arm. “Okay.”

Mama patted her on the shoulder and gave her another kiss on the cheek as she turned to return to her muffins. She poured a couple more muffins before her gaze suddenly snapped back up towards Bellamy. “Oh, and Bel?”

“Y… yeah?” Bellamy inched backward towards the door.

“Don’t blame yourself if today doesn’t turn out the way you were hoping.”

TAGLIST (lemme know if you want to be added or removed): @percvalx, @adaparkwrites

#morgana city murders #wip #writeblr #test scene

7 notes · View notes