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isometimestellstories · 6 years

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Wolfborn by R. H. Wildewood

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" James screamed clear across the room. She felt the glass in Daniel's study tremor.

"You're out of line," The warning was clear in Daniel's tone to everyone but James.

"Where is that line?" James pushed, seventeen years of all aggression. "Huh? Is it at the beginning of Oakhurst? The border of town? Or the driveway of the house?" His words couldn't be more vicious if he tried. He stepped towards his father, nearly fully grown, now, he was almost his exact likeness, down to the exact shade of dark blonde hair, down to the stubborn streak.

"Watch yourself," Daniel warned like he could almost hear James's thoughts.

"Your fears are not mine," James hisses, only a step away from his father. "I won't be trapped here."

"James," Zane says, standing just behind him, calm to James's aggression, both seventeen, both terrified of what they were supposed to become.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, tired of this same song they'd been singing for nearly a month now. Like the peace that normally breezed through Hawthorne House had reached the end of its tether, that seventeen years had to be repaid in a single winter.

"Stay out of this, Zane," Their father warned, not unkindly, not dangerously, but warned all the same.

And it incensed James. "Yeah, two voices of reason are harder to block out than just one," He spits, "Or is it that you would actually listen to him?"

And that breaks the glass. Rebecca pushes off the couch she was sitting on, forces herself in the small space between them both Daniel and James had begun to close, over a head shorter than both of them, and she turns to James.

"He taught you to reason," She whispers, low and soft, because James was her brother still. "Don't be cruel to someone that has only showed you kindness," Because Daniel had taught her to reason, too.

But James's face twists, cruel and snarling, "Sure, little sister, maybe you should speak to him, he'll listen to you," He rasps, because Zane almost heard his thoughts before he'd spoken, and wrapped his arms around James from behind, pulling him back against him.

"Enough," Zane murmurs, close to James' ear, but they're pressed so close together, they all hear. "For today, James, that's enough."

And like Zane had pulled on puppet strings and loosed them, James sinks into himself, and pushes Zane off him with the last bit of his strength. They listen to James half run out of Hawthorne House. And they all flinch when the door bangs.

The driveway to the House was paved as little as possible, the stone laid so delicately it was like they crafted themselves from the ground. The rain soaked trees, autumn colours on the leaves, trying to hold the scents in place for as long as they could. Until the frost came.

Hawthorne House was old trees and aged stone, it was set right against the edge of Oakhurst Woods, the forest wrapping around the back of the imposing House, and when the mist passed through it clung to everything. And this she loved.

The Town was hundreds of years old.

There was a Bistro in the centre of the town, a library that was about the same size as the one at Hawthorne House, a flower shop with a flighty owner that was always about to close down, an apothecary that never had, a bed and breakfast in a House almost as old as Hawthorne, and an artesian store, Ink, Book & Candle, that sold all three things the name suggested in astounding quantities, and was her absolutely favourite place in the entire town, just after Hawthorne House.

And Hawthorne House was one of the oldest in the town. The kind of old ones, built with stone on the outside to withstand centuries, where the kitchen had ornate fixings, old ovens, where the glass was stained in patterns, where the sides of the houses curved around the edges, creating alcoves, where the walls were hung with mirrors and paintings and carved through with niches. And the mailbox outside resembled an ornate birdcage and locked with a skeleton key.

"I'm going to lock up," Daniel says eventually. Its an hour later than he normally would walk, checking all the gates and doors, making sure everything was locked up for the night.

Elizabeth shoots him the ghost of a smile, folding her piano closed. Its part of the tradition. Daniel walks around and locks up, Elizabeth plays at the piano. It marks her night, and she knows it like she knows the sun sets.

"Walk with me, changeling?" Daniel asked, calling her by Elizabeth's nickname, and it makes her fold.

Its colder, with James still not back. But they walk around the House, anyway, through the path that winds from the driveway, to the backyard, past the stables, the cobblestoned pathway lighted on either side by lampposts, her fingers trailing along the ornate metal as they pass it, and they end at Jargon's enclosure, larger than the stables that housed five horses, the Jaguar was beyond competition Daniel's favourite.

And James's.

"What happened to him?" Rebecca whispered, lightly touching the animal's fur as it came up to them.

She'd asked this same question often, and Daniel always told her the same story, again and again, even now, almost a full decade later after she'd heard it, he told it to her again. She asked when she needed solace, when he did.

"He was hunted," Daniel answered, the animal encircling both of them, not as heart-stopping to her anymore as it had been the first time. "He survived, but just barely." He murmured into her mess of curls, pulling her against him.

"So he can't ever go back?" Rebecca asked.

Daniel shook his head, "He wouldn't be safe there."

They had become friends, over the years, her and the jaguar, Jargon.

"Born in captivity he hadn't grown to fear humans properly," Daniel loosens his hold of her, and turns to the jaguar as he spoke. "He'd been raised to be hunted, but he'd been strong, and resilient, and survived the attempt."

She knew the story so well she could recite it half asleep. But sometimes Daniel would bend to the animal, slowly, and it would come to him, and she would think the animal answered Daniel the way Elizabeth did, with all of him.

They had become friends, Jargon and her, but she was nothing to this wild creature, compared to her brother.

James that was all wildfire, took to the Jaguar like he took to everything else. With reckless ease, with tempestuous abandon. And Jargon had taken to him just the same.

Daniel came, every night, as he walked around Hawthorne House, making sure everything was locked and closed properly, to the Jaguar he couldn't let go. He came tonight, because James still hadn't come back.

"He'll come back to you," Rebecca murmurs, and she isn't sure who she's telling, but Daniel moves closer to the animal, and it to him, and they're both looking for someone else.

But James comes back.

He always would. If days later, if weeks, he always comes back, and he folds right into Daniel. The older man leaves the fire he'd been stoking, and wraps his arms around his youngest child.

"'m sorry," James murmurs into his father, the rest of them can barely hear him, they don't hear what else he says, but Daniel's face bleeds calmer.

"We're gonna work this through, you and me," Daniel promises him. James's aggression, Daniel's tight hold, unwilling to back down either of them. It would be a lot to work through, though.

Rebecca turns to Zane, and she knew if she could hear his thoughts, she would hear a mirror of hers. Because it would be so much more, than just James's aggression, than just Daniel's unwillingness to let go. But neither of them press into a war that isn't theirs.

So Rebecca turns away from Daniel clinging to his son, and turns to her mother, instead. She sees Zane hold out watching them for a bit longer, willing to fight James's war for him, if he asked, then he turns with her.

"Tell me a story." Rebecca asks her mother. Elizabeth had thousands of stories, thousands more than her writer husband.

"How did you fall in love with Daniel?"

"Oh, that's a boring story," Her mother waves her hand. "Let me tell you how I fell in love with you, little changeling."

Her mother had taken to call her that, after she told Rebecca about the daughter, Anastasia, she'd lost years ago, and Rebecca told her she had seen the white flowers glowing in the moonlight that she followed right into Hawthorne House. Rebecca once asked her if she ever thought she would rather have her own daughter, than one the fey dropped at her doorstep.

Elizabeth shook her head. She told her if she could, she would take them both, but if she had to choose, she'll keep what she was given.

Rebecca settles into her side with Zane on the floor, his back pressed against the sofa Elizabeth and her are sitting on. The rain is falling in steady sheets, the thunderstorm that cancelled classes for the past three days showing no signs of stopping. James and Daniel are stoking the fire. But Zane is pushing against James with his foot, the younger boy turning to pull faces at him every other minute through Daniel's instruction that may just be falling on deaf ears.

"There used to be an empty space on the mantelpiece." The mantelpiece that used to hold only James' photograph that changed with the years as he had, and an old still of Anastasia that never did.

"But you came, graceful and wild, and everything became whole. My heart, my soul," She pressed into Zane's shoulder, his head leaning on her thigh. "Stuttered when I saw you."

James had given up pretending to listen to Daniel's instructions or his mother's story, and taken to lying across Zane's outstretched legs. Rebecca caught Zane looking at her, and grinned at him. Elizabeth spoke without saying anything of their origins.

Rebecca met them when she'd climbed in through James' bedroom window, about a decade ago, on one of the more severe nights in a winter as bad as theirs now. She'd seen the white flowers pale in the moonlight, crawling across wooden trellises that led from the ground right up to his bedroom window. James, startling out of his sleep, had been very accommodating. Pulling out his secret stash of biscuits, two flashlights, and some pillows and blankets under his bed, where they built a fort. They had both been all of seven years old. Elizabeth woke up to find what looked like either omelettes gone wrong, or two very colourful pancakes, and half her muffin tray finished between her son and a little girl wearing his clothes.

And her heart stuttered.

Zane was in London. James argued that it had been Rebecca's fault. Rebecca would swear that James was to blame. And Zane, never having been one to give credit where it wasn't due, said that while they both each made valiant attempts to make them deserving of all blame, it really had to be shared. They'd been thirteen then. Since James and Rebecca wasn't explicitly told not to leave the hotel room, and being very new at hotel rooms, hadn't thought they needed permission to leave.

So they left, and ended up at a bakery about five blocks down where they witnessed a fight breaking out, and promptly got involved. Someone threw a stone. The next thing either of them knew, they were running through boroughs, drenched through by the rain, till they collapsed on top of each other, against their hotel room door.

Elizabeth found her son and daughter a few hours later, laying on a double bed filled with food, and a boy wearing James' clothes laying between them, as though they'd known each other their whole lives.

And her heart stuttered again.

"You really should stop sharing your clothes with strangers, James," Elizabeth admonished as she always did, when she told the story. "But, whose fault was it?" Elizabeth asked, mischief in her eyes.

"James," Rebecca answered on the tail end of her mother's sentence.

"Rebecca," James frowned at her.

Both turned to Zane. Rebecca looks down at him from her sofa, hanging over the edge, and James looks up at him from the floor, laying across his legs.

"Switzerland," He raised his hands in surrender.

And this is them. Elizabeth's Irish Triplets.

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isometimestellstories · 6 years

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Wolfborn The Book Of Hawthorne - Hawthorne House (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/LcFHpo5dsR Rebecca wasn't born to Daniel Hawthorne and Elizabeth Ridgewood, but they were, in all that she knew, blood to her. Climbing in through a bedroom window of an old and imposing Hawthorne House, to find their son, James, barely a few months younger than her, they had taken her in, and given her their names. But she, in her desperate attempts to hide the secrets behind her brightly burning eyes, hadn't seen the secrets hiding in Hawthorne House. Ten years later now, she will.

#family #humor #orphan #romance #runaway #siblings #urbanfantasy #wolves #fantasy #books #wattpad #amreading

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isometimestellstories · 6 years

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Mudblood Hermione Granger sorted into Slytherin is the first in a century. Blood Traitor Ron Weasley is the only one of his family wearing green. The Boy Who Lived amasses a following from the Dark Lord’s own Deatheaters. Draco Malfoy swears loyalty first.

First

Harry frees a snake from it’s imprisonment. Draco tells them about Nicholas Flamel. They have the Philosopher’s Stone in Hermione’s drawstring purse in under a week. Quirell dies the next. Harry never finds the Mirror of Erised, but if he did, and he stood before it, he wouldn’t see anything more than himself.

Second

Harry and Draco sit discussing the Chamber of Secrets one day in the Slytherin common room. Ron sits down next to them, and stares. He demands they teach him Parseltongue too. Ron finds a book with his sister’s things. Draco recognizes it. It likes Harry, so they add it to Hermione’s drawstring purse. They find the Chamber entrance in one of the portraits in one of the rooms in the Slytherin Common Rooms. Hermione is never attacked by the Basilisk, flanked by two Purebloods and a boy that speaks Parseltongue, the basilisk bows to them all. It obeys the powerful Witch quickest.

Third

The Dementors keep well away from Hogwarts grounds. There’s a boy that summons a Dragon Patronus. A girl that summons a Patronus like a large snake one no has ever seen. But they are mostly kept away by a boy that doesn’t summon one at all. One who’s hair flames red, and eyes shine with power. One that controls Dementors with blood magic. Harry doesn’t end up noticing a black dog slinking around Hogwarts. Ron doesn’t bother much when his rat disappears. He finds a Spider in the Forbidden Forest instead. And models his Patronus after it. Harry never learns to summon a Patronus. He never needs it.

Fourth

Harry’s name is in the Triward Cup and for the first time they taste fear. Because they don’t know who placed it there. They don’t know. They find Mad Eye Moody in a trunk in his office. They don’t find the man that posed as him. Hermione feeds her Basilisk. Their fear had made them merciless to the one that created it. Draco comes back to them with a Dark Mark on his arm, begging them to burn it off him. Ron is halfway to it. But Hermione stops him. Harry places his hand over Draco’s Dark Mark, and for the first time, begs him. Draco gives easily. He makes a better spy than Snape.

Fifth

Snape tries to teach Harry Occlumency. Draco makes a better teacher. And Voldemort stops entering his mind. Harry watches, choosing himself, the works of the Dark Lord. Harry in drawn to the Snake, but is wary of it. They start teaching themselves Defence Against the Dark Arts in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry struggles with the Patronus. They teach themselves Dark Arts. Umbridge uses the Cruciatus on Harry, and it reverberates off him on instinct. And Harry doesn’t struggle as his mouth forms the words Crucio. Ron watches as his Spiders take the woman apart, piece by piece, screaming. Hermione complains about her Basilisk’s share. Loudly. Ron gives her a Locket with an emblazed S in emerald stones found by his Spiders in Umbridge’s remains to appease her. Her Basilisk drips venom on it, but it still shines after. Harry watches Voldemort again. He doesn’t recognize the man being tortured at the Ministry. He dismisses the vision, and closes his mind to Voldemort completely. He turns to the Snake he can somehow still feel. Draco begs his father to allow him to join the mission to the Ministry. The Dark Lord insists. Harry and Hermione Apparate to the Ministry a whole week before. Harry takes the Prophecy. Hermione takes the Time Turners. Draco helps the Dark Lord scour the Prophecy Room for a glass orb he has hidden in his bedroom at Hogwarts. The Ministry never knows they were there. Draco tries not to be disgusted by the stupidity around him.

Sixth

They spend a year in the Room of Requirement. Draco pretends to work on the cupboard. Harry finds a potions book. It has edited recipes Draco taught them all years ago. It has dark curses Hermione performed wandlessly. Dumbledore tries to recruit Harry, and he sets his teeth against it, but this time Draco convinces him. Dumbledore teaches Harry about Horcruxes. Ron wonders about the Philosopher’s Stone they still have. He remembers his sister’s book. Dumbledore gives Harry a Ring with a black stone. Harry sets it atop his invisibility cloak, and Draco frowns, remembering a fairytale. Hermione finds a diadem with dark magic. Like her necklace, her Basilisk purifies it for her. Draco receives his first order. Harry tells him to carry it through. He does. Harry picks up Dumbledore’s wand, and hands it to its new owner. Draco refuses, and tells Harry to take it, and reminds him of a fairytale. And Minerva makes a better Headmistress, anyway.

Summer before the Seventh

Over the Summer, Aunt Bella takes her Draco, Lord Voldemort’s Most Loyal Subject, to her Vault where the Dark Lord has entrusted her with something of immense value. A Founder’s Cup. Draco is almost stunned with the sheer simplicity of this. Voldemort is at Malfoy Manor, he is demanding Lucius Malfoy’s Wand. Narcissa Malfoy is a prisoner in her own home. And Draco is incensed. The Order of the Phoenix arrive at Number Four Privet Drive to move Harry Potter to a safer location. But he is not there. His Aunt, Uncle and cousin have been rotting corpses for almost seven years. He hasn’t been there for nearly just as long. Harry Potter, wearing a piece of cloth around him, a small stone in his pocket, and a piece of wood in his hand, is at Malfoy Manor. Where he has been for nearly six full Summers. Draco moves to stand at Voldemort’s side. The place of the Most Loyal Subject. Harry sits in Draco’s empty seat on Voldemort’s right hand. Draco has to bite down a smile. Aunt Bella is crowing about Honour. Because Hermione plays a part perfectly. Corban Yaxley is debating with Snape about the Ministry, he has his wand lain on the table before him in a show of trust and loyalty. And Ron had learnt a lot from his father, after all. Bellatrix moves from her seat, to the other end of the table, declaring loyalty. Voldemort instructs her to prune her family tree. With a wicked glint in her eyes Draco knows could never be his aunt, she takes out, a cup, a necklace she has always worn, a diadem she sometimes danced with, and places it on the table, and curtsies. Yaxley places a book with a Basilisk’s tooth through it on the table before him. Draco places a Ringed hand on Voldemort’s shoulder. The Dark Lord is unable to speak, caught in a wordless body bind. Unaware of everything, the Deatheaters stare at Bellatrix, at Yaxley, at the snake making it’s way down the table. Turning just right of Voldemort. His Snake winds itself around a new Master it owes its freedom to. And Harry Potter whispers into the Dark Lord’s ear. Voldemort doesn’t die. Not truly. Its just, his name changes. And their Seventh Year is largely uneventful.

#harry potter #Harry Potter AU #Dark Trio #Slytherin Harry #Slytherin Ron #Slytherin Hermione #Draco Malfoy #Hermione Granger #Ron Weasley #Dark Harry #Dark Ron #Dark Hermione #Dark Draco #But then thats normal

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isometimestellstories · 6 years

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I kept watching 13 Reasons Why waiting for the good moments, waiting for the happy ending. Waiting for when the dead girl would just come back to life.

#13 reasons why #13rw #Hannah Baker

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isometimestellstories · 7 years

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Evie was the best damn thing in Descendants 2. Designer dress making and high school. Scheduling appointments around her classes time. Helping the kids on the Isle. A good, open communications, honest relationship. She deserves awards.

#Evie #Descendants

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isometimestellstories · 7 years

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I don’t care what happens to me.

#Magnus Bane #Shadowhunters #Malec

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isometimestellstories · 7 years

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So Here’s One:

It was a dark night. They’d all been dark nights, lately. In this small town just too far out. But the fire’s glow covered everything. And the dark panels shone. “What did you see?” They asked her. “I don’t.” She shook her head. “I remember.” She had been the victim that night. And the detective now. They’d offered the story to someone else, but she’d refused. She’d written everyone’s stories, she couldn’t refuse her own. She closed her eyes, and everything cleared. There was a treasure hunt, that night. Even under the darkness that gripped the town. They’d put marked cloth all over the town, they’d put some in her house, too. At the corner passage, on the turn before the stairs. “All places you could be ambushed,” She heard someone say. She wasn’t alone, this time. She was always alone, when she rewrote the story, this time, though, she couldn’t be. “Nina?” Someone else, “Should we leave?” She shook her head. She was in her memories, so far deep it would be jarring to pull her out. So it was difficult for her to see what was around her. “Stay.” They moved through the house, last night and now. She climbed the first few steps then turned around. This was where she’d found the first cloth. Excited, she’d ripped at it. And the other woman with her had gone for the others. “There’s so much,” Someone sad, staring at all the fabric littered around. “Look at that,” She heard her own. “Look at this.” She turned to the stairs and the corner passage. Covered with the stupid material. “There must be a hundred pieces here.” The rest of the town must be covered in this much. “It’s sentient.” Someone said. “The monster is sentient.” “The place is clear,” She shook her head. “I mean, it was here. A darkness, such, a darkness. But it’s gone, the place is clear.” “This is scary, now.” Someone else. She needed to take their names, soon. “Its not just random, its not even just specific, its,” “Planning,” She said. “Hunting. How many are dead?” Two less than there should be. They had been marked for last night. But would it try again, or move on? She pulled her hoodie tighter against her small frame. Of all the victims, how had she survived, as tiny as she was, when all she knew how to do was read a story. “What did it look like?” Someone asked her, after. She answered without thinking, “The Grim Reaper.” “Will you stay here tonight?” Another someone. “Where else?” She answered.

“Most people can’t want to flee small towns,” He said. “They don’t know what they’re doing,” She answered. “In small little towns anything can happen.” It had, here. “They’re steeped in history. A sleepy little town keeps more secrets than half of New York. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t sell my apartment in the city. But I’m glad I bought this house here.” “This thing that’s attacking,” He told her. “What would they say about it in New York?” A hundred dead. In this sleepy little town almost everyone lost someone. But in New York, even there this much would be noticed. But the creature was intelligent. If it could plan to get them cornered, trapped in a house where they were already alone, leave the pieces of cloth they had to look for, who knows what it could have done in New York. And that only confused her more how they had survived. And her mind played back to that night. She’d been wrapped in a huge dark red sweater, warm socks and the storm outside. The fire burnt without a scent, and an evergreen in the living room. Warm golden light covered everything like a blanket, the sofa they were laying on, the table between them and the fire, the hot chocolate standing on it. Their laughter played over everything. On the stairs, excited as they’d seen the treasure hunt marks, her ripping on, Rose reaching for another one, then so many in the living room. And then the creature. She’s in the kitchen. Staring at it watching her. Through the glass of the white panelled back door. It wasn’t so scary, she’d had worse nightmares. But then, that time she hadn’t been expecting an attack, she’d been able to deal with it as best as she could then and accept the rest. But now. Now she wasn’t sure what to expect, knowing that something was coming. “Nina?” He called. “Hey you still here? Or in that dreamlike state of yours, what do you call it, writing stories?” “Its what the Sheriff calls it,” She answered. But it wasn’t far off from the truth. At only twenty three, she wasn’t anywhere near her level of fieldwork, but when she told them to clear a room they did. To let her write a story. It normally led to the killer, and that saved unnamed victims. Here the victim that could be saved had a name. Hers. It was a ghost town, this home of theirs. And that was on one of their best days. The town was always covered in darkness, overcast of grey clouds, almost constant. And she should have guessed something would happen. Monsters drew to darkness, after all. She could flee. But if it wanted to, she was sure this thing would follow her. She’d rather fight it here, in this little town, where, when darkness envelopes, they dress in masks, and start a hunt.

#Halloween #Story #Writing #Original Work

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