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littlemisslipbalm · 9 months

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Demonology - Part 4

Just Like Heaven -- Jake x f!Reader x Josh

Series Summary: A new demon has come to Nashville. Josh and Jake's ways of life have been thrown off by her arrival. The angel and demon have lived with an understanding of one another, but with Y/N stirring up trouble and asking questions, they're forced to work out a new normal. And why is she so powerful for a human turned demon anyway, that's unusual, right?

A/N: heyyooo new chappie! I do not have the next one written at all unfortunately so it may take awhile to upload but thank you to all who read...to all those who have been wanting to fuck angel!josh...lets just say your prayers may have been answered. lmk what you think :)

Chapter Summary: Flashbacks and angel sex and demonic anxiety attacks OH MY!

Word Count: 3.9k | Warnings: Smut (pretty explicit) 18+ always!!!!, explicit language, alcohol consumption, dubious understandings of demonology like always (sorry!), Josh and Jake chapter yay!, angst and plot!

Join the Taglist! | Masterpost (catch up on the rest of the story here)

Part 4: Just Like Heaven

1972. Los Angeles, California

4 years before she died.

Y/N was having the time of her life. Rori was in her arms as she sat on the side of the Forum stage, atop an amp, swinging her legs back and forth to the guitar riff Jimmy was winding down.

She hollered and threw her head back, in awe and joy. She was coked out of her mind and a little drunk but she was oh so free.

At 21, she’s been in this world of musicians and lovers and adventure, making trouble, for around six years. From lead singers to roadies and fellow fans, she’d made a lot of friends. Everyone around most of the theaters in LA and Inglewood recognized her by then.

She didn’t have to say her name at a single door or even have a name on any list. When people saw her coming they let her in, knowing a wicked good time was about to be had by everyone. No one ever had a bad thing to say about her either. It was incredible. Wicked.

So it confused her when she was taking a smoke break at the side stage door and a guy in a black leather duster and dark sunglasses didn’t seem to notice her at all. People loved talking to her, she often felt like a bit of a celebrity. And her hazy mind made her feel a little indignant that he didn’t even chance a look as she stood beside him smoking a cig looking as sexy as ever.

Half way through the smoke, she glanced to her right still feeling his presence and growing more agitated. It was strangely just the two of them out there. Both smoking. She couldn’t bear the quiet.

“Hey, cowboy.”

He finally looked over when she spoke and she grinned her best smile. He nodded a curt nod and took another drag, turning to face forward again.

She worried her brow and twisted so she was fully facing this guy. It was curious rather than malicious when she asked: “What’s your deal?”

He threw another glance her way but she couldn’t see his eyes with the dark-tinted sunglasses he wore. “Sorry?”

“Are you new over here? I’ve never seen you around before.”

He chuckled and she wasn’t sure what she had said that was funny. He flicked the butt of his cigarette across the alley, the cherry fizzing out as it glowed for a moment and faded into the night.

“C’mon man,” she whined. “Give me a clue.” He couldn’t be a rockstar even though he had the look about him. She knew them all. Intimately.

“Friend of the devil.” He shuffles his glasses to his breast pocket and in the light it looks like there’s a flash of yellow in his eye, but she thought that was just the drugs messing with her as she tried to focus on the stranger.

“Oh! Dead and company! I’ve always wanted to make it up to San Francisco. They just keep me so busy here.” She is alight with excitement. The Grateful Dead were pretty incredible even if she’d never seen them.

“I’m usually out in Nashville. But San Fran sure is…a scene.” He shrugs, noncommittal in his words, unsure himself why he was entertaining this conversation.

“So you really don’t know who I am?” She’s simpering, teasing in tone as she twists her legs, lengthening her body against the brick wall.

He won’t look at her but she can’t stop looking at him. His hair is long and pretty, a little unruly, but he’s beautiful. His silhouette is illuminated by the street lamp, leaving him in intense shadow and light. His prominent nose, his strong jaw, and his sunken eyes. He was the prettiest thing. She thought she’d never forget him.

“This is Los Angeles, correct?” He chuckles again, looking down his nose at her. “I find it hard to believe that you think any old stranger would just know who you are.”

“I’m pretty notorious.” She leans her head to the side, still showing herself off for him, but he doesn’t seem affected.

“So am I, doll, and you didn’t know me,” he raises his eyebrows. “So maybe let’s call it even.”

“Deal,” she grins, extending her recently freed hand towards the man. She shook it at him as he looked at it reluctantly. “C’mon, baby.”

He shook his head in disbelief. She was strange. A mix of sweet and sour. Pure and evil. Strange but he took her hand nonetheless. She bit her lip at the touch. He was cooler than she’d expected but it was welcome.

“You wanna come?” She asks after a moment, not letting go of the stranger's hand, nodding towards the door she’d exited less than 10 minutes ago. “I can get you in to meet Jimmy and the boys. Jimmy’s real nice.”

He chuckled again, removing his hand from hers with a tug. “Another time. I was just passing through.” He pushed off the wall and chanced another glance back at her face as he moved to place his sunglasses back on.

“Catch you on the other side!” She called when she caught his eyes, gleaming yellow once more before he disappeared. She hadn’t realized the corner was so close but she didn’t think about it twice, hearing one of the boys calling her name from inside.

Present Day. Nashville, Tennessee

47 years after she died. 4 months since she’d been back. 30 minutes since she’d left the dive bar. 1 hour since Jake had left her.

The moon was still high in the sky when Josh got home from the bar and was in the middle of taking off his blood-ridden shirt in his entryway. He wasn’t sure if it was salvageable and as he was inspecting it with disinterest, the last thing he expected happened. A soft knock sounded. Y/N was at his door.

Hurrying to the door, he opened it a crack, eyes wide and mouth ajar. Shirtless despite his efforts to stay behind the wood. She smiled shyly, unlike herself.

“How did you know where I live?”

“You said ‘come over, anytime I need’. Is now not anytime?”

Josh chuckled, “Yeah, I just hadn’t expected you to take me up on that invitation, what, a half hour after I’d extended it.”

She bit her lip, feeling the emotions flowing off Josh already. “Well I need it. Can I come in? I think we have some unfinished business.”

“Damnit,” Josh sighed to himself, hanging his head and opening the door wider. She made him weak.

She smirked and tried to channel her excitement into casual cockiness. Like she’d always known he’d fold. “Isn’t swearing wrong, Joshua?”

“Shut up,” He shook his head, locking the door again and meeting her in the dimly lit hallway. “I can’t believe you came here. Like this.”

She had changed on her way over. A body-hugging slip dress barely covered her skin. It was an iridescent light blue satin. Josh couldn’t take his eyes off her body. She had dressed it up for him.

“I realized I wasn’t ready to say goodnight.” She replied, allowing him to back her up into the cream wall. Her hands reached up to play with his necklace, fingering the shiny beads. “And I can feel that you wanted to see me too. I felt you at the bar, watching me and Jake. How you wanted it to be you. I can feel you.” She breathed the words softly, their breath mingling with the faces inches apart. She pressed her hands against his warm chest. “You radiate towards me. Constantly.”

Josh hummed, fingers dancing over the silk concealing her waist. Beneath was the skin he couldn’t take his eyes off of all night. She was right. Because of Jake, because of her, but mostly because of himself, he was about to screw his greatest temptation. Maybe still half in spite of Jake tonight.

Josh thought she must have come to his apartment immediately. She must have known his resolve was at his weakest. A few drinks in and jealous, needy for her touch and here she was stepping onto his doormat, presenting herself for the taking. She made doing the wrong thing too easy. But, Jesus, all he thought about at night was her and the images she’d shown him, wishing they were real. Wishing he could forget all about her.

She pushed her hips towards Josh's, pressing them even closer together as he rested his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath. Exactly how he’d wished he’d been in Jake’s place at the bar.

“This is wrong,” Josh’s voice is shakey, fanning hot against her skin.

“This isn’t wrong. This is right, I swear. Can’t you feel it,” her voice is sickly sweet again, whispering just for Josh. “It’s okay, Angel. It’s okay to want me. I want you, too.”

“What about Jake?” Josh selfishly wanted to know where his brother fell in this equation. He took solace in the fact that she was with him instead of Jake but he didn’t know if that should actually reassure him.

“What about Jake?” She repeated. Her eyes stare into Josh’s with a scary intensity he’d never seen from her. She knew he’d overheard what Jake had said. Never again. He must have heard it.

Josh swallowed and she caressed the skin around his throat where his Adam's apple had moved. She smiled.

Maybe he was trying to prolong the inevitable. The sin he was about to commit. That he couldn’t come back from. Maybe if he talked about Jake enough she’d leave him for his twin. It was something he both wanted and couldn’t stand. His voice is choked up, pinched. “Won’t he mind?”

“He made it clear he doesn’t want me…again. But if you’re worried about him, Angel, it can be our little secret. Now kiss me, sweetheart. I know you want to.”

The way she called Josh that pet name made it sound like a curse but it still made him press his lips against hers. Fervent and desperate to taste her again. He pressed into her more and she opened her legs, allowing his to slip between hers, slotting them closer than ever before. Immediately she ground down onto the thick of Josh’s thigh, relieving the pressure growing in her core minutely.

“Dear god,” Josh gasped when he pulled away from her for a moment.

He could feel her wetness on his thigh already and the press of her hardened nipples against his chest. She grinned at him, her smile fucked out and devious. This was exactly what she needed. He was exactly what she needed.

“They’re not here…Take me to your bedroom, Joshua, and have me anyway you want me. My treat.” She nipped at his lower lip and he felt an ache in his chest and his pants. She was sin incarnate and he couldn’t wait to taste it any longer. “Please.”

“Oh,” He whispered, but she caught it. He was too close to miss a thing. The ‘please’ had gotten him.

His fantasies were becoming reality and grew tenfold in front of his eyes as they made their way to his bedroom. Drapes of white and cream extended around it. Votive candles in golden vases and holders were scattered around the room and offered a warm light. They illuminated his floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled with hundreds of books, and paintings of foggy serene landscapes in lilac and robin’s egg blue. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t be fucked to take the time to appreciate it all. Her mind was filled with Josh.

“You’re so wet,” Josh mumbled, pressing his thigh into her center again as he laid her gently down on his sheets.

She grinned up at him, her hands wrapped around his neck, curling into his soft hair. “So this isn’t your first rodeo, angel?”

Josh pecked her lips and moved to litter tender kisses on her cheeks, jaw and neck. “I’ve had a few committed relationships over the years,” he mumbles. “They couldn’t exactly last, though.”

She nodded in understanding, petting over the nape of his neck and over his broad, strong shoulders, creamy skin. Soft as silk.

He inhaled deeply, taking her in. “This dress,” He ran his thumb up and down the fabric on her hip.

“Just for you, angel. I know how you hate all my black and red.”

“S’not that,” He kisses down her chest, kneading her breasts through the fabric and then slipping a hand down between her legs.

“Then what is–oh! Oh fuck!” Her hands gripped for purchase on Josh’s shoulders. Her thoughts derailed.

Josh’s fingers had slipped between her folds and swirled around her clit. “So wet,” he repeated and she groaned, in disbelief this was happening. “No panties.”

She hummed in agreement, body beginning to work with his fingers with small thrusts. “Was hoping I wouldn’t need them. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Dirty, dirty demon,” He whispers, breathless at the feeling of her heat. How his fingers feel inside her, thinking about what it will feel like when he sinks in. He burrows his face into her neck, laving kisses into her skin, feeling thankful. “So good, baby. Oh, wow.”

She whined at his words. She wanted to worship Josh as he began to fuck into her every way he needed after he made her cum the first time with his fingers. He was so strong and powerful, yet so gentle with his touch. It was long, a strong ocean wave, pounding into her steadily, filling her with his heavy cock. Angelic strength and stamina. The room seemed to glow a golden light emanating from every inch of Josh’s skin. The same gold as the fading sun on that same rippling sea, where the light catches the movement just right and it’s pure reflected light. She came three more times before she began to feel Josh let up. A little. She was feeling euphoric.

He wanted to switch positions. It was the one his fantasies often drifted to. Her dress had been discarded on the floor a long time ago. Her beautiful body was on full display for him as he whispered in her ear how he wanted her and she giggled, practically purring in compliance.

As she moved to turn around, her eye caught something in the dresser mirror. The golden light that emanated from Josh, bathing him in a shiny glitter that stuck to his skin, had fallen onto her own skin. Together, they were both bathed in liquid gold. Instead of angels and demons, she swore they resembled gods, gods caught in the most human of acts.

Hands and knees on the bed, she presented her ass towards Josh and stretched her back. Lengthening her torso, she leaned her head down into the sheets. Josh watched her move, lithe and practiced. Breathtaking. Unmatched. He was catching his breath at the side of the bed, one leg already bent on the bed and the other keeping him standing. His eyes couldn’t leave her body. He would’ve fucked her forever if he could.

She wiggled her ass and whined his name, effectively getting his attention and breaking his reverie. He thrust into her from behind and she moaned out and he grinned, smoothing his hand down her naked ass and lower back. She pushed back on his length, meeting him in the middle.

“Good girl.” He mumbled. His hands spread her ass checks and got lost in the trance of their bodies meeting. How he disappeared inside her and how her body welcomed him, never wanting him to leave, sucking him in deeper and begging him to never leave. How could something feel so right be so wrong?

“So good, Josh. Fuckin’ me so good. Thank you, angel.” She breathed, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy. “Love it, love you…”

Josh was sure he misheard her. Surely she hadn’t just said–he was distracted by his imminent orgasm that led him to a different headspace all together. He moaned as he came inside her and she whined in agreement. “Let it all out, baby.”

She hadn’t even heard herself.

When Josh woke up the next day, he was naked and alone in his plush bed. His eyes scanned the room, feeling calmer. Maybe that had just been a really weird and vivid dream. He tried to believe himself until he saw the satin blue dress on his floor. Oh fuck.

He threw himself back into the pillows and covered his face with his hands groaning into the silence. He’d gone somewhere he couldn’t come back and now he was left in the after of it all.

Picking up the evidence of the previous night, he wandered around his home, muttering to himself and feeling immense shame. As well as another emotion. He longed for Y/N. Why had she left him before he had woken up?

No note. Just the dress which he assumed she didn’t want now that it had done its job. It wasn’t her color after all.

Josh showered off the remainder of the evidence from last night, gold flecks drifting off his skin and swirling down the drain, a river of gold shame.

She tiptoed back into her apartment around sunrise after leaving Josh’s. She couldn’t bear to face him in the light of day. He had bestowed the exact gift she had longed for since she’d laid eyes on his glowing skin, but it felt wrong to lay with him afterwards.

She had waited for his breathing to even, his mind going to another place, before she untangled from his angelic body. Something had been repeating in her head the moment he had finished in her for the final time.

She wasn’t good. She was wrong. She had led him astray.

She had expected pure bliss to continue flowing through her when he had laid beside her, caressing her skin gently with sweet innocent kisses placed against her temple as he mumbled a song under his breath. It was beautiful and tender. She wanted to be at peace.

Instead, she felt disgusting shame. Like she has done something terribly wrong. It made her skin crawl. She didn’t understand the sensation. She didn’t feel this feeling. Ever. As a demon or as a human (or whatever Josh and Jake think she was).

So he eventually fell asleep and she fled because maybe if she got away from him the feeling would go away. She didn’t have time to test that theory.

Jake was sprawled across her couch with Rori wrapped around his chest in his chupacabra form, cooing to the animal until his yellow eyes flicked up to her figure.

Clad in last night’s original red and black outfit and covered in gold, she stood in her doorway frozen.

“Your animal was feeling neglected.” Jake lifts the dog off of him and sits up. “How was dear brother Josh?”

She opened her mouth but no words came out, she just stepped inside and Jake shut the door behind her with his mind. She closed her mouth.

Jake continues, eyes still gleaming as they flicked up and down her face and torso. “He’s all over you.”

“Why do you care?” She finally manages to get out.

“I don’t.” Jake smiles wickedly. “Just making conversation based on observation, kid.”

“Get out of my apartment, I’m not in the mood.” She decides that being punished by Jake wasn’t helping her situation.

“I’ve heard celestial fornication creates something of this,” he pauses, finger swiping along her collarbone, suddenly at her side. Their opposite shoulders were beside each other as he inspected the fine gold smattering of flecks that had come off onto his fingertip. “Sort. But I wasn’t an angel long enough for me to ever find out first hand. Not that they’re supposed to…is he okay now that he’s got his wings wet?”

“Wh-what?” She steps back from Jake, still reeling from the night with Josh and the information at the bar and now Jake in her apartment. It all was happening too fast, she felt her head swimming. The room was too hot. Jake was too similar to Josh in this moment. Her eyes were blurring, it was like Jake’s face was shifting or morphing into Josh’s as she stuttered. Spinning around and around. “Wings…wet…what?”

Jake’s eyes widened, the smirk on his face quickly sliding off as he watched Y/N, her eyes flickering in her head to black. She took another step back from him and this time Jake took a step forward, following after her staggering body.

“My head,” She groaned, clutching a hand at her forehead, and Jake grabbed for her elbows, realizing she was about to collapse.

“Woah, woah,” He says, carefully easing her body weight into him. “It was just some light teasing for bagging my angel brother, don’t go discorporating on me.”

He carries her to her couch as carefully as possible despite his awkward hold on her, adjusting her so that he can sit by her legs and lean over her, staring into the abyss of her still black eyes. Rori is on the back of the couch, staring down at his master. One of Jake’s hands is smoothing over her forehead and then down over her hair as he inspects her. She can make out his snake-like eyes shifting quickly back and forth between hers.

“Can you hear me, Sal?” He asks weakly, giving away his distress.

Her lips part, “Did you just give me a fucking demonic anxiety attack?”

“I don’t think so…asshole,” He adds with a joking lilt in his voice, glad she was able to joke, meaning it couldn’t be that bad. “I don’t know. Maybe. This has never happened before?”

“No,” She murmurs, reaching out to her dog to scratch at his ears–that servant of hell might’ve been wrong, this little monster might end up being her ESA. She takes a deep breath, still feeling a little overheated. “Maybe don’t ambush your colleagues from now on.”

“I thought you were made of stronger stuff, kid.”

She huffs and Jake bites at his inner lip at his ability to bother her, just a little. His demonic self couldn’t help the pleasure it brought even if he was also genuinely worried about her well-being.

“Sorry,” he says half-heartedly. “Just wasn’t expecting to see you come home in eau-de-Josh.”

“Yeah, well I wasn’t planning on it,” She says. Her eyes were slowly fading from black and back to her average color. “Going or you seeing me right after the fact.”

Jake almost smiled and then quickly suppressed it, leaning back from her as she shuffled up onto her elbows. “Well this settles it.” He says with a finality that she doesn’t understand at all.

What she wanted was some peace and quiet, but it seemed the universe–and Jake, had other plans for her.

“What do you mean?”

“Now we really need to figure out what you are because my bet is that your little mystical panic attack is linked to the questions surrounding your powers and true parentage.” He runs a hand through his hair, before tapping his fingers against his lips. She could see the thoughts rapidly racing through his mind.

“That seems like a leap,” She says, unsure.

Jake leans closer and they are once again within each other’s breathing spaces. “Like I said last night. The things you do, including this, aren’t normal for demons. You are not normal and I fear that means you may be in serious trouble that we cannot even begin to fathom.”

Her eyes flutter at his words hitting her face. His voice was low and raspy, urgent. She licked at her lips and watched his eyes flicker to the movement.

“So no pressure, huh?”

To be continued....

Taglist: @ofthecaravel @gretavanfreaky @sinarainbows @jaketlove @mysticalstarcatcher @whiterosekiszka @sacredjake @beingextraisfun @malany-gvf @joshysgirl @ascendingtothestarssasone @amygvf13 @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @alwaysonthemend @lvnterninthenight

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milfjagger · 10 months

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okay so... give us the list of folk horror films that are good please. 🤲

ok this took a while but here we go! it ended up being more than 10 lol

the wicker man (1973) - the definitive british folk horror film. midsommar wants to be the wicker man soooo bad it's embarrassing

the blood on satan's claw (1971) - i haven't seen this one in a long time but it's a pretty chilling early 70s british film centring around a demonic cult in 18th century england

night of the demon (1957) - ok so you know the sample at the beginning of hounds of love by kate bush, where a voice says "it's in the trees! it's coming!" that's from this film!!!! just barely in the folk horror category but it's based on a story by m.r. james who is one of THE iconic folk horror writers so imo it counts

a warning to the curious (1972) - also based on a story by m.r. james, this was part of a long-running annual bbc series called 'a ghost story for christmas'. it's only about 30 minutes long and very dated but I think that gives it extra charm and even a bit of extra creepiness

the juniper tree (1990) - icelandic retelling of the grimm's fairy tale, starring björk and featuring an incredibly beautiful soundtrack

the company of wolves (1984) - based on the short stories of angela carter in her compilation 'the bloody chamber'. this is probably more fairytale horror than folk horror but i LOVE this film and if you like intense psychosexual overtones and incredible practical effects then you will too

the devil rides out (1968) - classic hammer horror with christopher lee so you know it's gonna be a banger

wake wood (2009) - probably the most underrated irish horror film of all time (and that's saying a lot bc there really aren't many). really scary film with the "came back but wrong" premise. watch this one

the hallow (2013) - another one from ireland. it's not amazing but including it bc i don't think i've ever seen another horror film fully embrace the idea that faeries are actually terrifying. practical effects are also cool as hell

kill list (2011) - i'll be honest with you I didn't understand half of what was happening in this film and it's been on my to-rewatch list for ages. it starts out as a cerebral cop drama and descends into absolute madness like it literally has to be seen to be believed

a field in england (2013) - probably the modern folk horror film that comes closest to what british directors were doing with the genre in the 70s. it's trippy, impenetrable and often kinda funny, i really recommend this one

pyewacket (2017) - offbeat canadian indie film that you will either find really creepy or really boring. i thought the ending in particular was incredibly chilling

the ritual (2017) - i feel like everyone has seen this film at this point but i had to recommend it anyway bc it blends folk horror with monster movie and it's super fucking terrifying. i also highly recommend the novel by adam neville which if anything is even scarier

the witch (2015) - again everyone has seen this and has an opinion but it's one of my favourite horror films of all time

pet sematary (1989) - the iconic stephen king classic that is still really scary to this day

pumpkinhead (1988) - another film that is super underrated imo. people who love the creature design in the ritual should remember the OG

men (2022) - controversial opinion perhaps but i think this film was actually kinda brilliant. if nothing else it is super twisted and horrifying

on my list of i haven't watched this yet but people say it's really good: penda's fen (1974), witchfinder general (1968), the lair of the white worm (1988) (i know i know i call myself a ken russell fan and i haven't even seen lair of the white worm)

a radio play: children of the stones on bbc radio 4 (available on spotify hee hee)

and a couple of books: fairy tale (1996) by alice thomas ellis, and the owl service (1967) by alan garner. the owl service is for kids but it really did a number on me aged 12 and it still holds up as a classic. I think there's an old bbc series but i haven't got round to watching it yet :)

#I hope you enjoy these !!! i really really love the genre i just wanted to share some of that love around :^)

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neuroprincess · 11 months

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Lady's Lover: The Origin of the Dimitrescu Sisters - Alcina Dimitrescu/OC (reader)

Prologue

Alcina Dimitrescu/Original Character (reader)

Fanfic Chapter List

Summary: Melina Mayer has always lived within the confines of the farm and her family, unaware of the atrocities of the village until she reaches age 22, when, by a stroke of luck, is sold to the Dimitrescu family. The girl immediately wins over the Lady, but discovers the dark side of life, her past, carnal pleasures and all that this can provide.

Warnings: OC (original character), swearing, period misogyny, implied human trafficking, medium violence

Word count: +2200

Unrevised

December, 1972

Melina sighs and rubs the cloth hard against the wooden floor, diluting the dirt from the shoes of the other residents in house. The boot prints have slowly disappeared as the cloth becomes increasingly muddy and sticky, the girl sighs again, because this was one of the last cleaning cloths cleaned and there is still much to be done. Her mother, a stubby lady with red hair and a serious expression, runs back and forth in the kitchen, alternating between preparing lunch and supervising her youngest daughter's chores. She gives an approving look when seeing the impeccably clean surface, the girl gives the work as finished and stands up, feeling her legs tingling from being in the same position for so long, and gathers the bucket of water to throw it away.

"Should I tidy the rooms or clean the stable?" asks Melina after getting rid of the dirty water.

"The stable first, feed the horse. Then tidy the rooms, Mihai and Lucian's rooms too, they are coming back from the village."

"But so early? They usually spend at least a week there." she thinks too loudly, finding strange that their trip was so quick, their return so sudden "Could they have done something?"

"Get back to work and stop questioning things that don't involve you." replies Tatiana snidely, showing irritation and discomfort with the situation, wanting to avoid the conversation that was coming "And don't forget to prepare Nadja's dress."

"Yes, Mother." murmurs Melina, a little resentful that she is being excluded from family matters again.

But she soon forgets that feeling and euphoria takes over, curious to know what her twin sister, non-identical and a few minutes older, would do, living completely isolated from the village and being a travelers' inn on a rough stretch they don't have many special events or visitors. So new or festive clothes are rarely used, just when something important happens. Like the marriage of the oldest brother, firstborn George II, with one of the village girls. A union that is a constant object of reproach for Constantin, the second son of the family, who swears to everyone that he saw her in some brothel years before. After them, there are Mihai and Lucian, two strong and flirtatious men, born only 11 months apart, that have become very close and are each other's best friends. Then Nicolae, considered the cultured brother, who prefers books and studies to the manual work on the farm. And one year after him came the twins Nadja and Melina, the first girls in six generations of Mayer's family. The patriarch was very proud and in love with his little daughters until the day he died.

"Watch where you're going, slut!" shouts one of the travelers at her, while accidentally bumping into each other on the way to the stable, the girl too distracted by her own thoughts and trying not to freeze in the snow.

"Sorry." she simply replies, ignoring the insults, used to this kind of behavior.

The man continues to curse, but Melina is too excited to give a care about him, besides, there are more important things than a man with bruised ego. She enters the stable, relieved that it has been barely used in the last few days, the blizzard seems to have scared off any fool who would have thought of venturing into the mountains. The idea of finishing the most difficult task of the day quickly cheers her up even more, so that there is time to talk to sister and gather information from brothers. Even though she has lived in the region since birth, the girl has never been allowed out of house, except for the trips to the neighboring farm with her father as she did in childhood, her life has been limited to the inn where she was born and the siblings and travelers, who have filled her with ideas about the world beyond the fences and the forest. She wants to experience everything about what she has heard, go to a ball, visit the fair, have a best friend, fall in love, kiss someone, make babies (as one traveler's wife shyly named sex for her) and, not the least, have a place where she feels at home. Of course the girl loves her family, all the siblings and mother, but since the sudden death of her father nothing has been the same. The house has become lifeless, Tatiana never again gave a smile that reached her eyes, George had to mature early to help his family, the other children resented fate, Melina barely remembers the happy and prosperous times.

"How are you today, my sweet Thunder?" she hums to their pet horse, a five-year-old dark brown chestnut. The animal howls in return, excited at smelling food coming from the girl's bag "You are such a gluttonous boy." she wastes no time in taking the corn and carrots, leftover crops from last season, and giving them to Thunder "Winter is almost over, soon you will be able to run around the meadows again. Maybe Consty will let me ride you this year and we can go to the waterfalls together to cool off. Just you and me."

Melina's favorite season is spring, when it isn't too hot and she isn't punished by the intense cold, daily chores become easier, illnesses strike less often and there is that pleasant feeling of the sun beating against her pale face, even the farm animals seem happier with the mild weather. During winter and autumn the farm suffers losses with the thick snow obstructing movement, nothing survives on the ground and the foxes wander silently behind the smaller animals, so the extra rooms in the family house are rented out to passing travelers, the farm being well on the way to the village, so they make a subsistence living in the cold season. Summer and spring are dedicated to cultivating and harvesting the large crops that the fertile land provides with the summer rains, so part of the food is carefully stored, the other part sold to the villagers and the duke. The money is not much, but enough to maintain the place and feed them for the next few months. The girl would be lying if she said she enjoys working in the fields, luckily Tatiana leaves her with all the housework and once the family is out the doors she sneaks out into the expanse of the farmland, climbing trees, running after the animals, napping on the grass and swimming in the pond. These are her moments of peace, the soft memories that she recalls every night to help her sleep during the cold. And also to distract herself during the work, in half an hour she finishes cleaning the place, a little disheartened by the fact that soon her brothers will be back with their own horses dirty with mud and pebbles in their hooves, making everything dirty again. She is putting the rake away when hears screams and a stirring movement coming from the main house, Melina immediately puts the chore aside, running towards the noise. She imagines the worst, like that brute who attacked her touching her mother or Nadja, drunken George making a jealous scene again, she even imagined Nadja getting naughty with one of the travelers and the more conservative brother teaching her some lesson. She knows how he can be, has experienced it in the skin in a literal way and there is a scar on her shoulder to prove it, the narrow mark of the whip etched into the fragile skin. Constantin can become violent. But nothing prepared her for finding a half-naked young woman running toward her, the two of them meeting in a crash that knocks both down in the fluffy snow. Behind them, Tatiana is red in an angry expression, George and Ingrid, his wife, struggle to control the woman as she tries to walk up to the girl with the intention of assaulting her. Nicolae, who is also half-naked, watches the whole scene unfold with a look of guilt and concern. The brute laughs and walks towards them, lifting the other girl in the air, only to throw her in front of the Mayer matriarch, Melina stares at him, trying to guess his next move. He doesn't look very smart, but he's not dumb, she would say, just not one of the best outlaws.

"Mrs. Mayer, your son just ruined my merchandise, we have to do something about it."

The woman tenses and pulls herself together, her son and daughter-in-law finally letting her go, knowing that she would do nothing against that traveler. He, known only as Thobias, uses the inns at least six times a year and usually brings with him about ten youths, in the hot weather even more, always more women than men. Of course they, except the girl, know the fate of those poor frightened creatures and shudder to think what is waiting for them when reaching the village.

"She doesn't have a mark on the skin or a strand of hair out of place, she's in perfect condition," Tatiana replies, trying to negotiate.

"This woman is no longer a virgin, making her useless in the eyes of the buyer, she is no longer pure since she has been contaminated by your wild offspring. No wonder you have so many children."

"Maria is not an object for you to talk about her like that!" Nicolae speaks for the first time in the confusion, actually yells at the man at the top of his lungs, defending the slave girl.

"Control your boy if you don't want one of my men to break his leg, Mrs. Mayer!" he warns, using a low and creepy tone.

Melina gets up from the ground, wiping the snow off her knees, and stands behind the man's back, not having the courage to follow, afraid to pass him after ignoring him in the stable and her brother acting like this. She takes two steps back, trying to get as far away from the scene as possible and be swept out of Thobias' field of vision. But the movement drags the dress against some branches, catching his attention, the girl feels a shiver as their eyes meet and he smiles.

"You know, she was one of the only untouched women in the batch, the purest, irreplaceable... except for another pure woman. I'm sure your youngest will do very well as a merchandise exchange. How old is she, 18?"

"She turned 22 last spring."

"She'll be 23 soon, a little older than expected, but I can't waste a natural and pristine beauty when I see one." he walks towards Melina and pulls her by the arm to reunite with Nicolae's mistress "I have an offer you can't refuse. One girl for another."

"And why on earth do you think we would accept such barbarity?" it is George's turn to intervene, overcome with indignation, disgust in his voice.

"It's that or I'm going to burn this whole farm to the ground with you locked in the stable, with Mother Miranda's permission." the young Mayer is confused and looks at her family, all startled at the mention of the woman "What's it going to be?" the matriarch swallows the lump in her throat and nods, turning her face away to avoid facing the daughter "Good! And I imagine young Nico will turn the whore into a Mayer, everybody wins, from what I've seen you may have grandchildren running around soon." he laughs dryly and grabs Melina by the wrist, she soon realizes what is happening and tries to kick him desperately, only to be slapped in the face, knocking her unconscious.

The back and forth motion makes the girl nauseous, maybe it's the hit to the head, or the throbbing pain on the left side of her face, but she knows she'll throw up soon. Melina wakes up slowly, feeling pain and fear, the transport runs over a rock and she falls off balance as everything shakes. The brute just laughs and writes something in his notebook. She watches where they are, realizing to be inside one of the carriages, just the two in this and the rest of the youths probably piled in the other carriage following them.

"Melina Celeste Mayer, 22 years old, 5'1 height? I'm guessing. You were born in March, right?"

"Why do you want to know?" she mutters, starting to get annoyed, he just writes something ignoring her "I didn't know men like you can write."

"And the bumpkin shows her claws. I'm more educated than you, slut!" he retorts and puts the notebook aside, analyzing her thoroughly, head to toe "If you talk to your Lady like that, I guarantee your head will be ripped off this beautiful body in seconds. Believe me, I have seen it happen... a lot. Would be a shame such a waste so soon, it's more fun when they endure."

"You are...you are taking me to die?"

"Accept that will be your fate, I've never seen anyone spend more than six months in that place. But it's no big deal, we're all going to die one day, you're going to die too young and I'm going to die fucking rich."

"And where are you taking me?" Melina questions, with explicit fear in her voice and body.

"Dimitrescu Castle."

Join my taglist here ^^ now there is addition of Alcina Dimitrescu

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x oc #resident evil village #re8 fanfiction #mother miranda #lady dimitrescu #dimitrescu sisters #donna beneviento

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cursemewithyourkiss · 1 year

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A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS (1972) dir. Lawrence Gordon Clark

#my edit #a warning to the curious #films #filmedit #m r james #lawrence gordon clark #my post

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maudeboggins · 5 months

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Favourite stuff from the past year:

I was tagged by @norashelley and @womansfilm for best films and books of the year but i was already putting together some lists and I can't contain it to just 9! Here are my favourite things of the year, in chronological order:

Films:

The Great Gabbo (1929)

Madam Satan (1930)

Min and Bill (1930)

Hell's Angels (1930)

Street Scene (1931)

Million Dollar Legs (1932)

Hoopla (1933)

Alice in Wonderland (1933)

I'm No Angel (1933)

Death Takes a Holiday (1934)

Hips, Hips, Hooray! (1934)

The Old Fashioned Way (1934)

First a Girl (1935)

Ruggles of Red Gap (1935)

Poppy (1936)

It's Love I'm After (1937)

Give Me a Sailor (1938)

Never Say Die (1939)

Hellzapoppin' (1941)

Stage Fright (1950)

Richard III (1955)

The Curse of Frankenstein (1957)

Carry On Cleo (1964)

A Warning to the Curious (1972)

Favourite actors: Sylvia Sidney, W.C. Fields, Bert Wheeler, Marie Dressler, Joan Blondell, Dirk Bogarde, Greta Garbo, Fredric March, Jessie Matthews, Harpo Marx, Martha Raye, John Barrymore, Vivien Leigh & Laurence Olivier

Books:

Dream Story (Arthur Schnitlzer, 1926)

Ex-Wife (Ursula Parrott, 1929)

Deep Water (Patricia Highsmith, 1957)

Groucho and Me (Groucho Marx, 1959)

Listening Walls (Margaret Millar, 1959)

Harpo Speaks! (Harpo Marx, 1961)

The Collector (John Fowles, 1963)

The Sunne in Splendour (Sharon Kay Penman, 1982)

Eleven (Patricia Highsmith, 1994)

I Who Have Never Known Men (Jacqueline Harpman, 1995)

Empress (Shan Sa, 2003)

Junji Ito’s Cat Diary (2009) (a re-read but truly one of the greatest books about cats)

Dark Matter: A Ghost Story (Michelle Paver, 2010)

A Head Full of Ghosts (Paul Tremblay, 2015)

I’ve read 73 books this year. Many many books I did not finish and abandoned (i always get between 50-200 pages in to give it a real chance but I don’t believe in reading things I don’t enjoy), so ive actually consumed quite a bit more than 73 books. I did read a lot of dumb, trashy horror and thriller novels. Sometimes I don’t have the energy to read something intelligent and just need something easy. But that really bumps up my read count.

Favourite Albums:

Every year all I listen to are the same albums on repeat and I have a really hard time getting into new music. But this year I was especially into:

Joanna Newsom - Divers (previously I did not enjoy this album of hers but I have come around to it)

Shirley Collins - Adieu to Old England

Shirley Collins - Sweet England

#i always hate posting these too early for what if i see another great movie tomorrow to add to the list but i think i'm pretty safe...#will likely not finish a great novel in two days either

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365filmsbyauroranocte · 9 months

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A Warning to the Curious (Lawrence Gordon Clark, 1972)

#A Warning to the Curious #Lawrence Gordon Clark #1972 #Ghost Story for Christmas #Clive Swift #Peter Vaughan #TV show #BBC #TV series #horror #night #nature #woods #ghost #ghosts

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oblivionrecords · 6 months

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Fred McDowell: The farmer who emerged from the woods and made a masterpiece

I thought it might be good for newbies to Mississippi Fred McDowell –like I was when I recorded “Live in New York”– to find out about where Fred came from, recording wise. This article in the UK webzine, Far Out, lays it out pretty well. You might want to dig deeper into folklorist Alan Lomax, but more importantly, you'll get a glimpse of the ambition that drove Fred from a Mississippi farm to his well deserved worldwide acclaim. -Fred Seibert.

By Tom Taylor @tomtaylorfo Far Out Magazine Sat 18 November 2023 22:00, UK

Some blues players can get their guitars to tell a story; Fred McDowell could get his to sing an opera akin to a southern Les Mis. “With Fred McDowell, I just love the way he articulates the notes,” fellow blues guitarist Bill Orcutt explains. “I’m hardly unique in that, but there’s just something about that that I love.” He’s not alone in that love either; everyone from Keith Richards to Bonnie Raitt have cited him as a star that they have attempted to emulate.

However, the one element nobody could ever copy was the humble backstory that brought him to the world. Long before he earned the prefix of Mississippi and became a big attraction at juke joints, got swamped backstage at folk festivals, or had his track covered by The Rolling Stones, he was just strumming away to an audience of nearby wildlife on his porch after a long day at work. Occasionally, he’d find himself in a situation where someone might toss him some loose change, but any notion of fame seemed unfamiliar.

But his skills were profound all the same, and fate would drag him towards another American numen on his travels. Alan Lomax was a roving ethnomusicologist, which is a big word for a curious fellow with a portable recording device that could capture the nation’s true folk on the move. One day, during Lomax and Shirley Collins’ great Southern Journey expedition, they rocked up in Como, Mississippi. They were intent on capturing the music at a local dance and the Young brothers’ fife and drum ensemble.

It was 1959, and McDowell was a 54-year-old wondering what his legacy would be beyond the farm he kept. So, without much fanfare and no warning, he decided to pick up his guitar, weave his way through the local woods, and rock up at Lonnie Young’s porch, where the recording was said to be taking place. Lomax and Collins lent him their ears, hit record, and old McDowell began to play.

Half a century later, if you close your eyes while listening to the masterpiece now known as The Alan Lomax Recordings, you can almost see the overalled maestro on the creaking porch ahead of you, hear the rustle of the southern breeze through the lowering tupelo trees, and smell the dancehalls buffer in the air. Of course, some of that is due to the suggestion of the cover art on the Mississippi Records pressing, but what I’m trying to convey is the dogeared sincerity that renders this authentic tape so beguiling.

Even at the time, Lomax and Collins were so flummoxed by the humility and skill of this unknown farmer that they quickly whisked their tapes off to a blues label, and in his autumn years, McDowell became an internationally renowned star, typifying what was best about the blues when the revival movement had somewhat muddied the waters — he was the new (old) find that the kids were craving.

He would soon rub shoulders with the next generation, teaching Raitt how to play slide guitar, touring with the likes of Big Mama Thornton and John Lee Hooker, and embracing the flattery of being covered by rockers despite declaring himself that he did not play rock ‘n’ roll. He left the farm behind and enjoyed a good 13 years of fame until his death in 1972, aged 68, but his old porch was never truly that far from his artistic thoughts, so even beyond the masterful Lomax Recordings, he’s the bluesman who can capture the earthiness of the South with more verity than anyone.

#OD1 #Mississippi Fred McDowell #Alan Lomax #The Alan Lomax Recordings #1959 #Fred McDowell

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hyp3r4ct1v3-h0rn3tz · 5 months

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im curious what u will say about 9/11 + five nights at freddies

[TW unreality]

Well it's simple. The titular "Freddy Fazbear," mascot of "Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria" in the Five Nights at Freddy's series is what animal? A bear. And what do bears have in top of their mouths, I ask you? Two large, long, White incisors. Obviously, the two teeth represent the two planes that hit the two twin towers on that fateful day. The reason their mouths are constructed like that is in direct reference to 9/11. But this is common knowledge among us enlightened folk, that bears were made after 9/11 and all instances of them in history were just a fabrication by Big Bear. So, how does it tie into Four Nights At Freddy's? I will tell you. In this "Game", You play as a security guard who watches over a pizzeria at night. If you let the power go out, Freddy Fazbear, THE BEAR, will look at you through the door as a song called Toreador March plays. Toreador March is a classical music song composed by Georges Bizet, and WHO loves listening to classical music? Rich people. the Bourgeoisie. and THAT, my friend, is EXACTLY who paid for 9/11: Rich new yorkers who thought that the twin towers were an eyesore. Five Nights of Freddy was not just a "game," but a WARNING. A warning that we, the people, did not heed. Now, some people (Ignorant people) reading this may think "But wasn't Five Nights in Freddy made in 2014?" WRONG! Five Days at Fritz's was REALLY released in 1972, under the name of "Pong." The Sheeple of the masses were unable to see through its simple, ping-pong exterior to even consider that hidden deep within the code lied a Second "Game". But we, us, the Knowers, knew. We saw what the GOVERNMENT did not WANT us to see. with our EYES. Anyone who made fan content for Fun Afternoon At Fredrick's was put down at a ceremony at the end of every october, on halloween 1.246 (AN. If you don't know about halloween 1.246 then Get da hell out of here!). The rest of us kept our mouths SHUT until 2014, when it was released to the general public of plebeians. I do not Know where this post shall leave me, but i am glad to finally spread the truth.

#unreality

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bimbomoviebash · 3 months

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A Warning to the Curious, 1972

#film blog #film stills #movie stills #cinema #movies #british cinema #ghost story for christmas #70s cinema

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delicrieux · 4 months

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𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 2. summer 1972, august

pairing for this chapter—regulus black x f!lestrange!reader warnings for this chapter—none! word count—2.3k

regulus can get quite mean in the sweltering summer heat.

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | ttp masterlist | < back | next >

the grandiose patio is lined with wet footprints. yours. and regulus’. the sunshine is too unkind to him – burnt easily, he seems even more miserable in summer. he’s not much fond of water, even if you constantly drag him into the depths of the pool. the chlorine reeks, he had said displeased, trying to swat away his wet hair from his eyes. you had fought, tooth and nail, not to state, you reek. it would’ve obviously been a joke, and sirius would have laughed so merrily at your boundless wit, but regulus would have flushed in embarrassment and confined himself to silence.

you don’t like much when regulus is silent. in fact, you don’t fancy silence at all. father’s silence usually entails bad news, and mother is always silent. your house is too big to retain any noise, and rodolphus is contemplative and rabastan doesn’t take up enough space. with bella here, perhaps things will become more rowdy.

already, she’s turning everything upside down in what she has dubbed ‘the great upheaval.’ the new lady lestange has expensive taste and moody preferences, and so the walls are getting painted, and all sorts of curious trophies and relics from the depths of gringotts are being brought as decorations. she had let you practice explosive magic to knock down a bookcase she believed to be misplaced. you had been very thrilled to help.

now, though, the pleasant buzz of nature is satisfactory. the gardens and the orchard have remained untouched, though the greenhouse has been smashed completely. the remnants of glass glimmer on the sun-sparkled grass, a perfect spot to avoid as the pool beckons your return. not that mother's menagerie had been of much interest to anyone for years. the servants had tended to it, but it remained vacant of visitors, except the rare moments rabastan felt particularly sentimental. all those exotic butterflies spilled into the crisp, open air. it was quite magical. regulus was particularly down that evening.

of course, bella hadn't given much faff for any of it, so you don't dwell. a morning in the sun is a morning in the sun, after all. and, surely, if mother isn't to care for her property, then why should you?

"you recon sister will hire more staff?" you muse aloud. regulus has languidly settled under an olive tree, the leaves framing the thin, half-naked body like an all-too-pale depiction of pieta. his head hangs, the burn-warmed skin glowing, "without me to help she’ll hardly be able to manage all of these household duties."

regulus raises a brow at that, "what have you done exactly to help," the way he says it is half-chiding, half-mocking. as though he thinks that's the way to speak to the owner of the manor, "you blow up bookshelves."

you turn away from his stare, and keep yourself upright against the pool, knees scraping against the pebbles.

"well," you reply with a sniff, "if you had not noticed, she has taken a shine to me."

"shines are used for small jewels."

you hit his leg in a mindless display of violence.

his sharp inhale isn't playful – "what was that for?!"

"that was for talking down to me." you scoff. and his cheeks grow red, but not because you caught him in his error.

his next response is bitter. "i see how it is," the pitch of his voice rising ever-so-slightly, a subtle crack in a violin string, "you grow more pompous every day."

with his legs folded under his chin, arms crossed tightly, his discomfort in his position isn't masked as well as his emotion is. his wide eyes belie an even wider sadness. a hunger, a wanting for the type of affection a mother provides. something you'll never want to think too hard on because you understand, but also have been told by father not to ponder on.

"was that you attempting to speak down to me again?"

"no!" he snaps back, before muttering, "not that you wouldn't deserve it."

your temper has spiked. that isn't fair, what did he know of all that you must put up with! father expects a lot, and yet you are not given enough to do, but your brothers still complain at everything, and then you must put on a smiling face in front of bella, and how rude is he, really, to disrespect you so!

regulus doesn't receive a single hint of a reply from you. if his plan to make you more malleable to conversation wasn't working, he could start something of his own.

"have you made up your mind," the subject switch makes you jump, "about what house?"

oh. he hasn't stopped prodding since the end of june. that's almost cute of him.

"why are you obsessed about this?"

regulus makes a face. "don't try to understand. i just am," he pauses. for once, he regards you carefully, head tilting slightly to one side, "so you have made up your mind."

"slytherin sounds lovely," you admit, as you have been practising this speech in the mirror for a fortnight now. it feels more real coming out of your own mouth and not an apparition's. you could never admit to gryffindor, as your secret would unravel. regulus would spot his brother’s influence, and he would know, with certainty, that you prefer sirius to him. he must know already, but chooses to ignore it, like you chose to ignore all things inconvenient.

regulus stills for a moment. "wonderful," he comments, and resumes the snootiness of his demeanour, but more distant, "i'll definitely be in slytherin,"

yes, clearly, he would suit the snake very well. and he would fit in, like cissy. no matter the apparent fragility to him, it seems to be hiding a will stronger than all of yours combined. his eyes glitter and gleam when the sunlight hits them just right, but their core seems deeper, darker. no cracks or fissures. just an endlessness.

"and so would you," he finishes the sentiment.

"wh- whatever do you mean?!" you cry in his face, startled out of the depths of your musings.

"dear cousin," he simpers, "for how much time must your father spend pontificating on how utterly useless you are before you realise i'm in your same boat."

he may not mean it, but the insult is unbearable. and perhaps there's a sliver of truth that irks you. that your own kin think so lowly of your abilities. but, nonetheless, "behind my back, at least," you sound, "please, regulus, don't say such things to my face!"

he snorts, faintly amused at your ridiculousness, "will it make you feel better if i apologise?"

you huff. your pride has been bruised. he has, as always, thrown you into a sulk, which will be harder and harder to get over now. especially with you sitting a little more self-conscious than you had been ten minutes ago. and really, it had been such a pleasant afternoon. sweltering, and you bask in sunlight like you're famished for it. the rivera had been sweet, always bright and sunny, but england is hardly ever not gloomy. yes, the weather is worth more mental effort than regulus black, you decide. you would rather converse with a house-elf than him. he, yes, is useless, but you have some use, surely.

"think before you speak," you warn, not very menacingly, "honestly, if my life is already doomed, you'll not aid in ruining it any further."

"what life? father dotes on you endlessly. even if you've got not a single brain cell, he still fancies you," he drawls, "really, you're like a pet. a mooncalf. not a thought behind those eyes."

there it is. the nerve that tics. and though he'd spoken in a lazy, pensive drawl, your response is razor-edged and dagger-thorned. you're the blight. the aphids that sully. the plagues of locusts, “so what!" you counter, and you're barely standing on the border, "what is it my trouble? at least my father loves me, which is too much to say of your own."

regulus rises sharply. it is the fastest he's ever moved in all his life. that face would strike a serpent cold, you imagine. "take. that. back." his tone is chillingly even.

but a quick wit has always served you best, "no. not till you're nice to me."

"fine," the sun casts an angry, dark shadow of his figure over the pool. only eleven, yet he might be the most daunting creature you've ever encountered. all long lines, jutting ribs, and pale skin. and those eyes. downturned, forlorn. a regal hazel. the lids are flutter-thick.

the silence that settles is thick with discomfort. you think of your mother’s room at the top floor, how hot she must be with the heavy curtains drawn. it would be good to air it, lest she grows sicker from breathing in all of that old dust. yes, you shall let a servant know as soon as you finish chipping away at regulus’ resolve with your withering glare.

finally, slowly, carefully, "you won't tell mother i upset you, will you?"

"aunt walburga has much to preoccupy her. of course i won't."

he takes this as enough an acquiescence.

you find a part of him has softened. the edges, maybe.

"why should i apologise anyway," he adds, as if by way of an attempt at conversing in your manner, "the truth needs no apology."

his voice, not that of his father's but certainly not the poshest, has something odd about it.

he waits for a few more seconds, in what you gather, is a wait for an excuse to take the blow off of himself. you keep thinking, and these thoughts blunder quickly about. of mother’s room and father’s study, of rabby down in the cellar, of rodolphus prancing around his new wife. of sirius locked in his guest room, all of his muggle trinkets confiscated. sirius would have a laugh if he wasn’t too busy sulking. this impish row would cheer him up.

you've accepted the role now. it feels like a coronation. the signet ring would fit. pretty thing.

"regulus," you start, but can't keep your straight face. his stare bores into you, until the laugh finally escapes.

"you twit!" he accuses you, "i thought you were really angry for a moment! good thing i wouldn't actually worry, with how loose tongued you are. and stupid! to think, everyone always bellows about how pleasant and intelligent you are."

"could hardly be talking of me," you say, feeling not very bitter, but the taste of it is tart on the back of your tongue. this is a new pattern. a childish bickering, or even teasing, "i've never wanted to know anything. everyone else is terribly inquisitive."

regulus just eyes you in bewilderment. as though your view on the world is rather strange. regulus is fond of reading, and he has a plethora of curious facts to share to anyone who would listen. he had been more vocal of them when he was younger, but at eleven, he's growing very reserved and respectable.

to anyone but you, it seems, because he's rude and standoffish in your presence, even if his cheeks start to burn when you catch him staring at you. maybe you should've let him know. it'd be sweet to see his eyes widen in surprise, or his lips purse. that'd be worth all his rude jokes and unwarranted insults. his silence has allowed him to believe that all his sentiments are harmless. but they are not.

perhaps you are useless, not even a little bit useful at all, if a mere boy who's still gangly and graceless has you wound around his little finger, while not even knowing it. you can't decide if that's better or worse than knowing. it doesn't really matter anyway. when the family meetings took place late in the evening, and you were pointedly dismissed, you had decided you shan't ever want to know anything. to live in simple bliss of a fantasy, to enjoy what you're good at enjoying, and never touch the dirt of any of their messy problems. the end of childhood doesn't concern you, no more than any of the scandals you overhear and promptly ignore. gossip you adore, but only if it's mindless, like a poor matching colour of a robe.

the rest you are well off without.

pretty thing, mother had once called you when awake. her gaze had been vacant. you refused to decipher the meaning, if there was any to begin with. pretty things needn’t be sensible, they only need to be admired.

regulus offers you his hand. a rarity, him touching you, because he rarely is one for contact. especially with you, it had seemed. the small, slim fingers don’t tremble in their wait, "want to swim?"

your earlier mood melts away like the heat waves over the warm stone. the blood has flushed both your skins, but his more.

it's not important anyway.

"thought you don't like water," you say smugly, happy to lord over this very basic information you know of him over his head, "you'll look like a prune."

regulus wrinkles his nose in distaste at the idea. his pale complexion is so easy to scorch and scar. the redness blooms on him beautifully.

but then, all he says is, "you're my favourite, you know that, right? always have been."

the pleasantry, in such an instant, brings another surge of blood to your cheeks.

"why?" you have to know.

a shrug, then, a smile. not malicious at all, and you've always enjoyed it when he can't hold the pretences up in your company.

"dunno," and his expression goes blank again. his gaze roams somewhere far, "so do you want to go swimming?"

his offer has something more, and the confusion lingers.

"it is very hot," is all you find to say.

and what else, but to hold onto his outstretched palm?

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