#((after she's returned home and is lying in bed and ruminating over her feelings for randall!))

[mooniefics]

— the hands that beckon me

pairing : zeke jaeger / reader

word count : 1.9k

tags : emotional hurt / comfort, relationship discussion, pillow talk, insecure zeke :(

summary : zeke is finally home, on a brief layover from the war, and you both finally get around to having that tough discussion you've been putting off for far too long.

— originally posted 1 / 21 / 21 on ao3 —

"what do you do while i'm gone?"

your skin was still hot from being pressed over his when he asked, thrumming with a warmth you hadn't felt yet craved so deeply for months. you turned to face him from your place on your back in bed, pressing into his side, peering curiously at his profile. you'd missed seeing him like this, out of his ironed, pristine uniform, hair messy from your fingers running through it, sharp features warmed with the flush of passion, unobscured by his glasses, eyes and voice sleepy and relaxed rather than alert and tight with self-awareness.

"what do you mean?" your reply was soft, almost playful to counter his matter-of-fact delivery, reaching out to draw your fingers across his firm, bare chest.

"i mean what keeps you busy? what do you do for fun?"

>readmore<

the war with the mid-east allied forces had been dragging on for just about two years now, and there seemed to be no end in sight, but after the marleyan army managed to snatch a victory from the jaws of defeat on foreign soil, the news came to your internment zone that the soldiers would be returning on a brief layover as the countries' political leaders decided whether or not they'd be willing to smooth things over in a more peaceful manner.

this afternoon you had been there at the gates with his grandparents, barely able to stand still beside them as all three of you waited wordlessly with baited breath, balancing up on your tiptoes, straining to peek over the crowd to catch a glimpse of him. while others were stood by with looks of unmasked dread—men with clenched jaws and stiff shoulders, women with tears brimming their eyes, children tugging at sleeves and already crying with impatience—you felt an uncontainable joy. it was humbling to look around at all the panicked faces, to remember that not every family had the luxury of your confidence, the almost guaranteed certainty that the one you loved would return. but you couldn't help the blinding smile that broke out across your face as he ambled through the crowd, tired, well-kept, but looking warmly down at you and his family.

you had let him to greet them first, they were his blood relatives after all, but only after he'd finished giving his grandmother a tight hug and exchanging affectionate words did you allow yourself to throw your arms around him, burying your face into his shoulder and breathing in his rich scent of gunpowder, pine, just a faint hint of cigarettes, melting easily into his strong embrace. you and zeke had wandered back alongside the older couple to their home, sharing a calm, easy dinner where zeke relayed what information he could to them about the status of the ongoing battle, but you were just itching to have some time to yourself with him.

you'd spent hours cleaning your quaint little home a few streets down, agonizing over every little detail despite how you knew he didn't mind whatever state it was in, just that you were there. and as soon as you'd both said your friendly goodbyes and made it through the door of your home, he was pulling you along to the bedroom, legs having memorized the path of weaving through the living room and kitchen and down the hall to the door on the left.

he was impatient, as he always was when he was tugging you out of your clothes, but sensual all in the same when he pressed his lips onto yours, murmured soft, longing words in your ear, hands squeezing and grabbing, reacquainting themselves with your soft figure. you both didn't last long—how could you when you were so eager—but felt satisfied all the time after everything was said and done, lowering back onto the mattress, flushed and panting, a faint sheen of sweat shimmering over your skin. his question just now had puzzled you. it was simple, but you knew it hid something deeper, he'd never asked something of that nature in all the time he'd been coming back and going away.

"well.. not much really. i go to work at the jewelry shop, have tea with your grandmother on thursdays, wander around the market if i feel up to it, help mary from down the street with her boys if she needs it."

you faltered at the mention of her, not remembering whether you'd seen her husband when you'd met with zeke at the entrance to the zone. you forced yourself not to frown. how selfish of you, you didn't even bother to check on her before you allowed yourself to be whisked away for the night.

he seemed to notice your sudden dismay, wrapping a comforting arm around you as he spoke, "you mean aksoy?" you nodded. "he made it back on the train alright. drunk off his ass, but alive."

you breathed a small sigh of relief, offering up a small smile at him. "good to hear."

and though his lips curled back in a similar expression, it didn't quite reach his eyes, and you only felt further perturbed by how his gaze briefly flickered elsewhere. "why do you ask?" you prompted, fingers trailing up his neck to rest at his jaw, gently turning him to face you again.

"just curious, is all.."

you could sense that he was lying, but about what you didn't quite know. "come on, zeke, we've known each other since we were kids. you don't think i know when you're hiding something?"

he hummed, the corners of his eyes creasing as an easy, genuine grin graced his features. "i apologize for underestimating your lie detecting skills."

you couldn't help but giggle softly at his words, thumb stroking over his warm cheek, body fitting perfectly against his. he was really here. finally, after all this waiting, he had come back to you, even if only for a few weeks that would surely fly past in an instant.

"i don't really know how to say this.." he seemed uncharacteristically sheepish, grey eyes traversing over your face, onto a far wall of the room, then up to the ceiling for a brief moment before it finally wandered back to you, "i guess you could say it started with me feeling a bit guilty, leaving you here all by yourself."

"i can bear the wait, you know that. as long as i know that i'll get to see you." for now, came the silent addendum.

he had three years left, barely a quarter remaining in his term, but you didn't broach the topic, and he seemed just as content putting off the discussion as you were. your relationship was easy, in a sense. there was never any squabbling over when the two of you would move in, or when he would retire from his position and settle down, milestones such as marriage and children were never issues. but there were days where you wished they were, though you'd never admit it.

just like how you'd never admit to the warm burn of envy that sparked to life when a man came into the shop you worked at searching for a ring for his partner, a spark that inevitably gave way to a cool emptiness settling deep into your chest, swallowing up your heart and balling an uncomfortable lump in your throat by the time you'd helped him choose out just the perfect jewel and sent him on his way.

"i know that, but," he swallowed, licking his lips, "sometimes i'm afraid that you're getting bored."

"bored?" the word felt strangely odd on your tongue, your own eyes blinking at him.

"bored." he reaffirmed, frowning slightly as he continued, "you see other people your age—our age—every day, don't you? when you go to the market, when you're at work, hell, even when you're spending time with your friends, you see people with lives, with structure." you knew the exact words that were coming next, but the impact of them hurt all the same. "people who don't have the thought of how time is running out hanging over their head."

it was you who turned away this time, feeling your lower lip tremble, eyes suddenly watering despite how you wished not to cry. all those complicated feelings you'd pushed down in favor of relishing in your feigned ignorance, of pretending that zeke was just a normal soldier with normal duties who was just lucky enough to come back each time. you'd always politely brushed your friends off when they'd pestered you of the absence of a ring on your finger, asking when you'd have children of your own rather than always being there to help them take care of theirs, you swept their concerns aside with a rehearsed smile because you didn't want to come to terms with the fact that you wanted those things for yourself.

the pill of zeke's looming mortality was hard enough to swallow on its own, all without mentioning how the love you shared was so rich yet so fleeting, fruitful yet futile all at once. you had no words to offer him, but your silence seemed to be enough of a reply, a forlorn, almost remorseful look settling over his handsome features.

"perhaps— perhaps you should search for someone else." you felt your stomach knot and twist, sorrow bubbling up like a geyser from below, biting at your cheek as to not let your shaky breaths spill from your mouth, "you're beautiful, it would really be no trouble at all for you to find someone—someone who can give you a good life. a fulfilling life."

"but.. there's still time left, isn't there?" your voice was quiet, thick with restrained tears, "there's still time for us."

"it isn't fair to you."

"it wouldn't be fair to you either if i left now." your brows knitting together, expression strained as you felt warmth trickle down your face, dripping down your chin onto his shoulder. "do you want me to leave?"

he looked away, hesitating just enough to make more droplets bead at your lashes before he shook his head, drawing a crooked finger across your cheek to catch a few stray tears. again, that disdain at your own selfishness came. he was worried for you, ruminating own his own impending death, trying to soften the blow of it for you at the expense of his own happiness, yet all you could do was cry at the thought of parting with him in any voluntary way.

"you're the one i want." you whispered, sniffling, "i knew what i was getting into at the start of all this, the things that i would miss, the things i would have to give up on, but they can wait. i can't be without you, not if i know that i can spend a single moment longer like this, loving you."

the sun had sank low in the sky, light abandoning the two of you in the dark of your room, alone with your shared, trembling breaths, his frown and distant eyes, your tears and imploring gaze. you felt weary in many ways as you allowed yourself to settle back onto his chest, closing your eyes at the feeling of his arm tightening its grasp around you, holding you close, a silent plea to stay just as you were.

he didn't speak, not another word of uncertainty exchanged, but you knew that he understood. he was here, and as long as that was the case you would always wait, keep turning down the hands that beckoned you, rescind your domestic desires for the sake of clinging to this one rare, importunate, lovely thing you had—clinging to him.

#zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager x you #zeke jaeger x reader #snk zeke #zeke yeager angst #zeke jaeger angst

[maybe-theres-hope]

Of Will and Wildflowers, Interlude - Carlos: “Indecision”

-Hello all. I debated about ever having this see the light of day, as I wrote it as sort of a character study to keep myself honest while writing the main story, which I always intended to be single POV for the drama of it all. 

However, in my heart I feel like I owe you all at least something for how long you’ve waited for the conclusion to this story (I originally intended to post the whole thing before the season even started and...here we are lol), and I figured you’d appreciate this. It doesn’t spoil anything, so don’t be afraid to read if that’s something you’re worried about (unless of course you haven’t read the story at all, in which case here you go!). It’s just a glimpse into Carlos’ psyche in this AU. 

This takes place the second night of the Strand’s visit, after TK and Carlos take their first journey around the grounds that ends in the apple orchard, and subsequently Elena spilling that Mr. de Castillo will be joining them soon.

This is for all those who have encouraged me so much with this story, and I promise you all you will get the conclusion! Life has just gotten in the way so much lately :( @oquinn53, @reyeslonestar, @howtosingit, @a-l-ias, @mtnofgrace, @descending-into-the-crazies if I missed you let me know please! I love you all :)

Carlos was having difficulty dressing for dinner, and it wasn’t because of the fiddly fastenings of his waistcoat.

TK Strand was…The man was…

Carlos was also having difficulty with full sentences, even ones inside his own head.

The morning they’d shared had been as if from a dream, or a fairytale from one of Raquel’s storybooks. Every time TK smiled at the vast landscape of Carlos’ home, every time his eyes lit up at the brush of scent from the wildflowers hitting his nose, Carlos was arrested. Time stood frozen for a few moments in which he could admire the man before him at his leisure, when he could ascend to a higher plane of aesthetic dominated by the gentle slope of TK’s jaw.

Carlos had also to admit to himself—if not out loud just yet—that there was also the man’s intellect, not just his beautiful face and impeccable seat on a horse, that drew Carlos’ attention. When Carlos had asked him of his life in New York, TK had for some reason shied away from speaking of his father’s company and his own part in it, as Carlos might have expected from a man of business on a business trip. Instead, he talked of Central Park and the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and how the architecture compared to that which he’d seen on their journey through the South. He spoke of the air surrounding them and how clean it smelled, even though Carlos knew they were downwind from a herd and they both knew it.

The man was charming in his innocence and captivating in his depth in turns, and Carlos could hardly bear to look away or allow himself to speak in his turn when TK asked him a question about this landmark or that bit of wildlife.

They’d passed the morning gently ambling along wherever the horses saw fit to take them, talking of everything and nothing, and it had been glorious. And their picnic…their picnic! Carlos had never worshipped Mrs. Smith’s blackberry jam quite as much as when he caught a glimpse of it clinging to the side of TK’s mouth just before a deft tongue slipped out to take it away. He was quite taken aback at the weight of his infatuation, to be honest. He’d not ever had occasion to fall so fast into regard for someone, and it was at times disorienting and grounding. His body felt as if it had been given over to some mystical force, using its hands to ensure the movement of his heart when it stopped itself at the sight of TK’s smile in the sunshine and guiding his eyes to alight once more upon TK’s handsome profile.

The apple orchard had been…a risk. Carlos simply could no longer help himself in his desire to be near this man. He made every clandestine endeavor to brush a shoulder or knee or knuckle as they walked. Holding TK’s hand properly to help him down from Flor’s saddle was akin to ascension to the clouds beyond.

His hand still tingled when he thought of it.

Was this what everyone referred to when they spoke of love? Surely not. He’d only known the man for two days. And yet.

And yet.

Just then a knock at his bedroom door startled him out of his thoughts, which he was secretly glad of.

After a word of acquiescence from Carlos, Christina passed through the door before shutting it again behind her quietly. Her face still held a small trace of trepidation in it when she caught his gaze, and he was instantly reminded of the scene on the porch when they’d arrived back from their tour of the property.

Fernando was coming, and that muddied his thoughts more than all the rest.

“I came to see how you were faring, and I see it’s just as I suspected,” she offered in greeting. She stood in the middle of the room with her hands clasped against her skirts, looking at him in earnest.

“And what did you suspect?”

“You’re warring inside your own head as we speak. Your thoughts are plain as day on your face. As is your utter admiration for our handsome Mr. Strand. Don’t try to deny it, I know you far better than you wish.”

“That is the truth,” he muttered with a sigh. “What am I to do?”

“About what? Your obvious inclination toward Mr. Strand? Or your equally obvious promise to Mr. de Castillo?”

“There was no promise!” He flopped himself down on the bed, dressing forgotten for the moment. They’d had this argument before. “It is merely an understanding, built upon mutual need. We can just as easily misunderstand each other as well.”

“But you’re not that kind of man, Carlos. You don’t go back on your word,” she replied, her expression turning miserable. She was perhaps the only one who truly understood what had been going on in his head when he’d made the promise in the first place. Christina was also possibly the only one who truly understood why he was warring over it now. She could read his face, his tone of voice, the shape of his stance like a book.  Sometimes he hated it, but for the moment he was quite glad to not have to articulate the particulars of this struggle in bare words. He was content to skirt around the topic they both knew was on his mind with veiled hints and euphemisms.

“I know. So, esteemed elder sister, what should I do?”

She came closer and laid a hand upon his shoulder, her face still a picture of commiseration.

“You should do what every gentleman and lady wishes they could do, but for which they all lack the courage.” He stared at her, waited for her to elaborate. “You should follow your heart.”

“I can see now why all those other gentlemen and ladies lack the courage! I am damned if I do anything. If I keep my word to Fernando, I will be secure but restless, adrift, unfulfilled and bound to endure it, and it will be no fault of his but completely my own. He is a good man, and he does not deserve my indifference.”

“But he would have it anyway, would he not? You don’t—“

“You’re right, I do not. But that is not the point!”

“I thought it was? And what should happen if you break your word?” Her eyes seemed to bore into his skull despite the soft brown of her irises.

“I…” Words seemed to slip away on the wind from the open window. He thought again of TK asking about the wildflowers, how his smile lit up the landscape more than the rising sun. He could picture a thousand mornings spent just as they had this one, or perhaps instead of combing Carlos’ family homeland on horseback, they would promenade in Central Park among the birds and trees. They would walk arm in arm with no destination, just the inclination to be together in the bright spring air. He would utter some quip about the couple across the way just to hear the bells of TK’s laughter. TK would point out some high society maiden and they’d remark—under their breath of course—about the ridiculousness of her hat. At the end of each day they would return home together to sit by a roaring fire and talk into the night about everything and nothing before lying down beside each other and drifting into dreams that could do nothing to rival their waking lives.

The picture abruptly vanished at the thought of Fernando, however. Carlos was right, the man did not deserve to be slighted after all he’d done to assure Carlos of a life beyond his mother’s death and Rosa’s inheritance. Fernando was handsome, kind, and the catch of the century. Anyone would be envious of Carlos’ position.

Except Carlos.

Christina, who had been heretofore silent while her brother ruminated in his thoughts, finally sat beside him on the bed and slipped her arm into his, laying her head upon his shoulder.

“I know it’s not ideal, but you have to choose the path that puts your heart at ease, the one you can live with for the rest of your life. If you do that, you’ll be content. If you go against your own heart, you’ll never know peace.”

The problem was, Carlos couldn’t make sense of what his heart wanted in the slightest, and because of that he was frozen in indecision.

#tarlos period drama #of will and wildflowers #tarlos #tarlos fic #911 ls #911 lone star #brooke writes

[alexa-crowe]

une nouvelle vie, chapter 5

AO3 | @frogsmulder + @freckleslikestars

The Seldens’ honeymoon goes by in bliss across the Atlantic among the French, and they return to their lives irreparably changed in some ways while immutable in others. “It shall be a new adventure,” Lily declares, referencing their relatively new attempts at procreation. Lawrence agrees. But as the months start to go by, leaving them unexpectant of a bundle of joy, their happiness starts to dwindle. “I am sorry I cannot do this for you.”

Lily’s face is tucked against her husband’s sternum and her voice is whisper-soft. “Oh, Lily...” Selden sighs, tucking her further against him as her tears wet his chest. “We will find happiness in the two of us if our efforts do not come to fruition, I can guarantee it. We have not weathered tumultuous storms in our lives to lose sight of ourselves now.”

“But what if I am unable to bear children? That is all women are meant for, do you not see?”

“Do not let those words reside in your mind, my love. You are much more than your ability to have children.”

“If I am not a mother, then what am I meant to be? I have unintentionally hinged the purposes of my existence on ensuring your happiness and bringing forth children into the world. What should I do with my time if it is not spent rearing our children?”

“Lily, please, it is alright. You have talents—you are excellent at storytelling, for example.”

She sniffles and raises her eyes. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly. You could write them. Even if they are stories meant to entertain children, your stories are of value. Do not despair, my love. You are worth more than your value to society. No matter what, you have my love to see you through every hardship.”

Lily nods and presses a kiss to her husband’s clavicle. “Alright.” She takes a shuddering breath. “I shall sleep on this.”

—

In the proceeding months, the Seldens finalize their purchase of a townhouse with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, deciding to leave two of the three undecorated. Lawrence suggests making one of them into an office and the other into a guest room a several months later, his voice soft and casual to convey that he is not attached to his proposals, and that what they hope the rooms will be used for will come in due time. Their anniversary passes with little fanfare, only a private dance in their sitting room used to mark the occasion. Lily throws herself into writing exercises to occupy her time, spending hours at her desk in the sitting room planning and writing down ideas. Some days, Selden has to retrieve her from her stupor of inspiration and guide her back to their bed, where they reconnect.

They know one another with the truest of intimacies now, and it shows in how they anticipate the other’s actions with frequency.

“I shall be leaving for a few months,” Selden reveals during dinner one day in the fall. It has been a year and a half since they married. “I have been chosen to work on a case in England. You could come with me, if you’d like, though you would not know anyone there.”

Lily shakes her head demurely. “I shall stay here and look after the house, avidly awaiting your return,” she decides, placing her hands over his.

They both smile; a small happiness has started to bloom in the house born of small concessions of acceptance. One day, Lily knows, they may fully bloom, but there is still hope for another way. All is not lost just yet. Selden bids her farewell the next day and she watches him exit the door and catch a hansom with a wistful look on her face. Perhaps some time apart—time during which they must halt their attempts at procreation—is what they need. Hope is a dangerous, feeble thing sometimes.

—

“Lily!” Gerty wears her surprise openly and her friend wears her worry the same way. “Has something dreadful happened?” She ushers Lily inside her flat with a tender hand.

“I am well, Gerty, only—something has happened. But it is not dreadful, it is wonderful.” Lily sits down on her friend’s couch, her hands fluttering around each other.

“Then why do you look worried?”

Lily bites her lip before sighing heavily. “I strongly suspect that I am pregnant at long last. But this could not come at a worse time; Selden is off in England, as you know, and I cannot decide if I should write to him about this as he would want. I should like to surprise him with the news in person, and if I wrote to him not only would that not be possible but I know that he would travel home as speedily as possible to the detriment of his career. He shall make it back with plenty of time to spare before the birth if he sees the case through.”

Gerty lowers herself onto the couch as she ruminates on Lily’s words. “Well, if there is time enough for the case and the birth, I believe that you should wait to surprise him when he arrives home. It would be the loveliest of surprises.”

“So I shall omit this wondrous development? I would be stronger in my convictions if not for the notion of lying to my husband sending my stomach into knots.”

Gerty’s hands envelop Lily’s and she meets her dependable friend’s eyes. “It is not a lie. You are planning a surprise! What could be more innocent than that? It is the most spectacular of surprises, at that. He will forgive you immediately, if he even views the situation as having something to forgive as a part of it.”

Lily offers her friend a small smile, tears of joy gathering at her waterline. “What would I ever do without you in my life, Gerty? I owe you.”

“We are friends; friends support each other in times of need.”

“Nonetheless, I appreciate the time you have taken throughout our friendship to help me. It is unparalleled.”

—

Carry Fisher is the third person to be made aware of Lily’s pregnancy, and only on the condition that she keep it to herself. Lily enlists her help in having new dresses made to accommodate her slowly-expanding abdomen and bustline. By the time Carry declares that she has “popped”, she has a whole new wardrobe. And now Selden is set to return.

Lily sets about checking the windows for a sign of his returns after breakfast but finds herself tiring easily from her rounds through the front rooms. She sighs and sits down to write, hoping to distract herself from the anticipation of her husband’s arrival. Fortunately, Lily is able to lose herself in the story (her first is set to be published soon!) and separates from her desk only to eat, relieve herself, and exercise—the last of which is a thinly veiled excuse to check outside the house.

When ten o’clock in the evening rolls around, Lily resigns herself to the fact that Selden’s traveling is delayed and readies herself for bed. She smiles as she brushes her hair, the baby moving inside of her. She has gotten to know her and Selden’s child thoroughly since the flutters started; it’s most energetic in the morning, acting as if Lily has starved it by not eating at five o’clock. She cups her belly and feels the baby’s foot.

“You are so loved, little one. So loved.”

—

She wakes up in the middle of the night, frowning and tired. Lily snuggles into the bed in an effort to fall back asleep when she hears Selden quietly clear his throat in the bathroom. She opens her eyes and sits up, her suspicions confirmed when she sees the glow of a candle through the cracks around the door. She grins and adjusts the pillows behind her back as she waits for her husband to return.

After a few moments, he pushes the door open, pausing in the doorway when he realizes she is awake. “Apologies,” he says, making his way to his side of the bed after putting the candle in the secure holder at the foot of the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Come to bed,” Lily tells him, offering him her hand. “I have much to tell you.”

As they situate themselves in bed together, he eyes her distended abdomen, and she cannot help but grin again. “You are...”

“With child, yes,” she finishes for him, pressing her forehead to his as she brings his hand to her belly. “I wanted to surprise you in person. We have a while yet before the birth—at least two months. I knew that if I wrote to you of the news, you would put your entire being into traveling home unnecessarily quickly.”

“It would not be unnecessary, Lily. You and the babe are the lights of my life.” Selden slides down the bed and presses a kiss to her belly before returning back to his original position. “I won the case, as well. You two are my lucky charms, too.”

Lily laughs at that as she nuzzles her husband’s face. “Nonsense, Lawrence. You are an excellent lawyer; you won the case because you are intelligent and dutiful, not because we are lucky. Luck had nothing to do with it.”

“We shall have to agree to disagree,” Selden says, his gaze sliding down to her belly again. “Please write me next time, my love. This is a wonderful surprise, but I feel that I have missed so much. This first child of ours shall be a learning experience. Next time we will both be much more prepared, and I would be less anxious towards getting home.”

“If you happen to be traveling during, I shall write you a letter once a week of the elder child and the one growing in my womb by then. You would feel as though you had not missed a day. But it is late, my dearest, and the babe takes much of my energy for its own.”

Selden nods before starting to pull the fabric of her nightgown up until her belly is exposed. She places his hand where the baby is poking at her and revels in his expression of awe. He presses a slew of kisses to her skin before resting his forehead against her belly. “You are wondrous, my dear,” he tells her. “Absolutely spectacular. You have only become more radiant as time goes on. Selfishly, I am glad that no one else sees you in all your glory.”

“I do not mind, Lawrence. Yours are the only eyes I would wish to have on my body.” Lily watches as her husband slides up the bed again with hooded eyes, and lets them slip closed when he eases a hand beneath her abdomen and between her thighs. “Your fingers are the only ones I would want to touch my body, as well.”

“I love you,” he murmurs against her lips.

“I love you, too.”

#mine #house of mirth #fanfiction

[luminescentlyricist]

⚙️ Whirlwinds ༄

( Meat timeline w/ Candy elements )

( CW: Depression )

John was feeling lonely. Ever since the the session had begun, he had steadily become quieter and quieter. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, but he wasn't talking to any of his friends as much, and found himself taking comfort in any silence he could. Not even Casey was cheering him up, regardless of how many bright blue bubbles she blew or adorable noises she teased him with. So, strangely, he sought comfort in Dave.

His keyboard had begun gathering dust, as he'd returned to his old house with the intent to actually talk to people face-to-face and maybe invite them over. But now, after what felt like years of isolation, he blew off the grey motes. Coughing, John placed his fingers on the keys as it began to boot up. This bought a soft sort of half-smile to his face. Pesterchum seemed like ancient technology, but they - all of his friends from both sessions, as well as the trolls with Trollian - insisted on keeping the chat clients alive.

There were a few moments of inescapable lag as his desktop exploded with notifications. His friends loved him that much. Scrolling through his contact list, he noted that 'CarcinoGeneticist' had been the source of a lot of the notifications. Karkat and Dave shared one thing in common: they never shut up, and that was exactly what John liked about them.

Well, he normally did.

Due to their mostly well-meaning spam of messages, the two collectively succeeded in causing his screen to freeze for a solid ten minutes, during which time John lamented not having the grist at hand to alchemise a new one. Regardless, he sat in front of it, mostly unmoving apart from the habitual tapping of his feet against the floor. The wind moved against him so tightly it felt as if it were trying to crush him into an anxious mess.

Everything became a few shades brighter when the screen finally decided to work, and the Heir himself seemed to brighten, if only for a moment. He sat up a little straighter, fixing his glasses that had been knocked askew. The wind also began to disperse, leaving a gentle breeze that helped to melt the ever-mounting tension in his shoulders. Dave had messaged him a moment earlier.

The message - of a picture - was also attached to a link, an audio clip. John missed Dave and his voice. He hadn't left the house in a long time, not since he came back to it. His friends used to try and visit, but they stopped trying three months ago when he didn't respond. Perplexed, John fumbled for his earbuds and plugged them into his laptop. The cool kid's warm tone graced his ears, bringing with it a sense of comfort.

"Hey, John. I know you probably won't hear this, but I just wanted to let you know that you're the coolest kid I've ever met. We're talking smuppet levels of cool."

John paused the video. Was that supposed to be a compliment? He couldn't tell.

"You're so cool you put arctic freezes to shame. Anyway, I know you're all down in the dumps right now, and that's a completely valid response. We've been through some mad shit lately. But you can come and talk to me whenever you need me, okay? Point is, I want you to come and hang when you're finished being a hermit. Come outta your shell, dude. Find a new home, 'cause this one's all up in the clouds."

When the clip ended, John's smile fell and the giddy warmth faded from his body. It was suddenly very cold in the house. As much as he liked Dave, his energy had begun to wane. Soon, though, another ping sounded from his laptop. There was the photo that he'd forgotten. Clicking on that file, he realised it was akin to a new face reveal. He'd not seen Dave in so long. Too long. He could barely remember the faces of his friends.

Even though Rose was a Seer of Light, dealing with knowledge and such, John couldn't help but feel that she wasn't the one to help him with his terrible memory. There were some problems that even God Tier couldn't fix, which was one of the things he realised when he returned home after so long. Sometimes, John didn't even get out of bed in the morning.

Usually, Casey would meet him at his bedside at nine in the morning - though she often got the simplistic schedule confused, and John had to get her instead - so that they could go check on the Salamander Village in the Consort Kingdom together. But, that morning, she went alone. John enjoyed the little task that he did with his daughter above all else, and it had simply become *draining*. He never wanted it to be.

His eyelids drooped as he stared at the screen in front of him, the display having dimmed in preparation to go to sleep. John dragged his finger across the trackpad, squinting against the bright lights. There he was: Dave, in all his coolness. The teen was lying on his back, faking sleep, and his crocodile consorts had laid a blanket over him, photo-bombing the picture he had attempted to take due to the unusually endearing scene.

It was a soft moment, perfectly captured in time.

Things like those were exactly what John missed about hanging out with his friends. Shutting the lid to his laptop with a small sigh, the heir wondered if he'd ever go out to see them all. He hadn't even responded to any of Karkat's messages.

"Gee, John. You're really slipping today."

He murmured this to the empty house, voice seeming too quiet compared to the otherwise vast space that was his. John was so tired. He had no energy whatsoever, but the sun remained high in the sky. The day was certainly dragging on regardless of the fact that he'd only been awake for a few hours. Taking off the iconic blue-rimmed glasses that he wore and setting them on the desk, John waited for something - anything - to rouse him.

Around him, the naturally warm breezes that he seemed to generate had stilled, causing a gentle shudder to ripple down his spine. John stood, picking up his glasses and perching them on the end of his nose. It wasn't that he needed the lenses to see; he was fairly sure going God Tier had given him 20-20 vision, but they were as important to him as Dave's shades were to the other.

Glancing towards a dusty photograph on the mantle, he directed a swift breeze to wipe the dust away. It was an old picture of he and his dad, with John himself only about five. Walking to pick it up, he studied it in a silence that had since become comfortable. Sure, he missed his dad, but memories were more than enough, even though his vision blurred with tears. Unlike a Strider, he had never been good at masking his emotions.

As a droplet ran down the glass, the boy traced around his face in the picture. As far back as he could remember,  he'd always had the same style of glasses. The first time his dad let him pick the rims he wanted, he'd simply chosen the same ones as his dad had picked for him. Dark blue and obnoxiously rectangular, just as he'd worn before and since.

They helped him remember how much he was loved, in a way,  so he didn't want to forget them. That was why it had hurt so much the time they were sucked mercilessly into the void. Just as soon as the first had transpired, another shudder ran through him. Bad memories were threatening to resurface, memories of what had happened before. He groaned aloud, trying to block them out with the noise.

He had been tempted to talk to Rose for another reason: despite the fact that there weren't exactly any functioning universities in Earth C to give her the appropriate qualifications, everyone considered her a good therapist. She'd seen and experienced her fair share of horrors since her stint in Grimdarkness. Maybe she would understand how... depressed he felt. John felt awful for always burdening Dave with the information, even though the group's resident coolkid always seemed so open to it all, even in the times he was sure no one would listen.

After so long in the house, alone, John had acquired a lot of time to think. Some of it was a negative thing, but he'd recently come to terms with a big part of himself that he'd buried around everyone. Since Kanaya and Rose had established that they were together, he'd been ruminating about his own sexuality. It felt a little safer.

There was a more inclusive crowd in Earth C than he and his friends had ever anticipated, so that nobody felt left out. Alienated. There were so many different choices he was able to make, and no legislations in place would exclude him. Being a god had its perks, though that hardly mattered. He had a truth to consider.

He was a homosexual, and he'd caught feelings for his best friend.  

Even though it was a lot to process, he was working through it slowly. Dave had once felt like someone so above him, to put on a pedestal and almost glorify. But through the session, and their chilling times on Earth C together, that had dissolved. They had a lot more in common than he had previously thought, but that did nothing to calm the jitters enveloping his entire body at the mere prospect of meeting with the other boy after so long.

At that moment, the doorbell rang out with a discordant attempt at a tune. John mentally reminded himself to fix that later. He was jolted away from his thoughts, and called out to his visitor tiredly.

"Hold on a minute..."

Dragging his feet, the boy headed to his old room. He'd since relocated some of his dad's ties to the cupboard there, unwilling to part with that aspect of himself and move into the other, bigger space. He discovered that his fingers were shaking despite his prior lethargy, which meant he couldn't tie the knot on the one he'd picked out properly. He was still only 23, but wearing them made him feel a little more mature.

Draping it over one of his shoulders like a dish-towel, the boy headed out to open the door. He was relieved to see that his daughter hadn't completely abandoned him, but the small yellow salamander had someone else in tow, dragging them inside the house while bubbling excitedly.

"Sup?"

Dave's greeting was relaxed, almost to the point of nonchalance, but the other knew him well enough that he wasn't offended by it. The cooler of the two's lips twitched up into a smile upon seeing his friend's shocked expression, and he laughed quietly.

"What's up, Egbert? Have you been rendered speechless by the Strider Charm emanating from my every pore?"

The man noted, clearly recognising that he needed to stay something familiar to relax John.

Still silent, John nodded sheepishly before posing his own greeting.

"Hi, Dave! I haven't seen you in ages. Whatcha been up to?"

He asked only when he'd cleared his head, but it didn't do much to prevent his voice from squeaking. He wasn't sure how to answer his buddy's question, so he'd swung it back to Dave, whose brows crinkled thoughtfully beneath his shades.

"Not much, really. Chillin', helpin' my bro with his projects. He told me he wanted to dismantle Sawtooth and Squarewave to do something new."

John's face brightened slightly to match the Strider's smile, but it was all he could do to ignore the lethargy that had crept back into his body.

"Woah... That must be hard work. I'm glad you're getting along with him, though!"

Instead of rising in tandem with his excited statement, the young man's voice fell flat. It wasn't that he meant to sound unenthusiastic, he'd just completely zoned out. Standing in dazed silence for a moment, he was only snapped back to reality by Dave's worried questioning.

"Hey, bro, you alright?"

John had no idea how to reply, instead shrugging dumbly. Sure, he wasn't going to die because he hadn't slept for the past few nights, but his limbs felt weighed down by lead. He stared blankly towards the wall behind his friend,  whole body beginning to lightly tremble.

"I think I'm fine, yeah... Don't worry about me, 'kay?"

The man's words slurred, and he laughed shakily. He braced himself against the near doorframe, exhaling as the world spun and lurched around his head. Thanks to the ever-increasing list of God Tier benefits, there was no need for him to sleep. Evidently, he should have. He'd not let himself have any relief from his steadily darkening thoughts for weeks.

Dave's hand lightly brushed John's shoulder, causing him to flinch and nearly fall over. He'd retrieved the tie, and was going to ask about whether or not John wanted help tying it, but did something else entirely when he felt the young man sway beneath his touch. While Casey freaked out a little, scampering away from the two to hide, Dave wrapped his arms securely around John's torso to steady him.

"I hate to tell you this, John, but what you're feeling right now is the exact opposite of fine. C'mon, dude. I can take care of you for a bit. Think of it as bro-to-bro bonding."

Dave held his position there, not speaking, until he felt the other's shaking slow down. He kept a hand on John's shoulder to steady him after the awkward embrace, slowly walking with the trembling man beside him until they reached a little further into the house. Gently, Dave guided his friend to sit down, and then called for Casey.

"C'mere, Case. Your dad needs some serious salamander love."

He never called the yellow salamander 'Casey', preferring 'Case'. She still responded to it, so he didn't see the point in changing his ways. John's adopted daughter peeked her head out from where she was hidden, blowing a bright blue bubble towards the coolkid. She made her way towards him, although she was obviously more concerned about reaching her dad.

Dave lifted Casey up into his arms and carried her to where John was on the couch. Before placing her down, he whistled and made an explosion noise upon 'impact'. She immediately hugged John's chest, walking across his legs and torso to get to that part of him. He smiled tiredly down at her.

John's eyes were drooping again, and that caused Dave - who was watching over the scene carefully - to frown.

"I can take Casey out of the room if you need some privacy, dude. You seem pretty tired."

His voice was softer than usual, but still held that certain suave that the other regarded as oddly calming. Casey bubbled in protest - or so Dave thought, since salamanders were pretty dim most of the time - and made an indignant noise.

"I think I just... I need to sleep, 'cause I've been awake for a while. But it's nice having you two here."

The man wearily smiled a little more, as if to reassure the two that nothing was wrong. It never reached his eyes.

Nodding, Dave walked to the kitchen. He retrieved a glass of water for his best friend, making sure it was cold to the touch but not icy enough to cause a headache. He returned to the living room to find John softly humming a familiar tune to Casey. It was 'Pipeorgankind', the same dramatic melody that he had once used to clear the skies of his land. A grin split Dave's features moments after.

"Aw, man... Didn't you invite me to the party? Cold."

As always, the Strider's voice held a lilt, nuanced enough that those who knew him well enough could tell whether or not he was joking around. He set the water down, clearing his throat.

"If you need a DJ, I can assure you that my beats are fresher than a cake straight outta the oven."

John stopped humming for a minute, looking towards Dave, who had fallen otherwise silent. He wasn't sure how to respond, but Dave never really expected a response in the first place.

He sat on the couch next to the other, hoisting Casey into his lap with a lop-sided grin. The salamander bubbled again, and he reached out a tentative finger. Ever since he started visiting LOWAS, Dave had never been sure whether or not the large blue objects in the salamander's mouths were their tongues. To his surprise, Casey stayed there. As soon as Dave's finger made contact, however,  the salamander licked him, bright blue liquid coating his entire hand.

This pulled a soft laugh from the boy next to him, due to the fact that the Strider's otherwise perfect hair was sticking up at the front, and he never seemed to notice. Reaching out with his powers, John directed his natural drafts - weaker than usual - to dry and swiftly redirect his hairdo.

Even though he was still incredibly tired, the blue boy was glad for the company. It didn't matter as much that Dave was obnoxious sometimes; he'd always had a keen sense of how others were feeling regardless of his own emotional confusion. As such, the Strider kept his arm around John, the small gesture providing a modicum of comfort more than his natural presence could.

The simple action was enough for the first tear to spill down John's cheek. He had adjusted himself to the feeling of crying alone, and there was a degree of embarrassment associated with anyone seeing him. But the Knight had always made him feel safer, and made it known that he'd always have a shoulder to cry on if he needed one.

Casey had situated herself on the other cushion, having moved from Dave's lap. She was keeping herself as close to her dad as possible.

Sometimes, John felt.... numb. In a way, he was jealous of the Striders' unique ability to lock away emotions, to not feel at all. He was shaken away from this mindset when Dave began gently wiping his tears away with a tissue. This particular Strider was one of the most empathetic people he knew.

Although doubts were racing through the man's mind, he was doing his best to make John feel safer.

"Let it out, man. It's... It's good for you to cry. You've bottled up so much shit I'm glad you're finding release. Just keep fighting, 'kay? I'm proud of you, John. You're one of the strongest people I know, but..."

Dave broke off as his normally suave, constrained tone wobbled, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"It's okay to break sometimes."

Dave's voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was all he could do not to start crying himself. Feeling John's panicked, shaking gasps slowing down gradually - With the other man pressed firmly against his chest in an awkward embrace - was a relief. It allowed him to let out the breath he had no idea he was holding.

He knew that his friend was sleeping, the soft breezes he emanated having tightened to curl almost protectively around his body. Gently, he eased his way out of John's lax arms. He stood, walking to the man's old bedroom and retrieving a blanket. He frowned when he saw how thin it was, though.

Taking off his thick hoodie, he draped it over John's body and scrawled something onto a sticky note: "Keep it. ~D." After attaching the note to the jacket, he bent over and pressed a soft - clearly hesitant - kiss on the other's forehead. Taking off his shades to look at John properly, his expression lifted into a smile.

Even though he knew John wouldn't hear him, Dave spoke as he left.

"I love you, dude. Good luck."

#john egbert #john homestuck #dave strider #dave homestuck #johndave #homestuck epilogue #okay I lied this is truly as soft as it gets #homestuck meat #homestuck candy #luminescent lyricist writes #🏠 stuck at home 🏠

[keiths3dart]

Max in the Black Lodge: A Life is Strange / Twin Peaks Crossover.

Part 4.

“Hello?”

Max tried to open her eyes, everything was black but she found she couldn't. She couldn't feel her body, she'd tried but there was no feedback from her mental commands. She couldn't even feel herself breathing, or her heart beating. She couldn't see or hear or feel. She was just, there. In the darkness.

Max began to panic, spared the sickening sensation in her gut but nonetheless terrified despite the lack of input from her endocrine system. She was dead. She was living out the last dying embers of her brain activity before oblivion snuffed out everything she'd ever been.

She'd never see Chloe again. Never feel the warmth of the sun on her face again. Never do anything ever again. She wanted to cry but couldn't. She wanted to scream but couldn't. She tried to work out how she'd died, but she couldn't even remember that. She remembered trying to rewind her way out of the Red Room with Rachel. She remembered pain. Unimaginable pain. Then it had all become black and empty.

Obviously there had been no reply to her query. She'd probably just imagined calling out anyway. All she could do was exist here in the blackness, waiting for her brain to run out of Oxygen and ATP with no contact with the world she was departing.

So this is what it means when they say we all die alone?

Calhoun Memorial Hospital, Twin Peaks WA.

Maxine Caulfield lay in a bed, a regular bleep came from the monitors to her side. Cardiac rhythm, 75bpm normal sinus. Blood Pressure 117/83 mmHg. SpO2 98%. All normal. GCS 4, about as bad as it gets.

Doctor William Hayward, mere weeks from retirement looked solemnly down on her. It was happening again. Her condition eerily similar to Ronette Pulaski. Complete catatonia rather than coma. What trauma had turned this young visitor to the town so far inwards upon herself? Was it related to the events of the early 90's with Ronette and Laura? The conspiratorial hushed conversations between Hawk and Bobby served only to fuel his suspicions. The girl had been up in the woods, the source of all the dark secrets of the town's past .

The two other girls had checked out fine. The blue haired one had been teetering on the edge of hysteria and was now feeling the benefit of the 2 valium he had given her. She sat now, drowsy and tearful at her friend's side tenderly holding her hand.

The other, the blonde had appeared strangely calm, a little vague and detached but physically fine. She too stayed with her friends but had just excused herself to visit the restroom.

Dr Hayward planned to do an EEG, there was still a possibility of an organic cause for her condition though cranial x-ray had shown no apparent trauma either diffuse or focal to her brain. But he wanted to be sure, wanted to see what activity was going on in her head. Wanted to give hope that Maxine was still in there somewhere. Wanted desperately not to see anything that indicated that the strangeness and horror had returned to Twin Peaks.

Prescott Memorial Hospital, Arcadia Bay, Oregon:

It had been a generally settled night on the psychiatric ward, George Wisnowski had been up and about through the night and had not been able to settle despite PRN Zopiclone and Lorazepam but he'd been no management problems, just a bit manic and restless. Other than that, the only other notable event overnight had been Nathan Prescott's nightmares.

The day staff had begun to trickle into the office, most cradling their morning Starbucks like a precious newborn baby.

Joanne Steele savoured the thought of behaving likewise to the glass of wine she'd have when she got home. She just had to get through handover and her night's work would be done.

And so she began her run down of the patients, exercising that particular skill unique to nurses the world over of finding 16 different ways of phrasing 'Settled and Slept’.

As she progressed, the waking state of the morning shift, fuelled by 100% Arabica shifted from inert to neutral, the dead eyes pointed at Joanne gradually gaining just enough sparkle to negate the temptation to check some of them for a pulse.

“Nathan Prescott, he had something of an unsettled night. He woke about two screaming out in his sleep. When we asked him about it he said he could hear Maxine Caulfield in his head screaming for Chloe. Maxine and Chloe, as you may know were involved in exposing the whole Jefferson scandal, and Nathan slipping back into ruminating on this period of his life even subconsciously could adversely affect his recovery."

Joanne leant back with a sigh. Job done.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is your happy bunch. I wish you all a very good day. I for one, am outta here”.

“I've got to get out of here”.

Max’s internal dialogue. She'd come to the conclusion she wasn't actually dead. She'd lingered non-corporially in the formless black for so long she couldn't possibly be lying dead in a heap in the Ghostwood.

That was about the only comforting thought she had. Any further analysis of her apparent situation ended that comfort. Lost, trapped, helpless, alone and with nothing to work with vis à vis an exit strategy. Max could only rate herself as 'Utterly fucked’ and quite possibly about to go profoundly mad from sensory deprivation.

Max had already begun to succumb to despair. Screaming in her mind for Chloe, her beautiful, bold, blazed, and blue angel. The evocation of her name infused with every ounce of love Max had bringing that face to life in her mind.

Max had to find the way back.

For Chloe.

For love.

Chloe sat, fighting the long futile fight against sleep. What was she to do? Sleep? While Max lay there? What if she missed some sign that her little twee hipster was still there? What if (Chloe could barely bring herself to even formulate the thought) Max slipped away while Chloe snored away next to her, oblivious? She could have split the vigil with Rachel, but Rachel didn't really know Max that well, Rachel had gone through her own trauma in those woods, trauma she had yet to share, and lastly, Rachel had seemed, just not completely there since Max had brought her back.

Speaking of which, Chloe wondered why Rachel was taking so long in the restroom, she'd said she was going there simply to wash her face a little just to freshen up and keep awake. Chloe rose from her chair wearily, her eyes never straying far from Max and backed towards the restroom door. Reaching it she rapped on the door with her knuckles.

"Hey Rachel? You ok in there?"

Rachel Amber stared into the mirror. Smiling benignly and fixing her hair.

"I'm fine Chloe. How's Max?".

"No change, you be out soon or what?"

"In a minute".

The voice strangely toneless, the look in her eye fey and dangerous. The reflection in the mirror, not her own.

Chloe, shrugged and sat back down next to Max, Rachel was a tad vain after all.

"How's Max?"

"How's Max?"

Rachel grinned into the mirror muttering the phrase sarcastically to herself.

"How's Max?"

The face in the mirror leered back.

"How's Max?"

"How's Max?"

An owl hooted.

"How's Max?"

…

…

#life is strange #chloe price #lis #max caulfield #pricefield #rachel amber #life is strange fanfiction #fanfic #twin peaks

[dato-potato]

The Lost Son pt. 5

How about that, another part. AU where Talia leaves Damian in an orphanage when he’s five. Bruce and Damian don’t know about the other.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

——————————

Bruce continued to stare at the paper, “Master Bruce, do you perhaps recall your partners from thirteen years ago?” Alfred asked carefully.

Bruce thought for a moment before shaking his head. “I can’t think of anyone who I had relations with that wouldn’t have said something, anything,” as the past day’s events returned to him, his blood began to boil, “Or anyone who would do something like that to a child.”

Alfred turned curiously to Bruce, “I beg your pardon, sir, but what exactly is that?”

Bruce sighed heavily, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. “He had scars, Alfred.” the butler stared incredulously, “He had so many scars… When I asked him about it, he told me his mother had given them to him.”

When Bruce finally looked up at Alfred, the poor man was in complete shock. “Why?” Alfred asked simply.

Bruce shook his head. “The boy said it was from training.”

“Training?” the butler repeated, appalled.

Bruce looked down at the paper again, as if the answers to their question would suddenly appear. His thoughts were a whirlpool, rushing around him as he tried to grasp at them, trying to figure out who this boy was and where he came from. 

“What do you suggest we do now, sir?” Alfred asked softly, pulling Bruce’s attention back.

Bruce tossed the paper in front of him, considering Alfred’s question. What would be the best course of action? Should he wait and investigate further into the boy’s history before he says anything? Did Damian even know that he was his father? Bruce took a deep breath. “I’ve no clue. Do you think the boy knows? That I’m his father?”

Alfred thought for a moment before shaking his head, “No, sir. I don’t believe he does. He’s said before he doesn’t know who his father is and I don’t believe he was lying.”

They were both silent for a long moment, both considering the situation, but neither one able to make any sense of it. “I just don’t get it. He’s using a fake name, whether he’s using it knowing it’s fake isn’t clear, but he obviously knows who his mother is,” Bruce paused, contemplating for a moment. “Is he afraid of getting her in trouble?” Bruce continued to speak his thoughts aloud, hoping something might stick out that could point them in the right direction.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred spoke hesitantly, catching Bruce’s attention, “I don’t think he’s worried about getting his mother in trouble, he told me she has already died.”

Bruce waved his hands out in front of himself, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up with him. “Then what? Why not tell someone?”

Alfred set his lips in a thin line, “What if the boy’s not afraid of his mother getting in trouble, but instead he’s afraid of getting himself into trouble?”

Bruce let that ruminate, looking back at the abandoned document in front of him before closing his eyes in an attempt to concentrate. He tried to think of what Damian, a child, could have done that would get him in any type of trouble. Nothing was coming up, draining Bruce even more as he did his best to keep his mind focused.

Alfred huffed, Bruce raised a tired brow up at the man, keeping his eyes closed. “But honestly, sir,” Bruce opened his eyes and looked up at the older man, “did you really have no idea that he was your son? None at all?”

Bruce furrowed his brows, “Of course not, if I had I would’ve said or done something. Besides, how was I supposed to know?”

Alfred raised a judgemental eyebrow. “Honestly, Master Bruce, and you call yourself the world’s greatest detective.”

——————————

It had been a week since Damian had gotten into trouble with the two meatheads from Mrs. Williams’ store, giving Damian some time to recover from the concussion they gave him. Or rather, Damian was forced to stay on bed rest for a week, minimum, or else Janet was going to restrain him and put an ankle monitor on him. He had no choice but to concede, allowing mostly Janet and Aurora to care for him, which they both thoroughly enjoyed. Damian, however, found it utterly excruciating. Or at least, that’s what he told them every chance he got.

After the one week, Damian was finally allowed out of bed, with the exception that he remain in the house at all times. The kids had just been put to bed, Damian started the kettle to boil some water.

“Making some tea, kiddo?” Janet asked as she slumped into one of the wooden chairs.

“Yeah, you want any?” Damian offered, glancing behind him to Janet.

She thought for a moment and then nodded, “But make sure it’s—”

“Sweet?” Damian finished, flashing a cheeky smile at the older woman.

Janet chuckled, “You know me so well.”

Damian nodded, adding an ungodly amount of sugar to her tea. He set it down in front of Janet and she took a long sip, humming her satisfaction. Damian sat down across from her, fidgeting in his seat. Janet raised an eyebrow at him, “So?”

Damian pursed his lips and looked away from Janet, idly fiddling with the mug in front of him. His heart was racing and he did his best to calm it with a deep breath. “So, I was thinking we should talk.”

Janet took another sip, waiting for Damian to continue. When he didn’t, she rolled her eyes, “Well, go on then.”

Damian cleared his throat, “Right.” His throat seemed to immediately seize up and dry out, a lump forming that he tried to desperately swallow down. Janet was beginning to look more concerned than the mild annoyance she wore before.

Janet reached out her hand to grasp Damian’s, attempting to comfort him. “Damian, what’s wrong? You’re shaking like a leaf, child.”

Damian didn’t like how tight his chest felt, it felt as if it was trying to collapse in on itself. He couldn’t breathe properly but forced himself on, this is exactly the type of thing that had been drilled into him since birth. He grasped Janet’s hand back. “I just, I wanted you to know, I didn’t want you to find out from someone else. If anyone should know, it’s you,” he said, but it was more for himself, a poor attempt at convincing himself that this was what he should do. Janet had more than earned it through their years together.

Janet’s lips twitched in a nervous smile when Damian didn’t elaborate further. “You’re making me anxious here, dear.”

Damian nodded, he was making himself feel anxious as well, that’s what that feeling was: anxiety. Ridiculous, he was trained since birth to become the perfect assassin, the perfect fighter, the perfect leader, and here he was, getting anxious over this? Damian couldn’t stop the dry, humourless laugh that escaped.

“Damian, my boy,” Janet smoothed her other hand over Damian’s that still held hers, “Whatever it is, it’s ok. You don’t need to tell me if it’s making you so worked up. You’re still recovering, can’t have you back on bed rest, Rory won’t leave you alone,” she tried to joke in order to lighten the tension.

He considered her offer for a moment but then shook his head, taking his hand out of her grasp and placing it in his lap. He felt jittery from the adrenaline now coursing through him and he hoped it would give him the courage he needed. “No,” he said firmly, voice no longer shaking, “I want you to know.”

Janet took her hands back as well, her face was still riddled with concern, but she kept it to herself as she sent Damian a small, reassuring smile and nodded. 

Damian took a deep breath, steeling himself, “I wanted to tell you about my mother,” Damian said, his entire being letting out a massive breath. Like even just the act of saying he was going to tell her was enough, though, he knew that wasn’t the case. 

Janet nodded solemnly, preparing for whatever he would tell her. “My real name is Damian al Ghul,” Damian watched Janet’s face carefully, searching for something. What he was trying to find, he didn’t know. He watched as the more time that passed, the more confused Janet looked and Damian berated himself. Why did he assume Janet would know who the al Ghul’s were, what they did? 

Damian sighed softly, hands fiddling restlessly in his lap. “My mother was Talia al Ghul, daughter of Ra’s al Ghul, who was the leader of a very,” Damian paused, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth, trying to figure out the best way to say it. His heart picked up its pace, hammering inside his chest and Damian briefly considered that Janet could probably hear it too. “It’s a very dangerous organization.”

When Janet didn’t respond, Damian tried again, rubbing a hand down his face. “Janet,” the lump was back in his throat, attempting to stop him from saying anything more. Damian distantly wondered if that was some type of defence mechanism the League implemented on all members so no one could talk about it. He shook his head, ridding himself of such useless thoughts and focusing in front of him on the table before raising his gaze to Janet. “You do know I’m not exactly a normal child, right?”

Janet scoffed, her concern faltering for a moment, comforting Damian in an odd way. “Child, how many others have you seen come through this house? Out of the oddest of odd kids that have come here, you are by far the most abnormal.”

Damian chuckled softly at that, his breathing and heart rate slowing slightly with the feeling of normalcy, the feeling of home that Janet exuded. “Right. Well, there’s a reason for that. I was trained since I was young to succeed my grandfather as the head of this group,” Janet nodded and he continued, “I was taught a wide range of things, from general studies, to advanced studies, to more… unpleasant things.”

Janet raised her brows, seeming to understand the meaning of Damian’s words. “What do you mean by unpleasant, Damian?”

Damian closed his eyes for a moment before focusing back on Janet. He let himself worry, if only for one moment, that Janet may not accept him after this. That she might even go so far as calling the police and tell them what he’d said and he’d either be arrested or sent to Arkham Asylum. If she didn’t want him around anymore, he’d deal with that, he could get by on his own. Probably. 

“I was taught how to hurt people, in the worst and most permanent ways.”

Janet took that in, sipping thoughtfully at her tea. Damian couldn’t hold her gaze any longer, his anxieties getting to him, she didn’t want him around her or the children anymore, she knew and she was going to kick him out for good. He thought about how much time he had, what he could fit into his backpack before the cops or whoever else Janet would call got there. Rory’s smiling face crossed his mind, making him wince. He probably wouldn’t have time to say goodbye to her. Would she be upset? Surely she would, she’d probably kick up a fuss and go out on her own to find him. A small smile fought its way to Damian’s lips at the thought of her.

“All right,” Janet spoke clearly, no hesitation in her voice, dragging Damian back from his thoughts of running.

Damian felt like he had whiplash from how quickly his head snapped up to search her face. “All right?”

Janet nodded, “Yeah. That was before, right?” she asked and Damian nodded his head slowly, still trying to wrap his head around her words. Janet nodded back, a smile growing on her face. “Good. And you don’t plan on going back there, do you?” Damian shook his head. There was no way he’d ever go back. “Then we’re fine.”

Damian just breathed for a long minute as Janet took a sip at her quickly cooling tea.

“You’re just, fine? With me?” Damian spoke quietly, surprising Janet and himself with how small and young he sounded. “You’re just accepting the things I’ve done, things you don’t even truly understand?”

Janet set her mug down and sighed gently, “Damian,” she started, as if he were a small child who couldn’t understand why the sky was blue or why one plus one equals two. “You have no intention of harming the children, do you?”

“Of course not,” Damian said, a little more harshly than he meant, but he was a bit offended she would even ask if he’d ever hurt them.

Janet only smiled triumphantly and picked up her tea. “Exactly.” Damian stared wide-eyed at the old woman. “Damian, you are not who you were when you were with your mother. You are not who you were when you first began living here, hell, you aren’t even who you were a few months ago.”

Damian felt his entire body relax, releasing a tension he wasn’t even aware he had as his eyes searched for a hint of doubt in Janet. When he couldn’t find it, he looked around the room, for what, he wasn’t sure, but he had no idea what else to do. 

Janet chuckled and then smiled tenderly at him, her eyes softening and taking Damian’s hand back in her own. “My child, you are an astonishing young man who has been through so much more than most people three, four times your own age. It’s all right. I’m very happy you’ve decided to share this with me, but it doesn’t change who you are in the now, who you were before is not an issue.”

Damian was stunned into silence, words completely abandoning him as Janet rose from her seat to make her way around the table. She pulled Damian’s arms up and he obeyed, standing facing her and Janet pulled him to her in a tight hug. He had been hugged by Janet before, but that was different. That was the type of hug a mother gives, the type of hug Damian had never received. His heart seemed to drop as he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he wrapped his arms around Janet.

“You silly, stupid boy,” Janet sniffled, “You’ve never been whatever you thought you are, whatever you’ve managed to convince yourself you are, never,” Janet brought her hands up to his head to move him back so she could look at him, “You have something great within you, something no one could ever teach or take away from you, and it drives you to be great, to be good.”

Damian felt like his entire body began to shut down, everything malfunctioning as this woman in front of him, who he had come to think of as a sort of mother figure, told him every single thing he had yearned to hear for so long but had long abandoned any hope of actually hearing.

Janet laughed wetly, tears flowing like steady streams down her face, “For how much you boast that you’re some sorta boy genius, you sure look dumbfounded now.”

Damian couldn’t do anything more than stare at Janet and ask why, why hadn’t he been given a mother like her? Someone who would love him unconditionally, no matter what. No matter how he was raised and what he was told was right and wrong, no matter what kind of monster he had convinced himself he was.

“Thank you,” he whispered as Janet tugged him into another hug which he gladly accepted.

Damian took his now abandoned tea to the sink, Janet close behind with her own mug. She stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, wiping a stray tear away as she spoke, “So you lived with your mother until you came here?”

Damian nodded, hesitantly, still unsure if he wanted Janet knowing everything. “Yes. Well, for the most part. I was training all the time so I didn’t see too much of her outside of that.”

Janet hummed. “And your father?”

Damian’s gaze found the floor. “I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t know. Mother said she’d tell me when the time was right, when I was ready, but she died before the time came.”

Janet stood still for another moment and then shooed Damian out of the kitchen before he could wash their dishes, chiding him for stressing himself while he’s supposed to be recovering.

Damian felt impossibly light like he was about to float away, into the night if he opened his window too much. It felt strange, but it felt like something he could get used to. Damian smiled softly to himself as he climbed into bed, closing his eyes and for once, feeling only peace as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

——————————

Aurora yawned as she stepped carefully down the stairs, seeing the light still on in the dining room, and heading towards it. She scrunched her nose as she stepped off the last stair, her throat feeling impossibly dry. Before she could round the corner and ask Janet for a glass of water, the voices stopped her in her tracks.

The voices were hushed as if speaking about secrets that could only be told during the night like she did with her stuffed giraffe, Giraffery. Aurora could tell that it was Dami and Janet talking, though about what exactly, she didn’t quite catch. She caught one or two words, here and there. One thing stuck out to her.

“My mother was Talia al Ghul,” she heard Dami say and Aurora felt like she had been punched in the gut. Dami had never told anyone about his mother or father, or anything from before. Aurora had asked on multiple occasions, trying to catch him off guard so he might let something slip, but she had never succeeded. Why was he talking about his mother now? Was he going back? Would he leave her? 

Aurora’s feet shuffled backwards, the only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat and the rush of blood in her ears. Dami couldn’t leave, he wouldn’t, right? They weren’t related but he was still her big brother, he wasn’t allowed to leave her, just like she would never leave him. She had to stay with Dami. If Aurora ever left, he would always come to find her, just like he had that one time with the bad guys.

If Dami left, Aurora would find him too, even if he was taken by bad guys, she’d... she’d fight them off and protect him, just like he had done. She could do it, Dami made sure she knew how to protect herself if anything happened. Aurora just needed Dami to stay. That’s where they both belonged, together with Janet and Giraffery. They were a family, and families stick together. 

Aurora had made it back to her room and slipped back into bed, hugging Giraffery as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep, forgetting all about her thirst. 

——————————

Janet walked about in the kitchen gathering the various ingredients she needed for pancakes. She figured after the emotional night she and Damian had last night, it’d be nice to have some of her special cinnamon pancakes Damian had grown to like. She smiled to herself at the thought of the boy. He had been so closed off when he had arrived on her doorstep, like he was unaffected by anything, showing little to no emotion.

The first night he was there, she had given him clothes to sleep in and that was the first time she had seen such scars, on anyone. He was so young, yet it was glaringly obvious that the poor child had suffered greatly. Janet hadn’t known what to do for the first while, he didn’t play with the kids, and when they had managed to convince him to join, he didn’t know any games. He tended to drift off to the sidelines, watching them play as he pretended to read, but kept watch as if to keep them safe from something. After their talk, she supposed that may not have been too far off. 

Hearing what Damian told her the previous night had been a shocker but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t made guesses as to his past, she just never thought he’d ever be open to talking about it. She was fine with that too, if he didn’t want to talk about it, she would support him for as long as he stayed with her. Through the time he had spent at the orphanage in Janet’s care, he’d grown into a fine young man. One that Janet was more than proud to call her own, even if it was only as his temporary guardian. She only wished for Damian to continue to grow and find his happiness, perhaps even finally accept someone’s proposal for adoption.

The phone rang, forcing Janet back to the present as she checked the analog clock. It was still early, none of the kids had woken up yet. She cautiously made her way over to the phone, picking it up off the hook and placing it on her shoulder to continue stirring the pancake batter, “Hello? This is Happy Home Orphanage, Janet speaking.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Norwell,” the voice sounded familiar but she couldn’t immediately place who it was, “my apologies for calling so early in the morning, it’s Alfred Pennyworth of the Wayne household.”

Janet paused stirring the batter as she switched the phone to her other ear, her brows furrowing. “Yes, of course, Mr. Pennyworth, what can I do for you this morning?”

“Master Bruce wanted to request an appointment,” the old man stated, leaving no room for debate.

Janet thought for a moment and then returned to stirring, “Right, well I will let Damian know when he gets up and I’ll have him call you right back,” she spoke in the same tone as he had, letting the butler know she wouldn’t set the boy up without his consent. Damian was weird enough around the billionaire, she wouldn’t force him to meet with the man if Damian hated it that much, whether he happened to sponsor their orphanage or not didn’t matter, her kids were her top priority. 

The butler cleared his throat on the other end of the line before Janet had prepared herself to hang up on him. “He requested to meet with you, Mrs. Norwell, without the young sir.”

Janet stopped stirring again. “Mr. Wayne requested to meet with me. Just me,” she stated more than asked him.

“That is correct.”

Janet considered asking the butler why but ultimately decided against it. “All right, Damian will be out of the house this afternoon, please tell Mr. Wayne he’s welcome to stop by then.” Without waiting for a response from the butler, Janet hung the phone back up and stared into the batter before taking a deep breath and calming her racing heart.

She wasn’t sure exactly how she was going to handle the meeting, it all depended on what Mr. Wayne wanted.

—————————— 

After breakfast, the kids took off to the playroom, arguing who got the first turn with which toy. Aurora had been acting weird since the morning, sticking even closer to Damian than she usually did, and after eating, she excused herself from the table to go up to her room. 

Damian stepped into the kitchen, carrying the dishes from the table to the sink. He tried to be as unassuming as possible, knowing if Janet noticed him doing things, she’d tell him to go rest even though he was pretty much completely healed. Janet sighed as she looked out of the window by the sink.

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked and Janet smiled kindly at him before raising an eyebrow at the dishes he was carrying.

Janet sighed and shook her head, still smiling. “Was it just me or was Aurora acting a bit weird?”

Damian pursed his lips and nodded, placing the dishes in the sink. “It’s not just you.”

Janet nodded and sighed again, clearly that wasn’t all she had been thinking about. 

“Did you want to take the kids to the park in the afternoon?” She asked finally.

Damian grinned back at her, “You want me to take them to the park? I can go outside?”

She rolled her eyes and shoved him out of the way of the sink, “Yes, so don’t make me regret it.”

Damian nodded and headed up the stairs. He made his way to Aurora’s room, knocking softly on the door and waiting. When there was no answer, he carefully pushed the door open.

“Hey, Rory,” Damian spoke softly to the small girl who looked up at him with her round, brown eyes. “Did you want to come with me and the others to the park?”

She looked away for a moment and then shook her head, focusing back on the book she had in front of her. It was easy to forget that she was growing up, already reading and writing. 

Damian sat carefully on the edge of her bed, placing his hand on her forehead, “Are you ok, little one?” He asked her gently. “You seem a bit out of it.”

Aurora shook her head again, “’m fine. Just a stomach ache.”

Damian nodded, not totally convinced, but understanding she clearly wanted to spend some time alone. He stood from her bed, “All right, well, the offer still stands. We’ll be leaving after lunch.”

——————————

Damian told Janet that Aurora wasn’t feeling well and would likely be staying home that afternoon. Janet nodded and said she’d get Grace to bring up some stomach medicine to her. 

After lunch, Damian slipped his shoes on and guided the kids to the park with Grace who did indeed still work at the orphanage, but only on some weekends since the decrease in kids. Between that, and Damian helping out, the need to employ others to help out dwindled and Janet only ended up keeping Grace for a few weekends. 

The kids waved goodbye to Janet as she waved back, waiting until they were out of sight before returning inside and putting the kettle on as she waited.

Not ten minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up to the orphanage, Janet taking a deep breath as she opened the door and prepared for Bruce Wayne.

——————————

sorry if this one wasn’t as exciting or anything. 

Also if anyone is wondering, Grace isn’t as old as Janet (who’s in her mid to late 50′s by the way, I don’t think I’ve mentioned that yet...) but she’s in her late 40′s and was a good friend to Janet when she lost her husband. I actually have quite a bit of background for Janet and Aurora and some small points for some other smaller characters but they haven’t fit into the story as of yet and I didn’t want to force it in. Anyway, if anyone’s curious about any of the characters, feel free to comment or something and I will 100% be there to answer.

Thanks again for reading <3

#damian wayne #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #fanfic #batman #batfam #batfamily #its getting serious now #sorry if its bad #my fic

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Six

Since this is a horror/ supernatural story, I’d hoped I’d have it finished before the end of October. In fact, I’d hoped to have it finished well before that because I had another horror-type thing that I was also supposed to get finished before the end of October. And now I have a few other ideas that aren’t horror-driven that I want to get done because... Yeah, you know. Life.

Anyway, if you’d like to get caught up on this story, you can find the previous sections here: 

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 2,392

Content advisory: Graphic sexual content, dub-con, possibly disturbing moral/ religious themes

For several days, the dour mood in the house persisted, although the children did start to brighten up a bit. Things made a sudden shift, however, when the Reverend, who continued to stay at home, returned from a meeting. He was smiling and some of the color had returned to his face, and as he entered the house, he immediately called the children to him. I still felt that he was cross with me from the incident at dinner and so I stayed back, watching them from the drawing room. 

“Did you get good news, Papa?” Sophia inquired. 

“Very good news. At least, the best news I could hope for. And I want to apologize that I haven’t been myself with you lately. I hope you know that I always love you, even if my mood is low.”

I glanced in his direction, faintly hoping that he might indicate that I was included in his apology but his attention was entirely given to his children. He didn’t go into any detail about the nature of his news but he did tell them that they would finally be able to properly bury their mother and to “say their goodbyes”. Considering that he had been rather cold to me since that night in the dining room, I was a little surprised and perhaps a little hurt to hear him use my exact words as if they were now a good thing. 

The children returned to me a few minutes later, seeming more content. I suspected that this was not so much because of the news but because their father seemed like himself again. I tried to reflect their good mood back at them as I continued our French lesson, even though I felt like I had been left out. 

To my surprise, Reverend Devitt stayed in the doorway, watching us with a curious expression. Perhaps he wanted to see if I was doing an adequate job. I definitely felt as if he were judging my performance and I found myself quite nervous. Nevertheless, I worked my way through everything I had planned to cover before I released them for their afternoon tea. Their father hung by the door after they’d left, watching me speculatively. 

“May I help you sir?” I asked meekly. 

“Will you be taking tea with us?”

“I would be happy to.”

I had been mostly taking my meals by myself in the last several days, frightened I might anger him more or that my very presence would be aggravating. He had given no acknowledgment that he even noticed, so it was very gratifying to know that I was being invited back into the fold. 

He stepped inside the room and offered me his hand, which I gladly took, blushing a little at the unexpected contact. He continued to hold it after I rose and he made no move to leave. 

“After an investigation,” he began, “the authorities determined that there was no evidence to proceed with a full inquiry into my wife’s death. So there is no imminent disaster and no shame that will be visited on me or my family.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir. I have prayed for you.”

I shivered a little, remembering who else I had asked for help and how I had agreed to pay him. 

The Reverend bent his head and lightly touched his lips to my fingers. 

“I don’t know why, but I feel that somehow your presence and your prayers are somehow responsible. I shared the story of my most terrible memories with you and for the first time, some of the burden of carrying them has been lifted from me.”

“You’re too kind, sir.”

“Feargal, Helen,” he reminded me softly. “Call me Feargal.”

He turned my hand over and kissed my wrist and palm, lips as soft as dew, and I felt the sensation reverberate throughout my body. When he raised his head, the look in his blue eyes was like nothing I had ever seen before, slightly playful and at the same time a bit dangerous. I felt as though he were searching for something inside me, but I could not fathom what it was. Gradually, his expression changed to a gentle smile as he lowered and released my hand, leaving me to wonder what had just passed between us, or if I had been imagining things. 

*

The funeral for the late Mrs. Devitt was organized for the following week. A lay minister was brought in from the city to conduct the service so that the Reverend would be able to sit with his children. The family asked that I attend and I agreed, although my secret feelings towards the head of the house made me feel awkward about it. I didn’t like to admit it, but in my heart I hoped that finally being able to say goodbye to his wife might open my employer to the possibility of someone new. 

Many times, I replayed the moment his lips had touched my hand and the look in his eyes afterward. He was on the road during the intervening days and by the time he returned, I had worked myself into a state. I was barely able to look at him, afraid that my face would betray the entirely inappropriate thoughts I was having. At the same time, I longed to know if he was looking at me and, if so, in what way. 

The day of the funeral was the first when autumn’s chill could be felt cutting through the warmth of the late summer. We walked to the church together- The Reverend, the children, Kate and me. I had been a little disappointed when I realized Kate was coming too since it diminished the pride I felt at being asked to join. Of course, she had known Mrs. Devitt and I certainly didn’t object to her pleasant company, but I felt less special as a result. 

A few women from the town were in attendance, ones I assumed had tried to befriend Sarah Devitt when she first arrived. No one, not even the Reverend, knew how to contact her family and so they had no presence that day. The service was simple and warm, in keeping with what I had seen of the Reverend, if not what I had heard of the woman we were mourning. 

I was  a little surprised that neither of the children cried, but it seemed likely that their mother had been dead in their minds since the night she disappeared. Both of them looked forlorn and Sophia’s face was a mask of anxiety that seemed inappropriate to her tender age. My heart ached for her, knowing too well the pain of losing a mother, of feeling the need to behave like a young woman while still being very much a child. 

We returned home and the visiting reverend joined us for an early supper. He and Reverend Devitt immediately fell deep into conversation and I allowed myself to look at him from under my eyelashes, marvelling at how very handsome he was and at the serenity of his clear eyes now that the shadow had passed from them. I had to force myself to take the children upstairs and put them to bed because I would have happily sat there all night, watching him in silence. 

“Would you like me to read you anything in particular?” I asked the children as they settled in bed. 

They glanced at each other and shook their heads simultaneously and yet I could tell there was something they wanted to say. 

“You both did very well today,” I commended them. “I was inconsolable at my mother’s funeral.”

“Miss Miles,” Sophia began crisply, “my brother and I have something we want to know. Can you help us?”

“I will try my best.”

“Is it true that unbaptized babies go to Hell?”

I stared back, aghast at how her cool tone never wavered. It was like she had asked me why apples came in different colors. 

“Well,” I stammered, not knowing what to say or why they wanted to know and remembering all too clearly what had happened the last time I had tried to give advice on a matter of death and religion, “that is what we are told. Baptism absolves us of Original Sin and therefore…” I struggled to come up with something that made things seem less bleak. “These matters are really in God’s hands. We know what He has taught us but ultimately all of these decisions are his to make.”

“But He has told us that unbaptized souls are always lost, no matter what the circumstances,” Sophia persisted. 

“That is so,” I answered quietly. 

“What if the baby hasn’t been born yet?” William chimed in. 

Again, I was astounded at how easily these questions came from them. William sounded a little more emotional than his sister but not by much. 

“I don’t know that there is anything in the Bible about that.”

“But aren’t there many babies who are stillborn?” Sophia, cooler and less affected than ever, took over the questioning again. 

“There are. But the Bible says that man is born in a state of sin. So I think the child would have to be born and alive.”

I could tell that my argument was unconvincing and their expressions became worried. 

“Wait! The Bible also tells us that life comes in breath, so in order to be considered fully alive, the baby would have to have taken at least one breath.”

The two of them immediately looked relieved and Sophia only gave a little smile. 

“Why did you want to know about such things?”

“We were just thinking about all of the unborn children when we were at the funeral,” Sophia explained. “We didn’t like to imagine them all going to Hell.”

I smiled to know that I had relieved their minds on that score and yet I knew in my heart that she was lying. I felt hurt by the lack of trust and wondered what could be so shocking that they felt they could not share it with me but so pressing that they had been compelled to ask their unsettling questions. 

Back in my room, I continued to ruminate over the meaning of what had just happened and wondered if I should tell their father as I dressed for bed. Within hours, I had found myself overwhelmed with sympathy for the vulnerability of my two charges and frightened by their almost inhuman coldness. 

I knelt at the side of my bed and asked God for His guidance. As I prayed, however, I became distracted by an acrid scent, smoke and seawater, filling the room. I tried to tell myself that I had left the window open and that the smell was coming from outside but it was useless. I could feel the presence in the room with me. I sensed his dark form circling the room and felt the weight of his body on the bed before me before his talons ran down the side of my face. I desperately wanted to keep my eyes closed in the hopes that he would simply leave but finally I had to see for myself and confirm what I already knew. 

Balor leaned his head down, continuing to cradle my face in his hand. He regarded me with an expression of perverse delight, his pale eyes almost luminous. 

“You see how I protect what’s mine,” he hissed. 

I nodded a little, frightened to find out what I had to bargain for now. 

He pressed the knuckle of his thumb under my chin, forcing me to stare back at him. 

“But that wasn’t all you wanted.” He gave a knowing smirk. “Say it.”

“I just…” I trembled at the voracious look on his face. “I only wish that he loved me.”

“Then pray,” he snarled. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He unfolded his crouched body, easing his legs off the bed on either side of me and pushing my head against his thigh, close to his erect member. 

“Pray.”

He guided my mouth over the swollen head and down his shaft, rocking back and forth and giving quiet yet lascivious moans. I waited for that first painful thrust into the back of my throat but this time he pulled me off him and dragged me onto the bed by my hair. I landed on my stomach and felt him pounce on me, gripping my hips and lifting them from the bed, which caused my nightdress to fall forward. 

Within a second, he pushed inside me, the shock and the burn of being stretched out almost making me faint. If he noticed this, he gave no sign, pounding away at a frantic pace, claws dug into my flesh to keep me somewhat steady. Gradually, he slid one hand around to the front, pressing his fingers against that point near the top of my opening, the one that had made me fall apart for him before. And, once again, the pleasure obliterated every other feeling I had in me. Wrong though it was, I wanted him to continue like this forever and at the same time, I wanted to rush towards the peak I knew was coming. 

He seemed to prolong the act before finally pressing me over the edge, my body spasming around him until I felt the hot, thick liquid he released inside me. His arms wrapped tight around my chest and he used his weight and strength to press me flat against the bed. He continued to thrust slowly, bestial growls escaping him until he finally stilled. I felt his breath heavy on my neck, and the movement of his rippling muscles as he too began to relax. 

When I came to, I was on my back, under the covers, as if nothing had happened. I could feel every scratch and welt he had left on my body but when I examined my skin, there were no external marks. I tried to sleep again but lay awake, terrified of what might be happening to me and trying to decide if it was worse that I had entered into some kind of pact with a demon or if I had gone mad and these fantasies were just the dark contents of my mind. 

#wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #nxt imagine #nxt fanfiction #finn balor imagine #finn balor fanfic #wrestling fanfic #wayward wrestle writing

[pitapatrs]

they ended up in italy on a whim, the amalfi coast their destination not by any real invitation, but because of rowan's desire to visit with another woman who was already in the country. piper didn't mind. the coast in question would not have been her first choice, associating it with nothing more than marriage which she held no current interest in, but she would be lying if she said she didn't find it absolutely breathtaking, regardless of what purpose the place seemed to hold. she found herself enjoying the sunset, her toes buried deep in the sand while her fingers drew nonsensical patterns that would surely vanish by the end of the night. not that she minded, they were not masterpieces meant to be witnessed by any other eyes, only a means to pass the time while she sat alone. somehow, it reminded her of the day she had spent ruminating in her room before her fateful encounter with rowan in the aquarium, perhaps moments behind their relationship fully imploded on itself. now, such thoughts weren't weighing heavy on her shoulders, and she'd started the trip feeling at ease with the spot they'd found themselves in. clearly, they were okay if they were traveling together, at least, that was what piper had taken to telling herself, replaying the mantra despite the fact she was well aware one slip up on her end would ultimately lead to destruction. she had much more pressing issues to think about, but for the moment she was caught up in the feeling of the sand against her skin and the sound of the waves lightly crashing against the shore.

she's out late enough that the sky grows dark and moon's reflection wavers in the ocean. she decides it's time she should return to their hotel. there was nowhere left to run or hide, and she realizes too belatedly that attempting to flee in a foreign country had not been her brightest idea to begin with. however, she'd been running off of pure adrenaline, and even more so by fear. in the end, she'd ended up in the most obvious place, sat before the calming waves and enveloped in the scent of sea salt. if only she could have stayed there until her mind completely went blank, until she forgot what she'd witnessed earlier in the day. footsteps crush the sand behind her and her skin crawls. she assumes her time has run out, but knows she would have had to confront her eventually. realistically, sneaking into their hotel to retrieve her things had never been a viable option to begin with, no matter how sure piper had been of her plan an hour into her grand escape. based on what she'd walked into, the other woman would have no problem tracking her down no matter where she went. piper may have been a fool, but she was not so idiotic to believe she could get away entirely from someone like rowan. she only wished she could go back and never follow the other in the first place and instead continue living on blissfully unaware her friend was living a double life right under her nose. she turns and sure enough it's rowan and unconsciously piper pulls her legs tight against her chest, still sat in the sand, and her fingers dig harshly into her skin. her lips curl into a frown and her eyes waver up the other's figure, scanning for weapons, before they settle on the other's face. it only takes a second before piper pushes herself up to her feet, legs shaking despite her desire to remain strong in the face of danger. in fact, her whole body is shaking, and she curses herself for being so weak, though she could only assume most people would feel the exact same way. her back is to the ocean, and the sound of the waves is her only comfort as she eyes the other woman, but no words are shared. not at first.

what she'd witnessed earlier comes flashing back despite her wish to forget. if only she'd just minded her own business and left rowan to her own devices instead of following her up to the rooftop. piper had only followed out of concern, after finding rowan in a panic the night prior, she couldn't help herself from checking to make sure her friend was okay, especially considering how close she'd come to ruining their friendship before. she had to prove herself as a worthy companion if she wanted to be kept around, that's what she told herself as she tailed behind the other, and she supposes she was lucky she'd decided to stay far enough back she wasn't discovered so she missed the actual crime. still, it was clear what piper had walked in on, and it was almost as though she'd walked into some strange twisted action movie version of her own life. her blood had run cold the moment her eyes settled on the gun in rowan's hand, how naturally it seemed to fit there against her figure, and dizziness followed soon after. she felt as though she was frozen in her place though her mind was screaming to run as quick as she could, grab her things and flee back home, but it was as if the universe was determined to make her life a living hell that morning as the wind swung the door open, harshly slamming it against the other wall alerting the other then to her presence. they make eye contact before piper turns and sprints back down the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet multiple times, but somehow she manages to not fall until after she's back down on the ground level where she unceremoniously meets pavement and tears her knee open before scrambling back up again. there's no time to think about her bloodied knee when her life was no potentially at stake, and she takes off in the opposite direction of their hotel, no plan in place besides run. she doesn't realize she's dropped her wallet on the stairs until much later when she grows hungry and it's only then that the severity of the situation settles in and she finds herself crying in the middle of a random italian street. how pitiful, things really couldn't get any worse. an hour more of wandering turns to two, then three, then several more before she finally finds herself at the beach. it's there she manages to calm down enough to think, but not enough to rationalize what she saw.

eyeing rowan now reminds her how bad her body aches and how if she tried to run now she felt like she'd collapse of exhaustion. she hadn't eaten all day, and she was spent from both crying and running. rowan's offer at the time is simple, and piper accepts, knowing she didn't really have an option otherwise. her phone had died hours ago and she didn't have any money. it was a matter of listen or be stuck on the coast. the two of them making their way back to the hotel and piper is eerily silent the whole time, her head spinning but she's unable to think of anything she'd like to say. nothing coherent, anyway. even after she digs into one of her many snacks and listens to rowan's explanation, she doesn't offer much in return. she doesn't even make eye contact, eyes planted firmly on the floor the whole time the other speaks to her. she's still shaking, and she's more focused on the way she feels the inklings of panic crawling up her spine than whatever rowan has to say for herself. she does manage to register what she'd walked in on, however, but it does nothing to make her feel better about the situation, instead feeling as though she's only placed a target upon her head by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. though, really, she should have realized right away that had rowan seen her as a liability she would have taken care of her right away. in the moment it's all she can think about, though, and it's enough for her to find herself taking increasingly shakier breaths, her eyes widening as she continues to gaze at the floor. the room is spinning, there's a roaring in her ears and it's just all too much.

"i don't want to hear anymore. i just want to be left alone." she manages to choke it out strongly enough before she attempts to catch the other's gaze, eyes glazed over with the beginnings of unspent tears, moments from spilling over. she was only acting tough, the moment she was alone she'd surely succumb to her fear. "please, just, we can talk about this later. or something. i can't do this right now. i want to sleep now." she flops unceremoniously onto the bed then, curling in on herself, her back to rowan. there was no running away anymore, she reminds herself, not even bothering to cover herself with the blankets as she shuts her eyes. "goodnight."

#//piro. #//pr. #//p.

[iamfina5]

Sigr Edda

Summary: Sigyn of Asgard is the Goddess of Victory and wife to Loki. Or so humans have mistakenly believed for a thousand years. In truth, she is a peasant living in the shadow of Asgard's palace with power she's yet to understand. After inadvertently gaining the affection of the God of Mischief over the course of a few decades, it's not long before she is forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her love for Odin's traitorous son. Her journey in doing so will take her to Midgard, where her reputation as a hero won't save her from a prophecy that spells death for herself and half the universe. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame & the LOKI series.

Part Three: Earth

Chapter Two: Prophecy

First  Prev/Next

Tormented by the news her daughter had brought her just hours earlier, Walentyna is unable to sleep. She’s been lying in bed for hours, ruminating over what had been said after Sigyn’s return home.

Covered in dirt and smeared with blood of varying colors, Sigyn had shouldered past her into the house before explaining that which she’d learned on Midgard. By some strange coincidence that she didn’t fully understand, it turned out that Sigyn was just as much a goddess as was her sister, and that her reputation as such spelled her death. A prophet had warned her of a prophecy that foretold her final interaction with an evil, cosmic being, the same one who’d persuaded Loki to attack Midgard in the first place.

The prophecy, which Sigyn had relayed to Walentyna, made little sense, but one thing was certain: the Destroyer of Worlds sought her daughter’s demise. Walentyna had been none too pleased with this eventuality, and she’d berated Sigyn on the authenticity of the prophet’s prediction. Sigyn seemed to wholeheartedly believe it, mentioning how unlikely it was for everyone to otherwise know of her existence. Furthermore, she had claimed to have met this Destroyer of Worlds, Thanos, who had seemed fairly confident that Sigyn would soon be dead at his feet.

Most disturbing of all was something Sigyn had said towards the end of their conversation, late into the night. It consumes Walentyna’s thoughts now, leaving her with nothing more to do than stare aimlessly up at the ceiling of her room.

“I must admit, I feel unprepared for death,” Sigyn had said, wringing her hands atop the kitchen table, where they’d been sitting for some time. “When I was younger, I had no hopes of getting married or starting a family, and I had no career goals of which to speak. All I did was trod along, happy with where the wind took me. I thought I had time. Now, death looms so close, and I can’t help but feel as though my life is unprepared for it. I have not yet lived enough to die.”

Walentyna, too, feels unprepared for the fate the prophecy spells. It’s unnatural, she thinks, for a parent to live beyond their child, and she’s repelled at the thought of such a future awaiting her.

Near dawn, all pretense of sleep flies out the window when a scream travels down the hall from Sigyn’s room. Without a second thought, Walentyna throws off her covers, leaps from her bed, and quickly makes her way to her daughter’s room. Upon wrenching open the door, she’s horrified at the sight before her.

That wretched boy, Loki, stands over Sigyn’s bed, leering down at her.

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#loki #loki 2021 #sigyn #loki x sigyn #ch2 #pt3 #thor ff #thor #marvel #marvel ff #mcu #sigr edda #fanfic

[forgedirons]

              *     so  like.  yeah.  it  me,  cc.  i  can’t  read,  spell,  or  write  –  &  yet  i  joined  this  anyway  because  i  am  are  in  love  with  you  all.  anyway.

❛           𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬     ›     𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔     .  

the   communication's   chair   of   the   yale's   elite,   they're   twenty-two   and   a   senior   undergrad   student   majoring   in   print   journalism.   they   are   as   vigilant   as   they   are   importunate.

blackmail  :

(i).  despite claiming to be a journalist that holds the truth over everything, she's being paid off by an embezzling official & keeping the funds for her own personal spending. 

(ii).  she won her current internship by sabotaging her competitors with “strategic investigating”, which she then used against them by creating a gossip buzz under an anonymous pseudonym. 

(iii). death tw: claims that her parents passed away her freshman year of undergrad and uses it as a way to avoid talking about how they’re in prison ( & how it’s her testimony that landed them there ).

 ❛           𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬     ›     𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒     .    

you  wear  sorrow  well,  grief  is  not  a  compliment  –  nor  is  it  to  be  romanticized.  your  heart’s  always  been  broken  &  you  doubt  it  was  ever  whole  to  begin  with.  behind  closed  eyes,  maroon  rose  petals  fall  onto  a  fresh  blanket  of  white  snow;  your  fingers  are  pricked  by  the  thorns  while  you  open  your  eyes  to  the  flickering  lamp  in  your  room.  cloaked  in  shadows,  red  string  is  strung  across  a  board,  connecting  clues  that  nobody  else  but  you  seems  to  see.  you  are  meant  for  so  much  more  than  this  run  down  shack,  you’ve  always  told  yourself  this  –  you  wonder  if  anyone  else  is  listening  (  but,  you’ve  always  been  alone;  your  words  have  always  bounced  back  onto  your  own  skin  ).

 ❛           𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦    ›     𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒     .  

                           ✧  *   core  

↠  full  name  .  isabeau  hwang  . ↠ nickname(s)  /  alias(es)  /   title(s)  .  (  off  brand  )  nancy  drew,  isa,  is,  beau  . ↠  age  /  dob  .  twenty  -  two  /  march,  19  . ↠  hometown  .  ?  idk?  kansas  somewhere  . ↠  current  location  .  yale  idk  what  city  it’s  in  don’t  @  me  . ↠  ethnicity  .  korean  . ↠  nationality  .  american  . ↠  gender .  cis  gender  woman  . ↠  pronouns .  she  /  her  . ↠  orientation  .  bisexual  ,  grayromantic  . ↠  occupation  .  undergraduate  student  . ↠  face  claim  .  kim  sojung  (  sowon  )  .

       ✧  *   countenance

↠  height  .  five  feet,  eight  inches  (  172  cm  ) ↠  build .  slim,  well  toned  but  tall  –  slim  /  athletic. ↠  tattoos  .  be  good,  on  the  inside  of  her  left  middle  finger.  also,  this.  ↠  piercings  .  ears  . ↠  scars  .  a  couple,  none  too  prominent  . ↠  hair .  kept  long  &  though  she  seems  to  sport  a  different  color  every  year  since  arriving  on  campus,  she’s  recently  dyed  it  back  to  a  natural  shade  of  black.  it’s  always  in  place  &  always  styled  neatly,  whether  it’s  pulled  back  or  curled  (  to  pretentiously  imperfectly  perfection  )  . ↠  eyes  .  dark  brown  &  often  inquisitive,  like  she’s  trying  to  solve  a  riddle  that  nobody  else  is  in  on  except  herself.  half  of  the  time,  they’re  hidden  behind  gold  -  rimmed  glasses  that  look  a  little  too  expensive  for  someone  of  her  background,  but  she  otherwise  wears  contacts.  has  really  bad  vision,  though,  &  is  a  blind  bitch  . ↠  clothing  style  .  best  described  as  business  casual,  semi-formal,  professional  but  make  it  chic.  lots  of  skirts,  lots  of  turtlenecks,  long  coats  &  expensive  fabrics  that  all  coordinate  to  make  her  look  either  like  she  just  walked  out  of  a  dark  academia  novel  or  a  meeting  with  the  president  of  the  school  where  she  did  nothing  but  argue.  very  rarely  seen  in  sweats  or  anything  “bummy”  –  maybe  she  cares  too  much  about  her  image. ↠  usual  expression  .  resting  bitch  face  –  but  promote  it.  she  just  looks  unapproachable  in  general,  her  usual  expression  is  something  between  disgust  &  apathy,  it  makes  her  look  like  she’s  consistently  looking  at  her  surroundings  &  being  very  displeased  with  everything  around  her  (  it’s  because  she  made  the  face  too  much  as  a  kid,  now  it’s  stuck  that  way  )  . ↠  speech  .  elegant  &  well  -  thought  out.  everything  she  says  sounds  like  it’s  rehearsed  &  practiced,  like  she  wakes  up  in  the  morning  &  writes  a  script  for  her  entire  day.  she  very  obviously  thinks  before  she  speaks,  always,  &  tries  to  sound  like  she  looks,  but  catch  her  without  anyone  around  &  she  speaks  a  lot  like  the  trailer  trash  she  really  is  . ↠  distinguishing  features  .  intense  eyes  that  make  her  look  like  she  always  knows  someone’s  secret,  the  slight  lopsided  grin  –  she  might  be  smirking  or  maybe  she  just  knows  something  you  don’t,  finely  shaped  eyebrows  idk  dude

       ✧  *  ruminations    

↠  (  +  )  positive .  vigilant  ,  heedful  ,  aspiring ↠  (  -  )  negative  .  importunate  ,  reckless  ,  impetuous ↠  moral  alignment  .  true  neutral  -  neutral  evil ↠  likes  .  her  designated  corner  of  the  library  –  especially  late  at  night  when  she  can  sigh  super  loudly  without  anyone  glaring  at  her,  iced  americanos  but  only  on  rainy  days  &  only  on  rainy  days  where  she  wears  her  glasses,  the  feeling  &  the  smell  of  solid  cash,  putting  together  the  pieces  of  a  puzzle  that  she’s  been  working  on  for  a  long  time  (  investigations  or  not  ),  stargazing  but  only  on  beaches  &  only  during  the  wintertime  . ↠  dislikes  .  any  other  journalist  ever,  any  pop  beverages  (  because  she  also  doesn’t  like  to  burp ),  the  smell  of  chlorine  or  gasoline  or  freshly  cut  grass,  being  touched  by  strangers  in  any  sort  of  instance,  waking  up  before  ten  in  the  morning  (  staying  up  until  10  am  however,  different  story  ),  know  it  all  TA’s,  professors  who  can’t  debate  her  for  more  than  fifteen  minutes ↠  quirks  .  always  has  a  small,  moleskin  notebook  on  her  person  that  she’ll  pull  out  to  write  little  notes  in,  has  amazing  penmanship,  speaking  of  –  only  ever  writes  in  pen  &  never  uses  anything  else  to  write,  squints  &  digs  her  front  teeth  into  her  tongue  when  she’s  really  focusing  on  something  . ↠  hobbies  .  disappearing  for  long  periods  of  time  just  to  resurface  &  act  like  nothing  happened  (  solving  mysteries,  like  nancy  drew  ),  being  the  first  to  let  her  opinion  be  heard  by  anyone  who  happens  to  be  nearby,  starting  fights  &  finishing  them  by  cheating.

❛           𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲     ›     𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐋𝐄     .

trigger  warnings : death  ,  lots  of  illegal  activity

       ✧  *  ISABEAU.

        *     she’s  born  to  a  wanted  pair  .  with  bounties  &  rewards  attached  to  their  mugshots,  they  bring  a  baby  into  the  world  &  decide  to  bring  her  along  for  the  ride.  named  isabeau,  her  first  memory  is  watching  the  door  while  her  parents  count  money  on  a  motel  bed  behind  her.  her  first  word  is  “fuck!”  while  she  rides  in  the  backseat  of  a  stolen  pick  up  truck,  a  toddler  clutching  a  stolen  baby  toy  while  wearing  clothes  that  definitely  don’t  belong  to  her.  whether  it’s  inherited  or  not,  she  grasps  greed  &  holds  it  as  her  biggest  sin.  much  like  her  father,  in  that  aspect  –  there’s  nothing  more  she  craves  than  having  more.  more  money,  more  lust,  more  power,  more  reputation  –  more,  more,  more.  it  sits  in  her  gut  like  a  waning  hunger  she’ll  never  get  rid  of  –  but,  she  doesn’t  know  what  to  call  it  for  almost  her  entire  life. 

she’s  not  the  eldest  of  the  crew.  her  sister  is  three  years  older  than  her  &  much  more  kind  than  anyone  else  in  the  family  will  ever  be.  where  isabeau  takes  after  their  parents  (  often  described  as  ruthless,  greedy,  selfish  &  reckless  ),  pippa  was  her  own  person  through  &  through.  she  was  soft,  &  sweet,  &  she  always  did  what  was  right.  though,  she  was  raised  to  believe  that  lying  to  the  police  was  right,  &  that  stealing  in  the  supermarkets  was  the  right  thing  to  do.  growing  up,  though,  isabeau  always  sort  of  knew  that  it  was  really  just  her  &  pippa  against  the  world.  their  parents,  however  eccentric,  were  often  absent  &  left  them  alone  for  days  on  end  –  only  to  return  with  more  trouble  on  their  hands.

eventually,  they  decided  to  settle  in  buttcrack  nowhere,  kansas  in  the  smallest,  shittiest  trailer  park  they  could  find.  it  was  one  small  trailer  that  kept  the  hwang  family  together;  isabeau  &  pippa  sleeping  on  a  couch  -  turned  -  bed,  their  parents  on  the  big  one  in  the  back.  she  gets  enrolled  in  school  &  is  taught  to  never  tell  anyone  who  her  parents  are  or  what  they  do  for  a  living  (  which,  including  robbery,  dealing,  blackmailing,  etc.  is  a  lot  )  otherwise  she’ll  get  in  a  lot  of  trouble.  but  isabeau  is  a  curious  girl,  she  watches  everything  unfold  in  front  of  her  &  always  wants  to  know  more  (  &  more,  &  more,  &  more  ).

one  of  the  brightest  of  her  class  in  the  small  town,  she  grows  to  be  somewhat  of  a  nancy  drew.  people  of  the  town  know  her,  they  give  her  their  problems  &  missing  cats  &  disappearing  letters  &  mismatched  shoes  to  solve.  isabeau,  no  matter  how  troubled,  is  smart  &  the  townspeople  know  it.  looking  back  on  it,  she’ll  always  remark  that  they  were  trying  to  help  her,  but  she  only  ever  saw  it  as  something  to  do.  her  biggest  case,  finding  a  missing  girl  in  the  seventh  grade  –  her  smallest  case,  finding  a  coin  purse  that  someone  misplaced.

in  eighth  grade,  she  starts  her  own  newspaper  at  school  where  she  publishes  stories  of  her  investigations.  initially,  it’s  just  something  to  keep  her  at  school  longer  (  because,  home  isn’t  really  where  she  wants  to  be  –  she’s  old  enough  now  to  realize  home  isn’t  home  ),  but  she  learns  how  good  she  is  at  it.  creating  pieces,  interviewing  people,  just,  plain  writing  –  it’s  her  thing.  her  english  teacher  (  mrs.  kenningston  )  encourages  her  &  gets  her  a  freelance  spot  with  the  town  newspaper.

things  are  great  for  isabeau  in  high  school.  she’s  popular,  editor  of  the  school  newspaper,  amateur  detective  &  freelance  reporter  for  the  town  newspaper.  her  goal  is  to  get  out  of  town,  to  get  far  away  from  her  family  &  become  some  sort  of  lois  lane.  freshman  year,  her  sister  graduates  high  school  &  is  set  to  go  to  ksu  –  before  sophomore  year,  isabeau’s  burying  her  sister  in  the  graveyard  of  a  town  they  both  hated.  a  freak  accident,  the  newspaper  reports  –  &  for  a  month,  everyone  believes  it.  but,  sophomore  year  starts  &  isabeau  anonymously  testifies  against  her  parents  in  court;  their  recklessness,  along  with  their  shady  dealings  led  to  the  death  of  not  only  pippa,  but  a  group  of  graduated  teenagers  in  town.  the  hwang  parents  go  away  for  life  on  isabeau’s  testimony,  &  she’s  never  seen  in  town  again. 

by  dumb  luck,  she’s  adopted  into  a  middle-class  family  somewhere  in  vermont  &  sent  to  a  very  good  school  that  looks  very  good  on  her  transcripts.  she  goes  into  overdrive  trying  to  bury  her  past,  carefully  crafting  herself  a  new  identity  with  each  year  that  passes  in  her  high  school  career.  things  get  buried,  people  are  swayed  –  isabeau  hwang  isn’t  the  same  isabeau  hwang  from  that  small  town  in  kansas  who  saved  a  group  of  children,  she  isn’t  the  isabeau  hwang  who  befriended  the  unfriendly  folks  on  the  outskirts  of  town  that  people  thought  were  possessed.  isabeau  hwang  from  vermont  is  a  very  lucky  girl  with  a  troubling  past  she  doesn’t  talk  about,  but  manages  to  graduate  top  of  her  class  with  offers  from  three  ivy  league  colleges  &  every  other  school  she  applied  to.  that’s  all  she  offers,  that’s  all  most  people  know.

at  yale,  she  works  even  harder  to  maintain  her  reputation.  she’s  the  girl  who’ll  go  places,  a  poor  girl  who’ll  get  into  yale’s  elites,  the  girl  who  nobody  wants  to  argue  with.  on  campus,  she’s  loud,  she’s  opinionated  &  she’s  (  or,  thinks  she’s  )  powerful.  a  member  of  the  school  newspaper,  her  pieces  are  quick  to  be  published  &  even  quicker  to  gain  traction.  isabeau,  a  nosy  investigator  at  heart,  chooses  to  publish  stories  that  grab  attention  &  often  expose  a  thing  or  two  –  she  gains  a  small  following  just  because  she  tends  to  always  know  a  thing  or  two  about  a  thing  or  two.

it’s  obvious  she  had  her  eye  set  on  the  elites  from  the  moment  she  stepped  foot  onto  campus,  &  after  fighting  tooth  &  nail  to  gain  a  reputation  (  as  an  opinionated,  over  -  achieving,  pretentious  shrew  of  a  person  ),  she  argues  her  way  into  the  elites.  in  her  own  words,  it’s  much  better  to  have  her  on  their  side  rather  than  have  her  against  them  (  empty  threat,  what  she  gonna  do,  she  have  no  money  really  ).  at  the  moment,  it  looks  like  she’s  really  gotten  everything  she’s  dreamed  of  –  but  isabeau  hwang  deals  in  greed,  &  all  she  wants  now  is  more,  more,  more

#this started out good and then got worse as it went on #so if you read this no you didn't #and if it doesn't make sense yes it does #and if it contradicts no it doesn't

[silversoulstardust]

wolfstar secret santa

Merry christmas and happy holidays! This is for you, @ms-stony for @wolfstar-secret-santa . I decided to carry on an abandoned project and incorporate a little bit of accidental confession and a family unit with Harry. I hope you like it! :) 

**********

“When this is over, we’ll be a proper family.” – Sirius Black to Harry Potter, Order of Phoenix

I took this line to heart and made it happen. A canon divergent where nobody died in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange at the Ministry of Magic. Harry was back home to his godfathers on winter break and learned how they fell in love.

************

 It was a calm wintry night at the Lupin-Black household at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry was back from Hogwarts for the winter break and the house became more lively than usual with just the two of them; Remus and Sirius. They had their warm soup, fresh sourdough bread and roasted chicken with gravy for dinner and everyone ate till they were full; stomach heavy with food as they filled each other with stories they had missed. Remus didn’t want to discuss the Order too much during this good time, so it was mostly Harry talking about his adventures and shenanigans he was up to with Ron and Hermione. A professor that he was; Remus interjected once in a while and gave Harry a warning shot when his story was about them doing something that were borderline endangering themselves, but Sirius always came into Harry’s defense. “Ah come on, Moony. Live a little. What’s life without a little risk? Isn’t that right, Harry?”  And the boy nodded with excitement at Sirius’s statement. He smugly smiled in Remus’s direction as he stuffed himself with more chicken. Remus shook his head, helpless, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was like having James with them all over again. His logic was outnumbered.

Afterwards, Remus made all of them a steaming mug of hot cocoa topped with marshmallow and he made sure to put a little extra marshmallow for Harry. The boy had gone through traumatic and abusive childhood at the Dursleys, Remus was adamant to make him feel welcomed and loved in his household. It was Harry’s first time returning to this place for holiday after Remus had properly moved in and he wanted to make Harry feel at home. He settled on the couch in front of the fireplace and set the mugs on the coffee table, pulling out the book he’d been reading. Like a magnet, both Sirius and Harry brought their own reading material and settled around Remus. Sirius had his head on Remus’s lap, lying on 2/3 of the couch whereas Harry sat on the ottoman, looking through an old photo album he had already seen few times before. Remus held his book up with one hand as he had another of his mindlessly caressing through Sirius’s tuft of black hair. They sat quietly like that for a while, enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence with the sound of fire cackling in the background. Harry observed alternately between the two adults, looking like he was ruminating something in his head but yet to come with words to express it. Soon enough, he cleared his throat for attention.

“Hey Remus, I was wondering about, about something,” Harry’s hands held up an old photobook from Remus’s Hogwarts years. He could see a couple of photos of Lily and James at school, the Marauders line up, James’s quidditch practice, Lily and Remus beaming with pride showing off their prefect badges with a little smudgy handwriting that read ‘nerds’ scribbled at the bottom. At the bottom most left corner of the album was a photo of young Sirius Black and Remus Lupin with arms around each other’s shoulder in a half hug stance, head pressed against one another, blissfully smiling into the camera that their eyes appeared closed. “I’ve always heard stories about how mom and dad fell in love and got together, but I don’t think I’ve heard about…. yours and Sirius.”

The book Sirius was reading slipped on his face with a loud thud at the question. Remus who was clearly caught off guard by Harry choked on his own spit.

“What makes you think we’re together, Harry?” teased Sirius as he peered over the book. “We could just be an unnaturally close friends, you know. The kind that don’t mind living together, sharing beds and sometimes arguing like old married couples.”

Remus rolled his eyes with affection.

“Oh come on padfoot, I might be as dense as a brick wall sometimes,” exclaimed Harry with vigor, “but I can also see there’s something more than just friendship here! Okay maybe Hermione had to point it out at first. But I also saw how you guys look at each other and I would never look at Ron that way. I’ve seen it in couples at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop before they snog each other into oblivion.”

Sirius barked with laughter. “Well we didn’t want to scare you off and make you uncomfortable, Harry. We plan to tell you when you’re older.”

“You must understand that it is not an easy subject to broach, Harry,” added Remus as he closed his book and stuffed it on the side of the couch. He continued running his fingers through Sirius’s hair. “Most people would avoid ‘the talk’, and even in muggle world they’re still scared to discuss and accept it. We have come a long way for sure, but bigotry, sadly, still exist. There’s this popular phrase they use – God said Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”

Sirius huffed, but did not comment further.

“Well I’m not most people, am I?” Harry looked up; his burning gaze locked with Remus’s. “I’m your godson. Your best friend’s son.”

Remus felt warmth enveloped him with the acceptance. “You really are your parents’ son, aren’t you Harry? Lily was the first person who knew about us back in Hogwarts and she was so thrilled.”

“James was a little stunned to know about us though, right Moonbeams? Can’t believe we’ve been snogging in secret under his nose for the entire year before he accidentally caught us in a broom closet when he tried to hide from Filch,” Sirius grinned at the memories.

“That’s right, that was in our sixth year,” added Remus nostalgically. “But you actually made your advances at me earlier than that.”

“What did he do, Remus?” Harry sat forward, turning to face Remus to listen to his story intently. He put down the photo album in exchange for the cocoa drink in his hands to keep warm, sipping it from time to time. “Nothing too, er – explicit, please.”

“On our third year, Sirius actually let it slip that he liked me.”

Sirius hoisted himself by the elbow and frowned at Remus. “No, I did not! We didn’t secretly fu – date each other until our fifth year and didn’t make it Marauder official until sixth.”

“Calm down, Pads,” Remus pushed Sirius’s head back on his lap. “Yes, that’s the fact, I’m glad you haven’t forgotten despite Akzaban,” – Sirius winced at the mention of his twelve years wrongful imprisonment as Remus continued – “I’m talking about Christmas eve.”

“What Christmas eve?”

“Well it was on our third year Christmas eve, when we were the only one left in the common room of Gryffindor Tower. Initially all of us were planning to stay over the holiday together, but James’s mother suddenly fell ill, and Peter’s parents tempted him with imported exotic food for Christmas dinner. They bailed on us at the last second. Only you and me left then, and I too contemplated on going back home to my parents but I knew you would rather stay alone in school than going back to this house –“ his eyes wondered along the length of the ceiling and around the room, “ – to Walburga and Orion, to your parents. So I stayed to accompany you.”

“How noble you were, Messer Remus,” Sirius closed his book and put it aside as he pushed himself up to sitting position facing Remus. “But I don’t recall this memory.”

He chuckled. “I doubt you would. You were sick and drowsy half the time. Have you no recollection at all?”

Sirius scratched his beard, frowning. “No. I didn’t do anything bad to you, did I?”

“On the contrary, I was the one who did you harm, Sirius,” he patted Sirius’s hand and left it there. “You suddenly came down with flu that very evening but refused to go disturb Madam Pomfrey because you said she’s human and need holiday with her family too, so I gave you muggle cough syrup my mother had packed for me at the beginning of the year.”

“And?” Harry exchanged curious look with Sirius, equally excited to know the rest.

“And, well, let’s just say, you should be glad you’re not a muggle. You see, probably because your body is not used to it, the medicine had more affect than just drowsy. It made you braver, more honest, more raucous than usual. Like a drunkard. It turned off your brain filter for a couple of hours before you succumbed to the drowsiness and slept through the night.”

“Hmmm. And what did I do in that few hours, Moony?”

“You took down one of Gryffindor’s wall flags and put it on as a cape, climbed on the furniture in the common room as you declare to the world that you’d protect me and the marauders against animals, aliens, wizards and muggles alike, even if you had to die while doing so. You tried to fight the lion statue in the common room using a ruler, Sirius. All because I was laughing at your antics too much and stumbled against the poor statue, you thought it was hurting me. Imagine you stabbing a stone with plastic ruler until it bent and break. You cried because your sword was broken. It was sweet of you, really.”

Sirius was giddy with laughter. Remus continued his story. “When I managed to pull you away, you turned to look at me, face inches away from my own. You stared into my eyes and went still for a moment, told me you like me more than you like warm soup on winter evening, assured me that I’m the most beautiful person on earth, squished my cheeks and ….well, we kissed. It was more of a quick peck on the lips, but we were thirteen years old then and it was a big deal. But you were …under the influence of cough syrup. I was happy it happened but quick to dismiss it. I’ve never told a soul about this until now. And to think about it, I probably slowly fell for you after that incident, eventually became completely besotted in our fifth year.”

Sirius laced their fingers and raised it to his lips to kiss Remus’s knuckle. Remus was slightly nervous at the openly displayed affection he was having with Sirius in the presence of other people, but he realized how silly it was to think that way as Harry was impassive to the action, draining the last of his hot drink in the cup. “You were closer with James since the beginning, Sirius, but with me… after that incident I noticed how protective you were of me. Probably without you realizing it. Always up for a dog fight with people who teased me at school. It was you who always stayedback to watch over me after a nasty transformation. Last one to go and first one to arrive around the full moon. Patched my bloodied body and learned some spells from Madam Pomfrey to mend simple wounds and broken bones. The first to suggest to the others to learn a branch of difficult magic and transform into animal to ease my transformation. Even before we were involved romantically, you’ve always been looking after me.”

“And I’ll do it again in a heartbeat,” Sirius cupped his cheek. “Harry, close your eyes lad.”

After being certain that their godson had closed his eyes, Sirius pressed his lips against Remus’s, soft and gentle but with firm assurance. His warm hands slid down Remus’s neck and further down to pull him closer by the collar of his jumper as the kiss deepened. Remus mirrored him and did the same, crumpling Sirius’s shirt in his hands. It was Harry’s loud throat clearing that they broke apart, slightly ashamed for losing control in front of a kid. Harry peeked in between his fingers to see if it was safe for him to open his eyes again. “Please save it for later Moony, Padfoot. When I’m dead asleep and can’t hear a thing.”

“Well,” Sirius tried to sound casual as he straightened his shirt, “if there’s one thing that’s changed since then, is the fact that I no longer dread to be here in this house on Christmas holiday. I have a family now,” he beamed alternately between Remus and Harry, sounding terribly fond.

Harry was taken aback by Sirius’s words but was quick to snap out of it. He couldn’t contain his joy shot up from his seat, depositing himself on the couch between Remus and Sirius. The boy threw both of his arms around their shoulders and pulled them close, grinning from ear to ear. “That’s right, we’re a family!”

In the time of an impending war loomed over them, Remus couldn’t thank Merlin enough for his stroke of luck to have had Harry and Sirius in his life. All the darkness he went through in his life felt worth it now that he was here in this moment with them, like the presence of light at the end of a tunnel.  For a first time in a very long time, he look forward for the future; to more time with Sirius, with Harry. Remus echoed under his breath; a smile stretching across his face.

“A family.”

#wolfstar #sirius x remus #wolfstar secret santa #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #harry potter series

[therkalexander]

The Good Counselor - Chapter 3

Seventy years have passed since Elysion was created, and Persephone’s efforts to conceive a child with Hades have been in vain.  But a secret rite on Samothrace might bend the Fates and give them all that they have ever dreamed of, or pave a path of untold suffering.

**partial chapter** 

Please visit The Good Counselor on AO3 to read in full.

Chapter 3

The ether rushed around her in a twist of silver and crimson and she emerged in the great atrium of her villa in Thesprotia. It had been abandoned for generations when Persephone had found it, and was said to be filled with the ghosts of the extinguished House of Aeolus.

Persephone knew better.

If any spirits remained, she would have wrenched them from this world already. She herself had sentenced three of that wicked family to Tartarus,  Sisyphus chief among them.

Willows overhung the entire house, shielding it from the main road that led to the sea. It was modest, a short ways from the city of Cichyrus. A copse of bedraggled cypresses marked the path leading to the entrance, and thistles grew thick around the door. To the idly  passing eyes of the outside world, this place was as uninhabited as it was foreboding.

But inside, it was paradise. Roses climbed the walls of the atrium garden and crocus blanketed the floor, growing through every crack in its deteriorating mosaic. A pomegranate tree— planted by Aidoneus on his first visit to their home in the world above— grew in the very center, shading a large oak stump beneath it. It was here that she found him turning a fruit over in his palm. It hadn’t come from this tree— it was only starting to blossom. This fruit came from the lands below,  from their sacred grove at the entrance to Elysion. He set it down and stood.

Persephone picked up her skirts and rushed to him. He gripped her waist and she felt her feet tilt off the ground as he lifted her level with his face. Their lips met, and she sighed, melting into him. His joy and eagerness flooded into her, mellowed by tenderness and spiked with lust, warmed with relief.

And a metallic undertone of trepidation.

She eased back. “Is something troubling you?”

“No.  Not yet,” he said, setting her down. “Did you take care of it?”

“He’s gone. His court is dispersed, and Minthe is by her mother’s side.” He scowled at the mention of her name. Placing the remains of the annihilated nymph by her mother’s grave had been Persephone’s idea. Hades had been less forgiving when they’d discussed it. “How is everything back home?”

“Empty as ever when you aren’t there, sweet one. How was this year’s planting?”

“The same as ever.” She hooked her arm into his and leaned in as they walked the walled garden paths. She quivered at the contact. It had been two months since her fingers had been upon his skin. She could feel his pulse and the warmth of his flesh. He smelled of raw earth, of cypress, and the cool waters— everything she missed about Chthonia. The Underworld. Her true home. Persephone glanced up and caught  him chewing the inside of his lip. His mind was distant, but she knew he would eventually reveal where. She let him ruminate while she spoke. “A bit less grain to sow this year, though. She was so anxious last harvest, it affected everything.”

“Your mother needs to stop worrying after her paramour.”

“I’ve told her as much. But can you even call Triptolemus that anymore? They share the Telesterion, but more as friends than lovers. They haven’t shared a bed since—”

“I regret mentioning it,” he muttered hastily.

“Ah.” She fidgeted. “Hermes may have picked up Minoan.”

“What?”

“Unless you told him that Bellerophon broke his family’s curse and was granted a place in Elysion.”

Aidoneus gritted his teeth. “Damn him and his meddling…”

“I knew it! I knew he was lying. He denied reading your last letter to me, but how else would he know?”

“I’ll have a word with him.”

“What if that’s not the extent of it? What if he tells them about this place?”

“He won’t. I made him swear on the Styx.”

Persephone turned to him. “If the mortals know that you— that we spend time here, there will be endless interruptions. They’ll stop sowing crops. Some will leave, and the rest will build a gaudy temple. And the favors and quests of the rustic gods and hemitheoi—”

“They’ll do no such thing because Hermes will keep his mouth shut.”

“Will he?”

“He will. He takes Stygian oaths seriously.”

“How will we send letters and parcels to each other now?” A shiver rolled through her as he cupped her face with his hand.

“Perhaps I should hand-deliver them.” Aidon leaned down and gave her the lightest, slowest of kisses. His dark eyes locked onto hers as he pulled back. “Though there’s something else I’m intent on giving you presently.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She threw her arms around his neck and collided with him, kissing him gracelessly in return, their teeth clicking together. He chuckled low and traced her spine with his fingertips.

“Eager, are we?”

“Come,” Persephone whispered. “Let me show you what I’ve been up to this season.”

Aidoneus picked up the half pomegranate and followed her up the stairs. “A full season of sowing and still you found the time?”

“Barely enough. I vanished just after Thesmophoria to spend a few hours here alone, and I think Mother is starting to suspect—”

Aidon kissed away the name. The last person he wanted to think about right now was Demeter. He inhaled Persephone’s scent of roses and lilac, larkspur and irises. “This is my time with you. And no one else. Not Hermes, not your mother…”

Not Orpheus? Her voice rang through his head.

Aidon stopped. Did she knew where he had been? That he had spoken to the hymnist?

“His name was in your mind. Were you thinking about what Eumolpus said? Do you think…”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed again, sweet one,” he interrupted sharply. “I can’t bear it. Not after last time.”

She nodded.

He needed to distract her, or his visit to Samothrace would come pouring out unbidden. And going further down that road would only raise her hopes fruitlessly. Especially if she knew he was motivated enough to speak to Orpheus himself. “I practiced a flower while I waited for you.”

Persephone smiled. “You did?”

Their hieros gamos had not only created Elysion, but— to their mutual delight— had conferred upon each other some of their unique talents. Persephone had even called up iron from the earth seven winters ago. “Watch, sweet one.”

Aidoneus concentrated on the ground before him, and felt the beating warm life rush through him, from his feet upward. Each time he tried it he marveled. This must be what she had felt throughout her lifetime each time she created a new living thing. At first he’d worried that he would taint life itself if he tried to imitate her— that his efforts would result in a blight simply because of who he was. But they were the Gods of the Earth, he remembered, one and the same, infinitely bound and part of each other. He closed his eyes, feeling the telltale pulse in first his abdomen and rising through his chest as a bulb grew, opened, and split the ground. The stalk shot upright, bursting at the tip into a purple iris. He heard clapping and opened his eyes. Persephone exhaled softly, her hand gripping her hips. “My favorite part,” she said, “is feeling it move through you.”

“‘It’?”

“The earth, everything I have ever called up in— it’s hard to give it a name. More of a feeling. But it moves so… differently through you.”

“And you can sense every bit of… it.” He already knew the answer.

Of course I can, her voice rang, stronger this time. She turned and started strolling through the palace, showing him a centuries-old tapestry she’d found in the collapsed storage room, the vibrant ochres and deep blues sealed away and saved from the ravages of sun and wind. She picked up her skirts and climbed the stairs to the gynaikeion, giving him a glimpse of her ankles and mud stained feet. Aidon followed, listening to her describe how she’d made  it into a place fit for them to sleep, to make love…

“Aidon?”

He smiled. “I was distracted. Forgive me.”

She  bit coyly at her lip. “It’s similar, but just a single room. I thought black fleeces would work, but they’re hard to find in the world above. Used for sacrifices too often to…”

“To me.”

“So they seldom sell them to anyone but priests. It took me a bit of searching, but I eventually found what I needed.”

“How?”

“An agora in Locri. They were guarded at first, especially since I’m a woman. But no one asked questions after the gold came out. I suppose it helps when your husband is the richest being in the cosmos,” she said.

Aidon laughed. He looked up, and instead of the familiar dome patterned with stars, this flat ceiling was covered with tiny jasmine blooms— their growth carefully trained and arranged to reflect the summer sky. One vine wound toward the center, marking the tail of the Scorpion, and another the bow of the Lyre.

The Lyre… had she chosen this grouping of stars for a reason? He pushed it from his wandering mind. Aidon wanted to peel Persephone’s clothes off and press skin to skin, to seat himself as deeply within her as he could. But he also wanted to give her due respect as she showed him the work she’d done  since they last met here.

This, he realized, was why he was creating these nervous distractions. But her breath was hitching, and he could feel her skin warming and prickling every time she glanced at him, could feel the flutter in her abdomen as though it were his own, and hear the slight tremble in her voice. His wife was being coy. Stalling. She wanted him to make the first move, the first touch. He would torture her a moment longer.

As Persephone drew closer to the fleece covered divan, his gaze rested on her hips, the pins that held her peplos taut over her skin, and the ornate girdle he had timidly left as a gift in her chamber on the fifth day he’d known her. How different it was now. Her back was turned. He plucked a seed from the pomegranate and held it under his tongue. He was as impatient for her touch as she was for his.

Aidoneus flicked his wrist, and fibulae scattered to all corners of the room. The girdle fell muffled in the heap of fabric, and Persephone gave startled gasp. He chuckled, ambling toward her as the rest of the peplum slinked from her breasts, her only adornment the flowery crown she wore in the spring and summer. Her blue-grey eyes were wide with shock and her hands instinctively covered her breasts and mons.

“It is good to know,” he said, stepping free of his own clothes, “that after all these years I can still surprise you.”

“I-I…” The blush creeping up her neck told him all he needed to know.

One piece of cloth remained, the only one not held by pins. Aidon reached behind and untied his loincloth by hand and let it drop to the floor. He gripped the half pomegranate in one hand and lifted the crown from her head with the other, then casually tossed the woven flowers aside. Aidon could feel the heat of her even through the half a pace between them. Her heels and chin lifted up so she was level with him, her eyes were lidded and her lips neared his. She relished in his guttural groan as she brushed her hand up his hip, his stomach and chest. “You’ll have to put that down.”

“Oh, will I?” He smiled and lifted the ripe fruit between them.

“What else do you plan to do with it?” She took a step back.

“Kiss me, wife, and find out.”

* * * * * *

Author's Note: Due to site Terms of Service and FOSTA-SESTA, I am no longer able to publish unabridged mature content here. To read the full scene, please continue reading The Good Counselor on AO3.

#hades and persephone #hades x persephone #the good counselor #mythology #Greek Mythology

[midnightcindy]

The Break of Day: Chapter 6

BIG trigger warnings for this chapter... a little smutty but mostly mature themes of abuse. 

Louis tried to shake the dream as he lay in his bed, but the more he stayed in his cave, the more it troubled him. When evening finally came, he quickly dressed and headed to the streets above. He was hardly in the mood to hunt, but he figured the distraction of the city would be better than ruminating over the strange dream. He strode toward his usual hunting ground, hoping for another easy target to pass the time.

He didn’t have to walk far before he felt the presence of another vampire near him. That wasn’t unusual; New York crawled with his kin. What did strike him, however, was how closely this body was following him. No matter which way he turned, which back alley he traversed, it stuck near him, just far enough so as not to be detected. At least, Louis could tell, that is what they were trying to do. Clearly this being had never stalked another vampire before, and certainly not one as ancient and powerful as Louis.

Louis rounded a corner as he normally would, but quickly hugged the wall. He could feel the aura getting closer, the creature covering up their smell so that he couldn't scent them. They at least did that right.

When the steps paced around the wall, Louis latched onto their collar, and shoved his stalker against the building. The smell hit him just as their back hit the wall of bricks. He gagged as her aura filled him all at once. “Grace?”

“I’m sorry!” She chuckled, hands raised in defeat. “I- I was trying to get ahold of you, but I didn’t know where you lived, so I was trying to do some snooping, and I figured, ‘hey, this is where he was hunting me when we met, maybe he hunts here often,’ then look, here you are, so…”

Louis rolled his eyes, shoving off of her. “Good,” he said sarcastically. “You found me. Now what would you like to say so I can be on my way?”

Grace pursed her lips and shoved her hands in the pockets of her oversized coat. She opened her mouth as if starting to explain, then quickly abandoned that idea. Her eyes drifted and she shook her head. “I’m not good at lying,” Grace laughed. “I just wanted to spend more time with you. Maybe grab another drink?” She winked playfully, nudging Louis with her elbow.

Louis narrowed his eyes, and stayed silent for an uncomfortable stretch of time. He was analyzing her face, scrutinizing every feature. Her wink wasn’t honest, and Louis could see the wrinkles at the corner of her mouth, and the way her fingers rubbed her palm. “You are right,” he said, watching her twitch. “You are a horrible liar.”

Her eyes widened, falling soberly to the ground. She sighed, almost sadly. “I…”

Louis rested his arm on the brick wall behind her, caging her while whispering, “Do not take too long. I have yet to hunt tonight and am rather irritable.” His eyes flashed red, making her gulp.

Grace finally met his eyes. “I’m… afraid.”

Louis didn’t shift. “Of me? I wish that were true. Then I would not have to be bothered by you so often.”

“No… I’m just afraid, and… you made me feel safe… I,” she said, voice lilting with hope, “was wondering if you could hide me for the night.”

Louis didn’t dare meet her pleading eyes as she looked up with him. Those deep brown eyes, shimmering like a doe- he was scared he might give in if he looked into them too long. He shoved off the wall, immediately stalking away from her. “I am not a bodyguard, child. Hire someone if you need protection.”

“Please!”

Louis paused, his skin prickling with the familiarity of the sound. The distress in her voice sounded strangely like his dream.

She ran to his side, lightly grasping his arm. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Please, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything! You don’t understand… what he’s like…”

Louis turned to her then. “He?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she stammered, realizing her admission. “I- I didn’t mean…”

“Robert,” Louis asked, but already coming to his conclusion. “Your master, he’s hunting you, isn’t he? And he’s getting closer. That’s why you keep near me.”

She swallowed thickly, eyes shutting tight as she nodded.

Louis studied her face again; this time noting the tired eyes and worry lines stretching her skin. Could he really let her into his haven? Perhaps he could just set her up with someone else for the night. He knew Irina’s address was back in his abode, maybe she would take in the girl. Then, Grace did what he had feared. She stared up at him, eyes glistening under the street lamp, and any sense of reserve he had was washed away with a single tear studding her cheek. Shrugging her arm off, he continued walking slowly, grumbling. “This way.”

Louis could feel her excitement as she bounded along behind him like a child. He was thankful she at least did not hold onto his arm as they walked.

_____

Louis pulled back the curtain for Grace and she descended into his dwelling. “Cozy,” she said, staring at the pile of blankets and pillows that formed his bed. He watched as she wandered toward the bed, slipping off her coat.

Louis rolled his eyes, and strode to the table to set down his own coat. “You may stay only for tonight. You are free to use my bed if you are tired, but do not touch anything else-” He choked on his sentence when he turned back to see Grace pulling up her dress. “Wait!” He shouted in horror, averting his eyes from her almost naked form. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Oh,” Grace said, stopping. “Would you rather I keep my clothes on? Whatever you like.” She pulled her dress back down, but tugged at her collar to leave her shoulders and neck bare.

“W-what?” Louis shook his head, completely disheveled as he tried to forget the image of her dark purple panties, trimmed with lace. “What are you talking about?”

“You said yourself you were starving,” she said, walking toward him, pressing her long nails into her tender skin. “Would you like to bite it yourself, or do you prefer to drink from open wounds?”

Louis was staring at her flesh, trying to back away from its dishearteningly delightful scent. He put out his hands and pushed Grace back so she was a safer distance from him. “D-Drink?” Louis couldn’t see straight. He was so confused. “Why would I drink from you?”

It was Grace’s turn to look confused. She pulled her hand back from her neckline, cocking her head. “You’re not? I- I figured you were expecting this, inviting me back to your place and all…”

“You begged me to!” Louis cried, hands running through his hair.

“Well sure,” she said, giggling, “but I can’t expect you to control yourself when I’m in your home. Besides, consider this payment.”

Louis just stared at her, jaw slack. He let out a stuttering cry, unsure how to respond. Then, he stared down at the open flesh of her neck. It was strangely thick, rigid and rumpled beneath the surface. These weren’t markings from childhood, those human imperfections would have been erased with the venom. Rather, these were scars that had built from years of healing and opening, repeatedly. Scars only formed on vampires from years of abuse. Louis’ eyes focused on her face, and his heart felt cold. In a single second of sympathy, he reached out and felt the battered skin. Who could have done this to you? Moreover, he thought, why would youlet someone do this to you?

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it,” she said, pulling her straps and collar back up. “You can drink from any other place, though! I don’t mind-”

“Grace,” Louis cut. She paused. Louis swallowed heavily, aware of the weight of what he was about to do. Stepping to her, Louis fell to his knees at her feet. He began to lift up the hem of her dress, but stopped before asking, “May I?”

Grace swallowed heavily, but nodded, trying to smile.

Continuing his inspection, Louis lifted her dress up around her hips, his heart sinking as he saw what he had suspected. The tops of her thighs, though supple and rich, were covered in winding, rippling scars. He lifted her skirt higher, trying to ignore both her heavy breathing and the gorgeous pair of lace panties before his eyes. But where the elastic hugged her hips, rugged, faded marks splayed the surface, twisting over her hipbones and continuing up onto her stomach. Louis closed his eyes. He did not need to see more, and let the fabric fall back to her knees.

Standing again, Louis met her eyes, his voice soft. “I’m not going to feed from you.” In a moment of tenderness, a foreign compassion that he wished he had been able to give to his younger self so many years ago, he reached out and traced the lines on her neck.

Grace was speechless. Her mouth fell slack, letting Louis’ palm run gently over her collarbone.

“I am allowing you to shelter here as long as you like,” he said, pulling away with an unsteady hand and turning back to the table. “There are books here to entertain you, and a bed for you to sleep. I want nothing more from you.”

Louis jumped when he felt two arms encircle his waist. Grace pressed her cheek to his back, her voice light, but broken. “Thank you.”

A smile flashed over Louis’ lips, but was easily replaced by the frown he was accustomed to. He pulled away from her without a word. He decided that after seeing her body, being so close to her flesh, he could not trust himself with her in his bed. His appetite was worse than before, but he knew that blood wasn’t what he needed to sate him. So, slipping on his coat, he ascended to the outside world, leaving Grace to rest.

________

When Louis returned just before dawn, Grace was sleeping peacefully, her back facing Louis. For a moment, Louis was struck by her gentle form. She curled around one of his large pillows, hugging it to her chest and burying her face in it. A knit blanket fell over her legs, tangled between her knees and falling off her hip. Her side curved against the cushions, the candlelight flickering over the small strips of exposed skin. She made the ramshackle bed look intoxicating, and Louis felt tired just watching her sleep. An inkling of himself wanted to curl in behind her, joining her in whatever dream world she was wandering in.

But instead, he slinked off his coat and draped it over the table. He wandered over to a plush chair, dusting off the seat before sitting easily down into the worn cushion. His eyelids felt heavy. He had been out all night as usual, but his apathetic effort at a hunt proved fruitless. Louis rested his chin in his palm, leaning against the chair’s arm with his elbow. He leaned into the prop, and started drifting away, watching Grace’s motionless form.

That was when Grace sat up in bed, gasping. Louis’ eyes shot open, and he stared at her, staring back at him. When they met eyes, Grace’s shoulders relaxed. “It’s just you,” she said, curling her knees to her chin.

Louis nodded, crossing his hands on his lap. “Rest well?”

She smiled, her cheeks flushed. “Mhm,” she moaned, yawning and stretching. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”

“Of course,” Louis said, staring at his hands instead of the slip of her dress on her thighs as she situated into a sitting position.

They sat in silence, Grace holding her knees as Louis watched her stare at the candles. After a while of peace, she whispered, “No one has ever done something like this for me.”

Louis cocked his head, not saying a word.

She continued watching the flickering flames, speaking quietly. “I’ve never hated being a vampire. When Robert changed me, he told me he was giving me a gift. I never saw it as anything else when we were together. He said we were going to rule the world.” She smiled bitterly, her eyes overflowing with memories. “He still thinks that he’s a king; but I don’t think I was ever meant to be his queen. I think… now… that I made a very good pet…”

Louis watched a single tear fall from her lashes, and she held her legs tighter to her chest.

“Robert drank from me every single day, like a snack between his meals. He always told me I was the sweetest treat, that I was special to him. Sometimes, he would let his friends have a taste, too, when I was ‘misbehaving.’ I found out later it was just because he liked the way I looked covered in my own blood.”

Louis’ blood ran cold, watching her touch the rippling scars along her neck.

“So, I ran away. It’s been two months now since then. I usually go out to clubs looking for someone to let me crash in their place for a night. It’s pretty easy, finding anyone take me home. It’s always for a price, whether they want sex or blood, but-” she paused, straightening herself to finally look at Louis, “at least I’m the one giving it.”

Louis stared back at her in awe. “And still, you are so full of life,” he said softly, thinking to the way she always teased him, how much she giggled and bounced with every step.

Grace smiled weakly, letting her knees fall to either side as she tucked them under her. “It’s my choice. Where to go, what to see, who to fuck, who to feed. For the first time, no one is making me do any of that. How could I not be happy?”

Louis shook his head, letting it fall forward. “You’ve been so abused, why aren’t you angry?” He was shocked when he heard his own voice rising. “They took you, strapped you down, drained the life from you.” His fists balled and ripped at the material of the chair beneath his nails. “And you can just forgive them for that?”

Too suddenly, Grace’s hand touched his own, and his fingers fell slack. His head snapped up, and she was before him, her face nearly brushing his. “I can feel it,” she said, her opposite hand resting on his knee. “The hatred inside of you. You’ve held onto it for so long, Louis… don’t you want to be free?”

What is happening? Louis’ body felt strange; like he was falling forward against his will, being pulled toward her body like a magnet. “W-what are you doing?”

“I can help you let go of it,” she breathed, eyes glowing bright, but not red with bloodlust. This was a golden glow, a strange, new power swelling inside of her. “You just have to let me take control.”

Louis’ cheeks felt hot, and suddenly, he couldn’t think of anything more delicious than her lips. All he could picture was throwing Grace back onto his pillows, and fucking her until they were both delirious. He wanted to bury himself inside of her, her mouth, her cunt, it did not matter. He could feel it- licking her, feeding her, fucking her, pleasing her and letting her please him. He shuddered, a whimpering moan falling from his lips as he fell forward onto her body.

Then, it was gone. Like that, his lustful thoughts faded, and he slumped back in his seat, panting and sweating.

Grace stood in front of him, covering her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she backed away slowly. “I… I can’t do it… I’m so sorry…” With that, she flew to his table, grabbed her coat, and was gone.

Louis sat back in his seat, panting. “What,” he began, pressing a hand to his warm cheeks, “What was that?”

#mature #smut #trigger #midnight cinderella #midnightcindy #cindy writes for y'all #louis howard #fanfic #multi chapter #the break of day #chapter 6 #update #Happy New Year

[onestowatch]

Looking to Get Lost in Space? Try Alann8h’s ‘Apollo 8’

Photo: @grindlondon

Looking for music to fixate on unhealthily while home for the holidays? You’re in luck, as this month Canadian singer-songwriter Alann8h returns with her newest release Apollo 8, a collection of six spacious tracks to serve as your soundtrack to escape. If you’re a fan of artists like Billie Eilish, Claire Rosinkranz, BENEE, or beabadoobee, then look no further, as Alann8h’s unique take on the low-fi indie pop formula is guaranteed to have you hooked after a single listen.

If you’re like me, you’re scrambling to curate the perfect playlist for the holidays. Trying and failing to capture the nostalgic yet claustrophobic feeling of lying on your childhood bed, AirPods in, fantasizing of being anywhere but there. Thankfully, Apollo 8 perfectly fits that vibe, with Alann8h delivering a succinct collection of downtempo and ethereal indie-pop and R&B stunners carefully crafted to give you healthy dose of serenity. 

Tracks like “Astral Projection” are borderline hypnotic, with layers upon layers of vibrato-laden Eilish-level harmonies and laidback dreamy sonics designed to spiritually send you to the moon at a moment’s notice. “Rings of Saturn” and “Sea to Sky” are jazzy and ethereal indie-pop cuts that almost sound like Alann8h is casting some sacred spell on you over her polished downtempo mix. Her voice remains a tender hue, whether she’s offering fans romantic ruminations on “Damsel in Distress” or belting out disillusioned meditations on growing up on the garage-rock inspired “Youthless Youth.” 

Whether or not you think you have an affinity for indie-pop, Apollo 8’s clever songwriting, genre-melding, and sheer risk-taking make it a must-listen. Suffice it to say, it’s hard not to get lost in the idyllic sounds of Apollo 8.

Listen to Apollo 8 below:

#allan8h #apollo 8 #R&B #pop #indie pop #new artist discovery #album reviews

[svartalfhild]

Like Old Times

Rating: T Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, Friendship Words: 2,166 Summary: The traveling performers known as the Knight Stars are visited by an old friend when they first arrive in Waterdeep. - - - The City of Splendors was overwhelming.  Mornath had grown up in a big city, but Silverymoon was nothing like the endless sprawl of Waterdeep’s streets, which bustled with the activity of more people than she’d ever seen in one place before.  It was a lot to take in, but in some ways that was rather appealing. 

She and her troupe had managed to acquire a room at an inn which possessed a small balcony.  Their first night in the city, she found herself wandering out to that balcony to gaze at the urban landscape.  A hundred scents were on the summer air and she could only name a quarter of them.  She wondered what it would be like to be a part of this place and not just a traveler passing through.  As much as she loved the open road, sometimes she missed having a place to call home.  Ah, well, at the very least she had a person to call home.  His name was Heliodoro, he was her best friend, and he was lying on his back in one of the beds in the room, hands folded over his broad chest, seemingly on his way to falling asleep after a long day of trying to find work.  She envied his ability to just conk out whenever he needed to.

Their other companion, Rue, a halfing bard of enormous personality and talent, was probably at least as knackered as they were, but she had decided to go out for some much needed shopping, leaving Mornath to ruminate about life and face her own insomnia alone.  Or so she had thought.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a masculine voice called from behind her and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Lander!” she gasped as she looked around to see a familiar half-elven man leaning against the doorframe.  She had not seen this spectre of her misspent adolescence since she had been briefly reunited with him in Silverymoon months ago and yet here he suddenly was, looking almost as if not even a day had passed.  The only difference was that this time he was clean-shaven.

“Hello, Mornath,” Lander greeted with a cheeky smirk.

“Ye startled me!”

“Ah, yes, sorry.  I’m so used to having to sneak up on people that I do it rather automatically these days.”

“What are ye doin’ here?”

“I wanted to see you.”  Lander’s expression softened and grew more serious as he said this, almost as if he was hurt that she had to ask.

“Oh, but not the door apparently,” Heliodoro suddenly called from inside the room.  They looked around to see that he had not moved or even opened his eyes as he had said this.

“Doors are for people whose sense of theatrics is loud and colourful, my good man.  I prefer to be more subtle,” Lander quipped.

“Fair,” was all Heliodoro had to say in response.  Lander turned back to Mornath then to elaborate on his sudden return to their lives.

“Anyway, I was at the Harpers’ Hall on business and heard the Knight Stars were in town, so I thought I’d, er, drop in for a little visit.”  A shit-eating grin graced his lips at his own pun and Mornath rolled her eyes.  “I fear I may have come at an inopportune time, however, seeing as Helio appears to be attempting to rest.”

“We can go up on the roof t’talk, if ye dunnae want tae bother him,” Mornath suggested, pointing upwards casually and Lander’s smile broadened.

“Just like old times,” he replied before climbing up the way he had come.  Mornath glanced back at Heliodoro, suddenly nervous at the thought of leaving him behind.  As if he had heard her thoughts, he called out in response.

“Go on.  I’ll be right where you left me.”  Feeling somewhat assured, she followed Lander up onto the roof, the pair finding a relatively non-precarious place to perch before settling down and gazing out at the city and the night sky from an even better vantage point.  They could even see a bit of the harbor from where they sat.

“This really is like old times.  A sprawling city beneath us and stars above.” Mornath commented.  “But ye’re not the boy I remember and I’m not the girl ye remember and we are far from where we began in so many ways.”  The smile that had briefly come across her face faded into a look of melancholy.

“You don’t seem all that different to me.”

“But I am.  I may be as sardonic as ever, but ma spirit has been broken.”

“It was your father who did that to you, wasn’t it?”  A great solemnity came to Lander’s demeanor as he asked this question and he looked directly at her, drawing her into meeting his intense gaze as she replied.

“He was only the beginnin’, but aye.”

“I met him once.  When I was trying to find you.  The things he said about you made my blood boil, but I’m happy to say that despite everything he did to you, the things that made you wonderful before are still there when I look at you now.”

Mornath didn’t know what do say to this.  She wasn’t used to such directness.  Heliodoro liked to couch his assurances and complements in flowery words, rife with simile and metaphor.  Lander’s approach took her off guard and she looked away from him to fiddle with the hem of her tunic.

“That’s kind of ye to say,” she managed after an awkward pause.  “Ye’re...don’t take this the wrong way, but ye’re much kinder than I remember.”  Lander smiled sheepishly at this and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m glad to hear it.  It took a lot for me to get where I am.  A lot of forcing me to grow up and face my problems.  My mentors were more patient with me than I deserved.”

“I’m sure they’re proud of who ye’ve become.  I know I am.”  These words earned Mornath a beaming grin and a flustered chuckle from her old friend.

“I should hope so.  There are many things that I regret about who I was.  The way I treated you, for example.”  Lander met her gaze again and for the first time, she could see the full scope of his remorse for his behaviour as a moody teenager.  She could see that it had been gnawing at him for a long time.  “I should have done more to protect you from Sparks’ manipulations.  Without manhandling you.  I shouldn’t have pushed you away like-”

“I forgive ye, Lander.”  The words came out soft and gentle, almost too quiet to be heard, and Mornath found herself placing a reassuring hand on his arm.  The tension in his expression melted into a look of what she could only describe as watery-eyed adoration.

“You don’t have to, but thank you.”  Lander brushed away a bit of moisture at the corner of his eye and continued, “Ah, but we should talk of more pleasant things.  I didn’t come here to wallow in past mistakes.  I came here to have fun.  Here, let me show you something.”  He reached into the space between his tunic and his leather armor and pulled out a small book that was quite familiar to Mornath, though it was now battered and worn, its binding looking as if it had been redone several times.  It was the book she had used to teach Lander to read.  He still had it after all this time.

At first, she thought this was the thing he wanted to show her, which was already stirring her emotions enough, but then he opened the book to reveal a small blue flower pressed between the pages and he took it out to show her.

“I may not be able to tell you much about what it is that I do, but I can tell you about this.  It’s a flower that only grows in on the cliffs of the Spine of the World in Icewind Dale.  I had cause to be there a few months after I traded being a sniper assassin dying on the front lines of a war for serving the Harpers.  I was still...distant and absorbed in my own melodrama at the time, but then I saw this flower and I thought ‘I’ve never seen one like that before’.  

“And then I had a sort of revelation.  A moment of clarity about everything my mentors had been trying so hard to make me understand about being a Harper.  Goodness and beauty can be found in the harshest of places.  Harpers are supposed to be the light in the darkness, the thing that protects the cliff flowers of the world and helps them grow.  Now every time I look at this flower, I’m reminded of the good in the world.”

“Damn.  How’d ye get t’be so profound?” Mornath responded, rather stunned.  Lander laughed lightheartedly.

“A lot of stake outs alone with nothing to occupy me but my thoughts, mostly.  I also read a fair bit of philosophy while I was studying at Fochlucan,” he explained.

“That’ll do it.  It is a beautiful flower, though.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Huh.  I dunno if ye realize this but it’s about the same shade of blue as yer eyes.”  Taking the flower from Lander, Mornath held it up next to Lander’s face to compare.

“Is it now?  Perhaps it’s some sort of sign from the gods.  Perhaps I was always meant to be on that cliff,” he joked, though she could see that his cheeks had gone slightly pink at her comment.  Strange.

“Perhaps.  Tell me more about the places ye’ve been.”  She handed back the flower and he tucked it neatly back into his book, which he then returned to its pocket.

“I’ve been all over.  As far south as Tethyr.  That place is quite the hot mess, let me tell you.  I managed to get into Candlekeep once.  That place’s secrets have secrets.  I wish I could have spent more time there.  I’ve been as far east as Evereska, although I never actually entered.  It was an escort mission and it ended at the walls of the city.  Snobbish bunch, they are.  Been to Baldur’s Gate a few times.  There’s always something going on down there that needs Harper attention.  But what about you?  You’ve been all the way to Rashemen; you must have seen some interesting things.”

At this inquiry, Mornath shifted on her shingled perch, thinking back on the grand adventure that was completing her late mother’s dajemma.  She didn’t know what experiences of hers could possibly top a trip to Candlekeep and she was honestly quite jealous.

“I’ve seen giants in the Nether Mountains.  I’ve fought pirates in the Sea of Fallen Stars.  I’ve walked through great columned halls in Chessenta.  I dunnae think any of it impressed me quite as much as seeing a Rashemi grandmother strike fear intae the hearts of a dozen berserker warriors by simply grabbin’ a potato masher, though.”

“You’re right, that is very impressive.  Clearly Rashemi grannies don’t mess about,” Lander laughed, coaxing a grin from Mornath.

“They really don’t.”

Their conversation carried on like this well into the night.  It was nice, having someone to talk to besides Heliodoro, and Lander had the advantage of having known her many years before.  There were many things Mornath didn’t have to explain or justify to him; they could just talk like old pals.  They even fell into much the same playfulness that she had with Heliodoro.  It was...comfortable.  Just as before, however, he could not stay out with her all night.

“Ah, I can see from your heavy eyelids that I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Lander commented and Mornath briefly took off her glasses to rub her eyes.  She didn’t want him to go, not when she had no idea when or if she’d ever see him again, but her insomnia had evidently thrown her under the wagon by leaving.

“It’s not that.  I just-”

“You need your rest.  Come on.”  Reluctantly, Mornath followed Lander down from the rooftop, dropping back onto the balcony outside her room.  “I’d like to return tomorrow, if you’d be alright with that,” he went on, turning to face her once more.

“Of course.  Ye’re always welcome with us.  We’re performing in a play tomorrow, if ye’d like t’come see.”

“I very much would, but until then, I must bid you farewell.”  Lander punctuated this by taking Mornath’s hand and pressing a light kiss to her knuckles.  “Pleasant dreams, my friend.”

Before she could even think of an appropriate reply, he was gone, leaving her rather stunned.  She slowly turned back to the room just as Rue returned from her shopping trip and the halfing peered at her in concern.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.  She wasn’t yet used to Mornath’s disordered sleep habits.

“Aye.  Everything’s just fine,” Mornath replied with a small smile.

#The Knight Stars #Forgotten Realms #Dungeons and Dragons #Mornath Sparrowswood #fanfic

[dimensionslip]

A White Future First Episode: Jade Balfour Translation (Part 3)

The next part covers some of Gelda’s ruminations during and after class, followed by a talk between her and Jade.

Note: Parts marked in () are thoughts, as formatted in the light novel.

( I didn't realize that... How could I have missed it until now, I wonder.)

She had given the boys some simple mathematical questions to do, and the girls were taking down notes. In the meantime, that one thought ran through Nebilim's mind countless times.

(I've heard the rumors while I was still with the Oracle Knights, but could it be that it's--)

She looked over at Jade. He finished his work quite some time ago, and was presently resting his cheek on his books, stacked to form a makeshift pillow. She'd gotten used to this sight since the past year.

The lessons were over before midday. Just as Nebilim was thinking of gathering the children's notebooks, a guest arrived.

"Professor, thank you for taking care of Mondo all this time."

The one opening the door and peeking in was the Arnold's family's servant.

"We had a fine catch this morning--please, have some."

A middle-aged fisherman lugged in a huge bucket and placed it on the floor with a thud. He was said to have taken up working with the family as a side job. It appears that Mondo's father, feeling sorry about his son's living arrangements, had called people to help out around the house.

"Well, these are some lively fishes."

Nebilim thanked the visitors as she looked down at the dark-colored fishes.

"Is the class over?"

"Eh? Ah, yes, I was just thinking of wrapping things up. Mondo--"

She beckoned to the boy and collected his notebook, still half-empty. The servant helped him get into a thick mantle on at the door, and, with the kind of treatment usually reserved for handling valuable objects, led him out of the classroom.

"Mondo's so lucky--he's always got someone coming over to pick him up."

"That kid, he's always spacing out--isn't it worrying?"

Kerry and Matilda giggled lightly amongst themselves.

"He's from a noble family, after all. When they grow up, they go to live at the capital, right?"

Nephry, though not very well-versed in the issue either, joined the conversation.

"By the way, Professor."

Vymlos called out to Nebilim as though he suddenly recalled something.

"Is it true that the Emperor's son lives in that huge mansion in the west side?"

"The Emperor's son? Hmm, I wonder."

Nebilim vaguely replied. Back when she was just setting up the school, she'd heard the story of how one of the Emperor's sons, having lost in the scuffle regarding succesion, was now under house arrest in the town.

"Do you guys think it might be Mondo?"

"Huh? No way--that can't be!"

The children began to argue about the topic. Excited, Saphir turned back to Jade, who was sitting behind him.

“What do you think, Jade?!”

"I'm not interested."

"Oh... Okay."

Saphir disappointedly closed his notebook and, aligning it so that it formed a neat stack with Jade's, handed them both over to their teacher.

"Sorry for keeping you."

"No, it's okay."

Nebilim returned to the classroom, which had now turned quiet.

"If it's okay with you, won't you eat your lunch over here?"

Jade, who'd been sitting at his seat, quietly stood up and made his way through the hallway with the mirror in it. As he entered Nebilim's private study, he stopped, surprised.

"Wow..."

It was the first time he'd been allowed to enter the room.

It's not a room that could be called wide. One wall was covered wholly with a bookshelf. The work desk by the window is covered with books and simple experimental apparatus that he'd never seen before. In the part of the room separated by a curtain, there seems to be a bed.

On the table placed in the center of the room, there were some simple sandwiches and drinks.

"Have a seat, Jade."

Nebilim offered a chair, but the boy seemed to be absorbed in checking out the covers of the books.

"If you find anything interesting, I'll lend them to you later."

"Really?"

Jade's cheeks turned a little red, which rarely happens. He sat down opposite Nebillim. He moved to pick up one of the sandwiches but, spying a bit of salted meat sticking out of the bread, stopped.

"What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"Ah... There's something I wanted to ask."

As she poured out some milk, Nebilim glanced at her student's glasses.

"I was wondering why you enrolled here. I suppose you already know, but in this class, there's not much that's being taught aside from reading and writing. For someone of your level, there's nothing you can gain from--"

"It's because you're a Seventh Fonist, Professor."

There was no sign of faltering in his voice.

"You worked at Daath, didn't you, Professor? What were you researching?"

"...No, I was just a healer there."

"Did you get to meet Fon Master Evenos?"

"When I was in Daath, I've seen him around, at the very least."

Nebilim smiled as she answered, leaving not a single hint that she'd been researching the Planet Score under Evenos' lead.

"Are you interested in Master Evenos?"

"No. However, I do have some interest in special fonic artes--"

Right then, Jade stopped speaking.

"Sorry. That doesn't quite answer your question, does it, Professor?"

"It's all right. By the way, about your eyes..."

"Yes".

"While I was in Daath, I heard about something called fonic sight. If I'm not mistaken, there seems to be some fonic inscriptions written on your eyes."

"Yeah. What of it?"

Jade's expression didn't change even in the slightest.

"It was two years ago when I heard the story about the invention of fonic sight. You were still..."

Eight years old, Jade's nod seemed to say.

"I thought it up and did it myself. Fonons are most concentrated in the eyes, so it should be best to inscribe the fonic inscriptions there. Like this--"

He took off his glasses, and brushed a finger before his eyes to illustrate.

"With fonic sight, the amount of power I can wield is multiplied several times."

"Didn't you...think it was dangerous? You could have blinded yourself if you failed."

"There was no other way."

Jade looked up at Nebilim.

"You wouldn't understand, Professor. After all, you were born with the ability to use the Seventh Fonon."

"......"

"Looking back at it now, I did think that I was too young. With my current ability, I could have suppressed the pain more effectively. And also, maybe prevented my eye color from changing."

Jade calmly said that, before he'd applied fonic sight to his eyes, they weren't red like they're now.

"You're... able to control it, though, right?"

Nebilim felt it was necessary to ask about it since the inventor of the arte turned out to be this boy, but she didn't voice that part of her worries.

"It's OK. There are a lot of unstable factors since I'm still growing, though, so it's necessary to make adjustments from time to time."

Jade brought up his glasses, and laughed a little as he remembered the talk about growing molars at 12 that they had this morning.

"Is that so..."

Nebilim looked around the dreary room, and said:

"I've said it earlier, but you can read any book you want in here. If there's any other thing in this room that you need, feel free to use those too."

"Really!?"

Jade's face lit up.

"Yes. My home has a lot of material on fonic techniques. But most of them just end up lying around gathering dust, so..."

Nebilim nudged the plate of sandwiches towards Jade.

“Sorry. I... this meat…”

Jade excused himself, and gave the bucket left in the corner of the room a sidelong glance. The fishes were just as they were when they were delivered.

"Professor. You can separate the salt and impurities from that seawater, right?"

"...Yes."

As she spoke, Nebilim took a fresh cup and scooped up some of the seawater. She placed it on the table and waved a hand over it. The seawater in the cup then separated into a dull crystal and transparent fresh water.

Jade let out a happy smile.

"What is it?"

Without answering Nebiliim, he scooped up the transparent liquid with a spoon and let it dribble into the soy milk she'd poured for him earlier.

"I see."

"Right--let's separate this one now."

Nebilim chuckled. As Jade turned to look at the glass, he saw steam rise up from it.

She thought that what they're doing could be called childish, but Jade seemed to regard it with attention worthy of the most important of rituals. It appeared that Jade's finally acknowledged her somehow.

"Here."

With dextrous hands, Jade divided the tofu they'd created from the soy milk into halves and offered one to Nebilim.

"Thank you. I wonder what kind of adult you'll grow up to be."

"For now, I was thinking that it'd be great to be a medical examiner."

"A medical examiner?"

As she chewed down on the steaming tofu, Nebilim asked.

"Yeah. Cause and effect... Studying the relation between the killing method and the damage that the corpse would sustain as a result. And what kind of fonic arte would result in what kind of dead body."

"Corpses, you say..."

"Yes. Even in natural deaths, that causal aspect can follow countless paths. Organic matter in which all living activities had stopped are very eloquent--it's impossible to grow bored of them."

"...Quite so, aren't they. By the way, Nephry said before that you'd catch small monsters and cut them up or kill them..."

"I can't use humans, after all."

Jade said the line with a very serious expression, but somewhere in his tone there was a very clear that he thought it was quite regrettable.

"Professor, can I go pick the books I want to borrow?"

"Go ahead."

Jade put down his spoon with a clink and stood up. Nebilim looked at the boy's back as he enthusiastically looked through the bookshelves and thought secretively to herself.

(In a few years... No, maybe even sooner than that, this boy will be beyond my capacity to handle.)

(I'll need to somehow make him more open to advice. But I suppose that's my job, after all.)

Even if she were to do nothing, her fate would probably end up getting tied up with this boy's. Whether or not it would result in getting closer to the truth would be up to Yulia's will.

"Looks like it's something only grown-ups who try everything they can will be able to manage. I'm looking forward to it." she muttered to herself. Glancing out of the window, she noticed the snow that had started to fall.

#tales of the abyss #jade curtiss #gelda nebilim #dist the reaper #tales of #my translation #i had this rotting in my docs forever i'm so sorry #queued post