#IN FRONT OF CATHY'S GRAVE????? THIS IS GOING TO *HURT* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Learning to Swim

Request: (whenever you have time of course.) What about a post-war draco malfoy x reader where after astoria dies draco and scorpius are left alone for a couple years then he sees y/n a friend from Hogwarts and they fall in love again (you can decide how). this is my vision and I'm a sucker for post-war fics with draco. 🥺💕 - @obx-beach

A/N: I LOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH. Thank you so much for requesting it and for trusting me with your request! It got away from me but I really wanted to explore this idea in depth because for me, anyway, grief isn't something that disappears over time, but rather, becomes bearable. Please read the warnings before reading, I cover some heavy topics. As always, I hope you like it!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy talk of grief and loss, some swearing, mentions of food, alcohol consumption, mentions of ghosts, a very cheesy ending.

Word count: 11.9k

Draco so rarely finds peace nowadays; a consequence of a confidently walking toddler who’s penchant for curiosity has him grabbing at what he can – the paper, the rug, the dog’s tail.

Draco so rarely find peace nowadays, but once a week, on a Saturday, he drops Scorpius off at his parents. His mother and father doting over the blonde-haired boy who looks more like his mother everyday despite the argument from Narcissa – “He has your nose, Draco!”

On the days he drops his son off at the manor, he apparates to the familiar black gates. They squeak whenever he opens them and no matter how many times he visits, he never remembers to bring the oil he promises to fetch.

Now, he doesn’t look at the names as he makes his way towards the familiar row, hands in his pockets, shoes sinking in the wet grass.

Before, he’d drag his feet. Reading every name he could as he struggled to come to terms with his disbelief and grief.

The granite headstone sits prettily above its plot; the marker for Draco to slow his pace to an amble.

She had died a Malfoy but had been buried in the Greengrass plot.

Draco had known of Astoria Greengrass for years; had been schooled with her sister but had known the family personally for years due to similar social circles, and as a result, social functions. Draco spent ball after ball getting to know the younger Greengrass sister much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson who still held a candle for Draco since their fling ended in Fifth Year.

He worked up the nerve to ask Astoria to dinner after a particularly hellish function where his father had pushed him to dance with every available girl that looked his way. For the most part, Draco accepted – wanting to keep his father happy and his mother hopeful. But through every dance, through every twirl on the floor, his eyes would wander back to where Astoria sat very intently focused on the napkin design.

On his third circuit of the dancefloor, Draco broke away from his dance partner earning a glare for his disrespect. He apologised with a smile but turned to the brunette sitting alone; he held his hand to her, and she took it with the grace of a well-raised daughter.

They span around the dancefloor; circle after circle after circle. They laughed, and they smiled, and they settled into a happy silence. One Draco felt so comfortable in that by the time they had finished their second dance together, Draco was certain he wanted to marry her.

By the end of the night, Astoria knew she wanted to marry him.

They were married less than six months after that night.

Three months after they were married, Astoria announced her pregnancy. Rumours started; stating that was the real cause for their quick wedding. But their families knew different; their families spent the entirety of the pregnancy wrapped in a cocoon of worry.

Then blood curse on the Greengrass family meant that Astoria would die at a young age, and Draco had prepared himself for that. Though, in private, he researched what he could to see if he could break the blood curse. This meant, however, the pregnancy was watched closely by Narcissa, by Daphne, and by multiple Healers flooed in from St Mungos.

Nine months later, on an unusually warm day in January, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was born. Immediately, Draco knew that though he had his hair, Scorpius had his mother’s eyes and mouth.

Three hours after the birth of her son; as she held him tightly in her arms, watching him with the love only a mother could know, Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass took her last breath.

-----------

The months after her death, Draco barely coped. He woke up in the mornings solely for Scorpius and Scorpius alone. He devoted his time to his son, marking every milestone in his baby scrapbook which on occasion he would take to his wife’s grave and go through it with her. Scorpius never visited the grave; for starters, he was too young, Draco wouldn’t let his son go through that but his son knew that his mother was no longer with them.

But that didn’t stop Scorpius asking for his mother after a nightmare had pulled him from sleep.

Narcissa tried to help; tried everything she could to help with his grief – at one point even suggesting he go see a psychic, but the fear of transference was enough to put Draco off the idea.

He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that he didn’t need a psychic to tell him Astoria had made it to the other side and that she had found peace.

She haunted him nearly every night.

Flashes of her white night gown in the corner of his eye; glimpses of her beautiful face in the mirror.

His heart would race, and his palms would sweat as the panic set in.

For a long while, he believed himself to be going insane. The sheer grief he felt at the loss of his wife driving him to madness as though he were Heathcliff suffering the loss of his Cathy.

------

Draco had memorised the inscription on her headstone after visiting for a month straight.

He had memorised the path to her grave by the end of the first week; the soil still needing to settle.

His feet knew where the uneven ground would be, so it was all dodged expertly.

Draco has very little to say to Astoria when he kneels in front of her. He updates her on Scorpius; promises that he will bring him soon, but it was still too early for his son to see his mother.

In fact, most of his time at the grave is spent in silence. His knees soaking wet from the morning dew still covering the grass.

“Draco? Is that you?” A chiming voice asks as Draco’s head remains bent over his wife’s grave. He releases a sigh before looking up to see that it’s you – someone he hasn’t seen in years. The last he saw of you; you were stood defiantly facing the hordes of Death Eaters in courtyard at Hogwarts.

“(Y/N)?” He asks.

You frown, pointing towards the grave where his wife lies in perpetual sleep, “I heard, but I didn’t believe. I’m sorry for your loss, Draco.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “Why are you here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You hold the flowers in your hand up in response, “I lost my grandfather less than a year back. I visit every week.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. He was a great man.” Draco murmurs, shame washing over him from his curt tone.

“Thank you,” You murmur quietly, “It’s still hard.”

Draco wants to offer words of comfort; to tell you that pain eases over time, but he would be lying to your face. The pain doesn’t ease, and the grief doesn’t lessen, it simply moves to one side and becomes bearable until something reminds you of the one you’ve lost whether it be a sound or a smell and then the pain washes over you like a tidal wave and you start to wonder whether you’ll come up for air or simply drown.

Draco decides not to say anything; turning back to face the woman he had pledged his life too.

You walk away after a slow nod; you wouldn’t get anything more out of him now.

-----

They say that time heals, that grief lessens, but it doesn’t.

Draco loves his son; he adores his son, but he cannot help but see him as a reminder of what he lost on the day of his birth.

He had gained a son; an heir to carry on the Malfoy name but he had lost the love of his life.

Draco leaves the graveyard soon after his encounter with you; feeling surly with how he had spoken to you.

He searches you before he leaves, but he finds you knelt at the grave of your grandfather with your head bent as the silent sobs rack your body.

He leaves you to your privacy; understanding that right now, intrusion is the last thing needed.

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

Draco sits in the living room of his marital home that night; a tumbler of whisky in his hand as he leans back in the chesterfield armchair gifted to him by his parents as part of their wedding present.

The wedding present being the house.

There are reminders of Astoria all over the house; from the pattern of the curtains to her photos lining the walls. She was everywhere. How was he was supposed to start living his life when his house remained a mausoleum?

He feels the hand on his shoulder; he doesn’t need to turn to see who it is.

“You need to stop doing this, Draco,” She murmurs.

He sighs through his nose, “I don’t see why.”

“You’re hurting everyone around you; you didn’t use to be like this.”

“It’s been a trying time, love.”

“I know it has. For both you and Scorpius, but it’s been three years, darling.”

The air in the room has become cold; too cold. To the point where his breath has started to fog; he takes a sip of the amber liquid to warm his body through.

“I can’t forget you, I won’t. He has no memories of you; he needs me to remember you.”

The voice behind him shakes, “My love, you’ll never forget me. I live on in him.”

Draco doesn’t say anything; the lump in his throat making it impossible for him to speak. The absolute yearning with him has him reaching up to take the hand settled on his shoulder.

The tears start to fall when his hand falls through the ghostly spectre.

-----

Morning comes and Draco wakes in the same chair he had fallen asleep in. He scratches at the stubble lining his face as he stretches his legs, bones popping as he stands to full height.

The clock on the mantle chimes seven times and Draco supposes he should start the day and collect his son from the Manor. He hadn’t been in any state last night to have him at home; it was better for Scorpius to stay with his grandparents.

The light to the bathroom flickers as Draco drags himself into the shower; the hot water and lavender shower gel doing a good job at leeching the tension that had become set into his shoulders.

He wipes the steam from the mirror before lathering his face with shaving cream and beginning the soothing action of shaving. Narcissa preferred him clean shaven anyway; believed that the stubble made him look like a vagrant.

A flash of white in the corner of his eye has Draco freezing with the razor halfway to his cheek.

His hand begins to shake, and he places the razor back in the sink as he braces himself on the counter. He counts to ten before he dares to look back up at himself in the mirror.

He was being haunted.

------

In the years after the Second Wizarding War, Narcissa had taken it upon herself to entirely renovate Malfoy Manor from the dark, dank place it was to make it more of a home for her family. A home in which Draco should have been raised in.

Narcissa greets him at the door with a kiss on the cheek and a concerned look that only a mother could pull off.

“Good Morning Mother, how are we today?”

“I’d be a lot better if you looked better. Did you get any sleep?”

Draco nods, thinking to the few hours in the armchair, “I got some.”

“Not enough by the looks of it, but at least you shaved. Have you eaten yet?”

He shakes his head, “I came straight here.”

“Luckily for you, Scorp is still eating.”

Draco hangs his coat on the grand railing by the door before following his mother through his childhood home.

His son beams at the sight of his father walking through the door, “Dad!” he yells, dropping his piece of fruit and jumping off his chair. He runs to Draco, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Draco chuckles, picking his son up, settling him on his waist, “Hey there squirt, did you have a nice night with granny and grandpa?”

Scorpius nods, still chewing his last piece of breakfast, “Yeah, me and granny baked, and she let me eat the mix!”

Narcissa lets out an overdramatic gasp, “That was our secret, Scorp!”

Scorpius laughs at his granny’s reaction, “I had to tell Dad!”

Draco tickles his son’s stomach; grinning at the laughter leaving his son’s mouth.

He had never known a world with his mother; and he never would, yet here he was as happy as any three year old could be.

“Are you joining us, Draco?” His father’s voice sounds; breaking Draco from his melancholy.

Draco clears his throat, letting Scorpius down so he can sit next to Narcissa at the table, “Yes, I think I will.”

Anything to not go back to the house so soon; anything to avoid seeing her in the corner of his eye or in the mirrors.

Narcissa nails him with a look she has made entirely her own after dealing with a supremacist order for over a decade.

Draco wavers under his mother’s stare; ready to drop the pretence and cry in her arms.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs the bowl of strawberries and scoops a spoonful onto his plate before reaching for a waffle and grabbing his knife and fork.

“Lucius, darling, why don’t you show Scorpius your matchbox collection? I know he’d love them.”

“What are matched boxes?” Scorpius asks.

Narcissa laughs lightly at her grandson’s pronunciation, “Match boxes, sweetheart.”

Lucius stands from the table; knowing very well what the determined look in his wife’s eyes meant, “Come on, my boy. I’ll show you my collection; I want to see if you can count how many there are.”

Scorpius’ eyes light up at the chance to make his grandfather proud; he jumps down from the chair before reaching to grab Lucius’ hand. Together, they leave the dining room, Lucius prattling about the history of the match box and why they needed to be collected.

Narcissa waits until they’re out of earshot before turning on her son who on the outside, almost pulled off looking so put together. Inside, she knew, was a broken man desperate to find a way to lessen the pain.

“It’s been three years, darling.”

“I know,” Draco answers; resisting the urge to groan.

“How often are you visiting her?”

“Once a week now.”

There was a point in the first months after her death where Draco would visit the graveyard every day for hours. He didn’t even say anything; he just sat on the perfectly trimmed grass in front of her grave and sobbed for the life that had been lost and the future that had been robbed.

Narcissa nods, “That’s good, Draco.”

Draco nods; he had gotten better in the years since her passing but Narcissa would never understand what it feels like to lose a spouse a year into a marriage that should have lasted an eternity.

Narcissa sighs, “Do you think it’s time now?”

“Time for what?” He asks; voice hard.

“To think about finding somebody else? I’m not saying you need to do it right now, Draco, but it’s something to think about.”

Draco sees red, but he tries to keep a lid on his temper for the simple fact that it is his mother sitting in front of him, “I lost my wife, mother. She died giving birth to my son; your grandson. She died and now Scorpius doesn’t have a mother and I don’t have my wife standing beside me. I think I’ll take all the time I need to recover from this.”

Narcissa sighs, “Of course, Draco. You know I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Draco rubs at his eyes; feeling wretched for the way he had spoken to his mother. She barely left his side after Astoria’s death; she had been the one to pull him away from her body.

“I’m sorry, mother. It was a tough night.”

“You’re having a lot of those, I’ve noticed.”

Draco’s lip begins to wobble, and he thanks Merlin that Scorpius is out of the room, so he didn’t have to watch his father fall to pieces.

Narcissa folds her son into her arms with the care only a mother could show. She strokes his hair as he sobs against her.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Draco sobs.

“Neither did we, my love.”

-----

Draco feels better after talking to his mother. Lucius returned fairly quickly after Draco had dried his eyes; Scorpius following on his tail, chattering about what he planned to do when he returned home.

Draco opens his arms for his son who happily falls into them; preferring to be carried rather than walking unless he was running around the gardens or the park.

“Do you have everything you need?” Draco asks his son.

Scorpius nods as Lucius holds up the small overnight bag that holds his clothes, pyjamas and his priceless teddy, Wellesley. It was the first thing Astoria brought when she found out she was pregnant. Scorpius treasured it like nothing else.

Draco takes the bag from his father; well aware of the extra treats hidden there. Scorpius had Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wrapped around his little finger.

After they apparate home, Lucius and Narcissa watch the spot in which their son and grandson disappeared. Hands clutching the other; both worried sick over their only son.

-----

He fills his week with his son; adventures, hide-and-seek, visits to the library. Draco makes sure Scorpius fills his day with activities designed to educate but to also have fun.

It’s also a way for Draco to keep his mind drifting to the one person who no matter how he often prays and wishes, will always remain absent.

The park is one of Scorpius’ favourite places to visit. He has a personal aim to swing as high as he can without giving his father a heart attack.

They spend their hours doing all sorts together, and every night before bed, Draco tucks Scorpius in tightly. Dropping a kiss to his son’s head and then his teddy’s head, Draco wishes Scorpius the sweetest of dreams.

On a night, Draco lets the memories of his short marriage consume him. He doesn’t wear his wedding ring on his finger anymore, but rather, attached to a chain he wears around his neck. He twists this chain for hours on a night thinking of the mother that Astoria never got the chance to be.

------

Draco’s visit to the graveyard is shorter this week on account of what happened last time. He knew what happened in the living room was down to the fact that he had spent too much time at her grave, lamenting how much he missed her.

It was expected that she would answer his calls.

So he resolves to make this visit shorter; long enough to clean the area and replace the flowers but short enough to not tempt fate and spectres.

Draco recounts to her tales of Scorpius’ week. Draco laughs and beams like a proud father when he tells the story of Scorpius adopting the family of Nifflers from their copse at the bottom of the garden. He had been so proud of himself; walking all the way back to the house with a four Nifflers in tow who had deemed Scorpius as one their own.

“You’d have thought he was a Scamander,” Draco laughs, patting the loose grass from his suit pants. “I think he could very well excel at Care of Magical Creatures but it’s too soon to tell, my dear.”

Eventually, Draco stands, wiping down his black suit trousers and whispering a goodbye.

Draco is a few steps away from the black, creaky gate when you bustle through; bouquet in hand, sad smile on your face.

You pause in the gateway when you see Draco standing before you.

“(Y/N),” Draco greets, “I was hoping to catch you. I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you the last time I saw you.”

“Draco, there’s nothing to apologise for. You’re mourning your wife; the last thing you need is someone invading that space.”

“All the same, I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

“I accept your apology, Draco.”

“Would you like to join me for a coffee? It’s been years since I saw you last, and I think it would be nice to catch up.”

You glance between the flowers in your hand and Draco waiting patiently for an answer.

“It’s okay if you don’t. I understand if you want to be with your grandfather.”

You bite your lip, glancing back to the flowers, “Do you want to come with me? All I need to is say hello and change the flowers. You don’t have to, though.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I’ve had my visit today, so I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You smile at him gratefully, “Thank you; he’s just this way.”

Draco follows you as you walk the well-trodden path to your grandfather’s grave. He doesn’t let himself think as he follows, and as a result, almost bumps into you when you stop in front of a grey granite headstone.

“Hi Grandad,” You greet, “I’ve brought someone with me today, I hope you don’t mind. I’m just changing your flowers though because then we’re going to get coffee.”

You turn your attention to Draco when you finish speaking, “It’s morbid I know but it helps me process. I know he isn’t hearing me, but I can vent here and somehow I always find a solution to my problem.”

Draco nods, “I do the same with Astoria. I tell her about Scorpius and her parents though I know they visit just as much.”

You smile at the blonde-haired man before discarding the dried out flowers to one side, replacing them with the fresher, brighter flowers.

Draco watches you through the process; not missing the way your eyes dart between the headstone and to something just past it.

For a brief moment, Draco wonders if you’re being haunted too.

-----

The coffee shop is warm compared to the brisk wind that howls outside. Draco’s body relaxes as he takes in the familiar scent of bitter coffee beans; it was a recent love of his, but now, he wouldn’t find himself going a day without a cup of the acrid liquid.

You unravel the scarf hanging around your neck before taking a seat at a corner table, “I didn’t think it would be this cold today. It makes me glad I overdressed,” you chuckle.

Draco laughs politely; his own coat now hanging on the back of his chair.

You smile, “Do you know what you want? I’ll go order.”

“Nonsense, I’ll order, I invited you here.”

“Well I won’t turn down free coffee, I’ll have a latte please.”

“I’ll be right back,” is all he says before leaving the table to order.

As the drinks are being made by the teenaged barista, Draco starts to second-guess his intentions for why he asked you for coffee in the first place. All week the conversation he had with his mother had been replaying in his mind, and then he runs into you as he’s leaving the graveyard. Before he knew it, the words were flying out of his mouth and he was unable to stop them.

He’s panicking, but he doesn’t find himself regretting asking you.

He’s only regretting his intentions as to why he asked you.

He’s been alone for three years. He has Scorpius, and his parents, but he doesn’t have anyone he can talk to on a night when the air is quiet, and the moon is high. He doesn’t have that one person that he can simply hold and know that everything will be okay.

Then and there, he lets himself admit it: he’s lonely.

Astoria had been everything for the eighteen months they had been together. He was utterly devoted to her; completely besotted by her. Draco knew that he had found the love of his life; he just didn’t expect her to be taken from him so soon.

But still he wonders.

He wonders if it’s time; he wonders whether Astoria watches him and urges him to find someone new.

To feel that rush of falling in love all over again.

The clinking of mugs rips Draco from his internal debating. He thanks the barista with a smile, picking up the tray of drinks and walking carefully back to where you wait for him.

You thank him as you pick up your latte, “You looked to be thinking pretty intensely over there.”

“You were watching me?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I got bored of the view of the café.”

Draco nods; sipping tentatively at his coffee, wincing before adding another sugar to taste.

“What were you thinking of? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind. I was thinking of Astoria,” he admits.

You simply nod your head; understanding completely that a widow would think of his loss.

“How are you coping with her loss? It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it?”

“I could ask you the same question about your grandfather,” Draco murmurs, “We’re coping okay. Scorpius is thriving; he’s such a smart three year old and I know I’m biased but he retains information like a sponge.”

You laugh, “I was going to ask you about your son, I’m glad to hear he’s happy.”

“He doesn’t have any memories of his mother, but he knows who she is. He has a framed picture of her in his room that he says goodnight to every night.”

“He sounds precious, Draco.”

Draco nods; thinking of his dear boy, “He is. And I know she’s proud of him, I just feel it in my bones.”

“I’ll bet my last sickle that she’s proud of you too.”

Draco blinks fast; ridding the sudden tears away. “Thank you,” he whispers, taking another drink of his coffee to distract from the sudden wave of emotion.

He clears his throat once the wave has passed, “I asked you here to catch up; not for me to ruin the mood with my grief. How have you been? I haven’t seen you since the war.”

“You can talk to me about this, Draco, I don’t mind,” You state before continuing, “I’ve been well – I travelled a lot after the war. The whole realisation of life is short really hit me, so I left the country for a bit; travelled through Europe before jumping ship to America.”

Draco’s eyes widen, “That’s incredible. Where was your favourite place to travel?”

You glare at him playfully, “That’s such a hard question!”

He laughs lightly, “Still – you have to answer.”

You tap your fingers against your thigh, thinking his question over. You had loved everywhere you visited; feeling extremely fortunate to have met such a range of magical communities as well as integrate yourself within muggle society for a time.

“I think it would have to be this tiny island in Greece; it is said that in ancient times, the locals believed it was the end of the world, and if you went any further, you would fall off. I stayed there the longest; around a month where I explored the island, ate their food, and drank with the locals. It was the best time of my life.”

Draco inhales sharply at your words; not realised that he’s instinctively leaned towards you through your speech. He leans back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, “It sounds wonderful,” he whispers.

You nod; eyes glazed somewhat as you think back to your time on that heavenly island, “It really was.”

You shake yourself from your reminiscing, “What about you then, Draco? I know about the wedding, and your son, but what did you do after the war?”

Draco waves his hand in a nonchalant fashion, “Nothing as wonderful as travelling the globe though I did go to France on my honeymoon. I trained as a Healer straight from Hogwarts; I’ve been at St. Mungo’s since Scorpius was born.”

“That’s great, Draco! I always knew you would make a great Healer ever since I saw you in Potions.”

Draco ducks his head, “Thank you, I enjoy the work. Are you working now?”

You nod your head, “I work for the Daily Prophet; writing real articles and not the trollop that Rita Skeeter used to waffle on about.”

Draco barks out a laugh, surprising himself at the volume of it, “I remember her coverage of the Triwizard Tournament! It was so awful.”

You beam; eyes bright with joy, “Weren’t they? I promise I’m a much better writer… not to sound big-headed.”

“I completely believe you; I’ll have to start keeping an eye out for your articles. I haven’t read the paper in so long. I haven’t had the time if I’m honest – I get my news from my mother.”

“How are your parents? I heard about them after the war.”

“Mother coped so well. She made it her mission to entirely renovate the house, and with it, the Malfoy reputation. She donates to charities now; her focus is children orphaned during the war. Father struggled, but he’s found his purpose for life again in Scorpius. Last time I was there, he showed him his collection of matchboxes.”

You laugh lightly, “That’s brilliant. I’m glad to hear that they’re doing well.”

“How is your family? I remember your mother from Kings Cross, always running to meet you off the train.”

“She’s doing okay,” You sigh, “She struggled after my grandfather but she’s working her way back to herself.”

Draco nods in understanding; he felt nothing but pride and a sting of jealously for your mothers process with her grief. Here he was, three years later, and still reaching out to the other side of bed only to grasp at empty, cold sheets.

However, as all things must, your time together comes to an end. The coffees are drank; coats are pulled back on and goodbyes are said on the pavement.

Draco walks away from you; apparating back to his home feeling lighter than he has in years.

------

Draco takes Scorpius to Diagon Alley on a Wednesday morning.

His son had been particularly restless the night before; a nightmare waking him. Draco does what he can to chase the monsters away before scooping up his only son and carrying him to the master bedroom. Scorpius sleeps soundly after that, but Draco remains awake – mind plaguing him with memories of Astoria but also of the coffee he shared with you.

It’s noon when Scorpius begins to pester his father for lunch. In his own words; he’s starving, and he hasn’t eaten in hours.

Draco laughs at his son. Three years old, but utterly dramatic. He kneels down so he’s eye-level, “How about we have ice cream for lunch?”

Scorpius’ face lights up and he begins to jump in his spot, “Can we go now? Please?”

Draco nods, holding out his hand for Scorpius take so he doesn’t get lost in the short distance to Florean Fortescue’s. He had lost him once; and whilst it was only two minutes before he found him, it was two minutes, he never wants to relive.

Draco lifts Scorpius so he can see the rows of flavours behind the glass. Scorpius’ eyes are wide as he checks the colour of every flavour. He even goes so far to press his face to the glass, fogging it up. Draco chuckles at his son’s antics; knowing full well he’ll pick the same flavour he’s gotten on every visit.

“Have you decided?”

Scorpius nods, “Chocolate please.”

Draco places Scorpius on the ground, “One chocolate tub, and one caramel fudge swirl tub please.”

Florean nods at the young Malfoy family with a large smile; watching them sit down at a window table before bringing their ice creams to them.

Scorpius attacks his chocolate tub with ferocity. Draco touches his son’s hand, “Slow down, squirt. You’ll get stomach ache.”

Scorpius looks as if he doesn’t believe his father’s word but not wanting to risk the chance of a stomach ache, he slows his pace. Carefully scooping the frozen treat before eating. His legs swing as he watches the scores of witches and wizards passing; they all look to be hurrying somewhere yet Scorpius doesn’t know where, but seeing all the different people, keeps his attention squarely on the window.

Draco works his way through his ice cream faster than his son; his weakness being the caramel fudge swirl that Florean makes fresh every day. He settles for drifting once his tub is empty and Scorpius is happily distracted by whatever he’s watching out of the window.

Draco begins to wonder about his son’s future – something he’s done a thousand times since his birth. He wonders about what Hogwarts house would best fit his sons personality; though he knew that the Sorting Hat would be the final word on that. But Draco can’t help but ponder over what attributes his son will demonstrate – will he ambitious enough for Slytherin? Courageous enough for Gryffindor? Loyal enough for Hufflepuff? Creative enough for Ravenclaw?

He had eight more years to ponder over it, but it’s still a question he’d like answered. However, Draco would still adore his son no matter his house.

“Draco?” Your voice sounds, breaking him out of his deliberating.

“(Y/N),” He greets.

Scorpius turns from people-watching, taking in the visitor standing at their table.

“And you must be Scorpius, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

Scorpius shies away slightly from the new person, inching back a bit in his chair.

“It’s okay, Scorpius,” Draco reassures, “I went to school with (Y/N).”

You nod, “I did! I was in Slytherin with him, and he was so smart! He still is; he’s a Healer isn’t he? Isn’t that so cool?”

Draco blushes at your compliments but it brings Scorpius out of his shell.

“My dad is the coolest! He fixes people when they are very sick.”

You nod seriously, “Yes, he does. It was very nice to meet you, Scorpius but I have to get back to work with my ice cream.”

Scorpius smiles, his teeth on show, “Goodbye!”

“It was nice to see you, Draco,” You say, smiling at the blonde-haired man.

“It was nice to see you too, even if it was so brief.”

You laugh, “Work calls I’m afraid, but I always have an ice cream, so I wasn’t going to let work stop me,” You wander back to the counter where Florean waits with your cone, “I’ll also cover Draco’s bill too, Florean.”

“You don’t have to,” Draco begins to protest.

You hold your hand up, smiling gently, “You treated me to coffee. I’ll treat you to your ice cream.”

Draco nods, wordlessly. Scorpius watches him with his eyebrows furrowed.

You take a lick of your cone, “I’ll see you soon, Draco. Have a nice day, Scorpius!”

And like that, you leave the ice cream parlour, heading back to the office where a pile of work awaits.

Draco leans back in his chair, disbelief clear on his face.

“What’s wrong, dad?”

Draco shakes his head, “Nothing, squirt.”

Scorpius shrugs, determining it adult stuff. “I like the lady who spoke to us.”

“(Y/N)?”

Scorpius nods, “She was really nice.”

“She is. She was nice when we were at school together.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“She is,” Draco murmurs once again, mind in another place entirely.

Scorpius lets his father have his moment; turning back to the window, wondering if he might get to see the nice lady named (Y/N) again.

------

Two months pass, and January’s winter gives way to March’s spring.

The gardens at his home and at the Manor have started to bloom beautifully meaning that Draco is constantly surrounded by floral aromas that make his head spin and Scorpius sneeze.

Draco starts to see more and more of you at the graveyard. After each visit, you seem to wait for the other – always asking whether the other would like to go for a coffee; very rarely refusing the offer.

He enjoyed the time he spent with you; Draco felt like he got to make up for the lost time he was an arsehole at Hogwarts.

The more time he spent with you; the more he started to feel the urge to begin his life again. But the hauntings continue; he continues to see his wife in the mirror; hearing her voice on a night whispering to him that it’s okay to move on. But hearing those words from the mouth of the woman he promised an eternity with racks his entire body with guilt.

But it’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t want to stay away from you.

The more time you spend with Draco Malfoy; the more you can feel yourself fall for him – his smile, his eyes, his mind. You just hoped that the landing wasn’t going to be too rough.

------

Draco drops Scorpius off at the Manor before heading to the graveyard for his usual Saturday visit. He blindly hopes to see you again after running into you at the ice cream parlour and seldom seeing you after but refuses to let himself dwell too long on the hope.

He was visiting his dead wife, after all.

He still grieves for her; still reaches for her in the middle of the night, but there are times through the day where he doesn’t feel so weighed down by grief – where he feels as if he can begin functioning fully once again.

But then that brings the guilt.

And that leads to the sightings.

And then that leads to the visits.

It’s a vicious cycle, and he’s desperate to break it.

He knows logically that Astoria would always be a part of him; he sees her every time he lays eyes on Scorpius but the small voice in the back of his head tells him often that he isn’t ready to let go yet.

And all Draco is desperate to know is: when?

-----

You find him knelt before her grave. He’s silent; simply staring at her headstone, reading the words that are already seared into his mind: Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother.

You place your hand on his shoulder and he jumps at the sudden contact. He relaxes once he sees it’s you, “(Y/N),” he breathes out, “I thought you were someone else.”

“I can tell,” you murmur, “Are you okay?”

He nods silently; gazing at the headstone once again, “I will be.”

“I can stay with you, if you need me.”

He shakes his head, “Go. Go see your grandfather; tell him hi from me.”

You want to laugh but nothing comes out. Draco looks at you; his blue eyes bright, “I’ll be okay,” he says gently.

The softness of his voice has you stepping away, “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

Draco nods, hearing you walk away from him.

He’s a man made entirely of conflictions. He watches you from the corner of his eye and wonders whether he is finally ready to start his life again after Astoria; ready press play once more and see what happens but the sheer fear that runs through him, paralyses him.

He doesn’t know what to think; he doesn’t know what to do.

All he knows is that in the handful of times he has seen you, you make him want to live again.

----

Your time with your grandfather comes to an end, and you stand from where you had knelt, murmuring a goodbye.

You can’t miss the way Draco remains in front of his wife’s grave. Standing just after you; stretching out the tight muscles in his back that had stiffened the longer he had sat there.

You sigh at the sight; mindlessly wondering if you would ever find a love that would impact you this much.

It was unintentional; it hadn’t meant to happen but the feelings you once harboured for the Slytherin Prince were returning in full force the more you saw of him.

But now, there was so much more to consider.

At Hogwarts, it was social groups that kept you from ever revealing your crush – that, and Pansy Parkinson. Now, though, Draco was a widower still very much in love with his dead wife, and he had a son that came first.

You know you need to tread carefully, but there was something addicting about the man’s presence. His way with words; his hand gestures; how he’d slip off into his own mind – it all had you caught; you were hook, line, and sinker.

You make your way back to the blonde-haired man, “What do you say to another coffee? I wish I could have stayed longer the last time I saw you, but work, you know?”

Draco nods; looking very much as if he wants to accept – the words being on the very tip of his tongue, but he sighs heavily, “I can’t today, I need to grab my son from my parents.”

“Oh,” You shake your head – of course, “Another time then! I’d like to see you again soon.”

You make to walk away but a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, “Would you like to come with me? I need to grab Scorpius but we’re making dinner tonight and you’re welcome to join.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be. Scorpius has been asking about you.”

That makes your decision for you, “Alright, I’ll join you for dinner.”

Draco smiles; letting go of his hold on your wrist, “I usually apparate to the manor, do you mind?”

You shake your head, placing a gentle hand on his outstretched arm.

Within a second, you’ve landed at the seat of Malfoy power for the last century. Draco was right you realise; Narcissa had lightened the manor up. Flowers border the main path; stemming from Hyacinths to white Lilies, to Irises. Colour lives up the home immediately, and the warm light coming from the masses of windows only makes the place more welcoming.

“I remember visiting here when I was a youngster,” You start, “I remember it being cold and uninviting… no offence, but now it feels so warm and happy.”

“That’s my mother’s influence,” Draco states; smiling wryly at the sight of all the flowers, knowing too well of the masses of Roses behind the manor.

Draco sounds the knocker three times before Narcissa pulls open the door with the smile reserved only for her son. She blinks twice before registering your presence; then she needs to do a double take.

“Afternoon, Mother,” Draco greets; leaning in to kiss her cheek which Narcissa returns distractedly – her eyes still on you.

“Draco, dear,” She greets, “And who have you brought with you?”

“Straight to the crux, aren’t we?” Draco laughs, “This is (Y/N). Surely you remember her?”

“Not Anthony’s granddaughter?”

You nod your head; ignoring the spear of grief flung through you at the sound of your grandfather’s name, “The very same,” you greet, “It’s lovely to be here. I was just mentioning to Draco how gorgeous your flowers are.”

Narcissa beams; her flowers are her pride and joy other than the son who had battled so much and came out the other side only stronger. “Thank you, my dear. Lucius and I were so saddened to hear of Anthony’s passing – tell me, how is your mother doing?”

“Better, thank you. She took his death as a blow – well, we all did but she took it the hardest being the only daughter and losing my grandmother so young.”

Narcissa nods; ushering you into the foyer of the grand manor, “We sent flowers, but we’re sorry we couldn’t make it to the service.”

A lumps forms in your throat at the mention of the service. It had been a beautiful and respectful service, but your memories of it were tied with the heart-clenching sobs of your mother as he cried about how she missed her father. It was a hard day and night for all; very few had dry eyes.

Draco notices your hesitancy at replying to his mother; notices the glazed look in your eye. He wraps his arm around Narcissa’s shoulder, distracting her from asking you any more questions, “How was Scorpius today?”

“Like always, an angel,” Narcissa coos, “Lucius has started to teach him French.”

“French? So early?” Draco asks; keeping a wary eye on you.

“Nonsense, my love. You were three when we started to teach you the basics.”

“You speak French?” You ask; mind now focused back onto the conversation. You shoot a grateful look to draco; he replies with a soft, kind smile.

Narcissa nods, “Most of our family does. Draco has spoken French fluently since he was nine years old.”

“Oui, maman,” Draco responds cheekily.

Narcissa playfully hit her son’s shoulder, “Hush you. Scorpius is with your father in the Library – shall we go grab him?”

Draco nods; desperate to see his son after hours apart, “Are you okay to follow?” he asks, throwing a glance to where you remain rooted.

You shake yourself free; banishing all thoughts of Draco and his speaking of one of the most romantic languages on the planet from your head.

You follow with a sheepish smile, “Definitely. Even I’ve heard tales of Lucius’ library.”

Narcissa chuckles, “He spends more time in there; researching and reading anything.”

“What does he research?” You ask; curiosity piqued.

“Anything – the pagan tribes of the celts at the moment. He’s focused on the history of Wiltshire at the moment; I’ve had stop him twice this week from apparating to Stonehenge and scaring the tourists.”

Draco pauses; falling into step with you as Narcissa opens the library doors, “My father needed something to do after the war; historical research turned out to be his niche.”

“It sounds like he’s having one hell of a time,” You comment; not kissing the grin that stretches across Draco’s face.

“Scorp, darling, your father is here!” Narcissa calls out after not having found her grandson where she had left him with his grandfather.

It’s hard to miss the footfalls of the toddler as he runs through the shelve stacks, crowing, “Dad! You’re back!”

Draco catches Scorpius in his arms, “Hey there, squirt. How was your day?”

“Fun. Grandpa taught me about the selts.”

“Celts, my boy,” Lucius says, appearing from behind one of the many shelves, “A hard C. Celts.”

Scorpius’ eyebrows furrows as he repeats the word again, “Celts.”

Lucius claps, “Excellent! We’ll make a historian of you yet.”

Scorpius beams at the pride rolling off Lucius in waves; he almost doesn’t notice you standing next to Draco.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Scorpius,” You greet.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

You laugh at his curiosity, “Your father invited me for tea, is that okay?”

The young boy nods, “We’re having pasta.”

You smile, “I like pasta.”

Scorpius nods again, and just like that, it’s settled.

Draco hitches Scorpius higher onto his hip, “He wasn’t much trouble?”

His question breaks his parents from staring at the exchange between you and Scorpius. Lucius smiles at Draco, “Scorpius is never any trouble.”

“Thank you for looking after him again.”

“It’s no bother to us. We love the boy,” Narcissa comments; blinking away what look to be like tears.

“We’ll see you soon, no doubt,” Draco says, “Say bye to granny and grandpa, squirt.”

Scorpius yells his goodbye with a large smile.

Draco holds his free arm out to you, and the three of you apparate to his home in the next village over.

Draco’s house is nowhere near the size of Malfoy Manor, but it is still large in comparison to the two bedroomed flat you rented in Diagon Alley.

It’s perfectly symmetrical you realise as Draco opens the garden gate. Two windows on either side of the pale green front door. Always a Slytherin, you think as you follow Draco up the main path. He readjusts Scorpius as he reaches for his key; putting Scorpius down as he opens the door.

Scorpius reaches for your hand, “I’ll show you the kitchen,” he states, leading you through the large foyer to a room just to the right.

The kitchen is the biggest one you’ve been in. The island being home to a breakfast bar where Scorpius tries to climb up to before you cave and place him on one of the stools.

Draco follows closely behind; opening the fridge to grab the ingredients for dinner.

You hop off a stool, “What can I do to help?”

Draco pauses, “You need to sit down, I said I was cooking.”

You roll your eyes, “I want to help, so what can I do?”

“Add the pasta to the pot when the water starts to boil. I’ve already salted the water.”

You nod, rolling the sleeves up on your blouse. Draco doesn’t miss the small tattoo on your left forearm, “When did you get that?” he asks as he starts to crush and chop some garlic.

You look down to the now familiar swirling patterns below the crook of your elbow, laughing, “I got it after our Eighth Year. I snuck out to a muggle artist and got it done; mum hit the roof.”

Draco laughs, moving on to slicing the tomatoes in two. You look down at the pot of water, happy to see it boiling. You add the pasta to the pot, stirring twice before stepping away from the pan.

You sit back down at the breakfast bar; ruffling Scorpius’ hair as you do so. The blonde-haired boy giggles, “Can I see your arm?”

You glance at Draco to check that he’s okay with Scorpius seeing your tattoo. Draco nods and you hold out your arm for Scorpius to gaze at your tattoo.

He reaches out a small finger, running it over the ink gently, “Did it hurt?”

You shake your head, “Not a bit.”

“Dad has a tattoo.”

You stiffen at his words; so does Draco.

The Dark Mark that mars Draco’s arm wasn’t spoken about when it was placed on his forearm, and it wasn’t spoken about now. It has been years since the Dark Lord was vanquished by Harry Potter yet his mark upon the house of Malfoy had definitely been left.

“It’s pale but I’ve seen it.”

Draco clears his throat, saying somewhat brokenly, “Dinner is almost ready. Go clean up, squirt.”

You help Scorpius down from the stool; grinning as he rushes away to the downstairs bathroom to wash his hands before dinner.

As soon as he’s left, you turn your attention back to Draco who’s stirring the pan of pasta quietly, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“For what?” He asks incredulously.

“For showing him my tattoo. I didn’t think he would bring up yours.”

Draco shrugs, “It’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it, and like squirt said, it’s pretty faded now.”

You nod, “I’m glad. Where do you keep your plates? I’ll grab them for you.”

“Second cupboard on from the fridge. There’s a small plastic one for Scorpius there too.”

You grab the three plates, wandering back to where Draco is adding the pasta to the sauce simmering away in the pan. Scorpius rushes back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table by the window.

“Show us your hands, squirt. Are they clean?”

Scorpius holds his hands up, waving them at his father. Draco squints, pretending to look over his son’s hands with extra care, “Very good. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yes!” Scorpius shouts, legs kicking under the table.

Draco laughs, “Well it’s a good thing it’s ready then!”

Draco takes over yours and Scorpius’ plates first before grabbing his and the cutlery. He cuts up Scorpius’ pasta before settling in his own seat and starting to eat.

“This is so tasty,” You compliment, “One of the best meals I’ve had.”

Scorpius nods rapidly, working through his own mouthful before saying, “Dad is the best cook! You should try his pancakes!”

“Thanks, squirt,” Draco replies, smiling at him.

“I’ll have to try those pancakes one day,” You murmur, casting a side glance at the blonde-haired man sat to your left.

“I think you will,” He replies, effectively knocking the breath out of you.

Of course, you would rekindle feelings for your teenage crush when he’s now a widow and a father. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead, you focus your gaze back to your meal.

The dinner is soon over, and the plates are cleared away to the sink where they’ll be washed after dessert.

Dessert is a slice of chocolate cake and ice cream; a treat from Narcissa. Scorpius makes as much conversation as he can; telling his father and you about the day he had at his grandparents where he learnt about the mystical celts and Stonehenge. Soon, though, his eyes start to droop and his final spoonful of cake clatters to the plate.

Draco scoops up his son; cradling in his arms as he once did those years ago. Draco murmurs an apology to you as he carries his son from the kitchen to his room, but you wave him away.

To help, you collect the plates and start running the hot water, adding dish soap as you go. You’re almost finished with the final plate when Draco returns from putting Scorpius to bed.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind – it makes me feel useful.”

“Alright. You washed, I’ll dry,” Draco bargains; grabbing the tea towel from the counter and picking up the first plate.

“Did he fall asleep okay?” You question.

Draco nods, “Out like a light, I had put his pyjamas on for him.”

You chuckle, “Bless him.”

“He really likes you,” Draco comments.

“Well, what’s not to like?” You quip, grinning, “I really like him too. He’s a credit to you, Draco.”

Draco finishes drying the final plate; putting them back in their assigned cupboard.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink, or do you need to be at work early?”

“I do, but I’d like that drink.”

Draco pulls two glasses from the display before reaching for a bottle of red wine. You already knew that you would wake up tomorrow with a headache, but it was worth it to spend more time with him.

Draco pours two glasses before handing one to you. He grabs the bottle and his glass, leading you to the living room across the foyer.

You take a seat on the maroon couch, taking a drink of wine before placing the glass on a coaster.

“Thank you for the meal. It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“That is all part of Narcissa Malfoy’s rearing of a good husband. She started teaching me to cook before I left for Hogwarts and would give me lessons every school holiday.”

“Well, you’re very good. I’ll be thinking of that pasta for days.”

Draco smiles at you from over the rim of his wine glass and your stomach flips.

“Why did you tell your mother that it was just dinner?” You question, referring to the incident earlier at Malfoy Manor. You take another sip of wine, watching Draco the whole time.

“Mother has it in her mind that it’s time for me to find someone new. She worries that I’ve been alone too long,” Draco drawls wryly.

“What do you think?”

Draco swishes the remaining wine in his glass; reaching for the bottle to refill.

“I don’t know,” is his answer as he tops off your glass too.

“Are you lonely?”

“You really are a journalist, aren’t you?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, smiling, “Are you though? Lonely?”

Draco locks eyes with you; the answer is on the tip of his tongue, ready to make its entrance but he’s interrupted by the cry of his son.

Wine glasses are placed hurriedly as you both rush to the young boy’s room; his cries getting louder.

The both of you fall into the room in a hurry; desperate to help Scorpius. Draco shakes his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.

“Scorpius, Scorpius – it’s okay, open your eyes.”

“Dad?” Scorpius asks; his voice a sob.

“It’s me, squirt. I’m here.”

Scorpius opens his arms for his father. Draco picks him up with no hesitation; cuddling his son to his side – drying his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It sounded like a bad one,” Draco comments.

Scorpius nods, “I don’t want to go back to sleep, I’m scared.”

Draco looks torn in two. On the one hand, Scorpius needs to sleep otherwise he’ll be as cranky as a Hungarian Horntail tomorrow. However, on the other hand, Draco won’t force Scorpius back into another nightmare by insisting he sleep.”

You step forward, perching on the end of Scorpius’ bed, “I have an idea, but you need to be all comfortable and cosy, okay?”

Scorpius nods timidly; rearranging himself against Draco’s side, cuddling his beloved teddy tighter.

“Are you cosy?”

He nods once more.

“Okay, I’ll begin: Once upon a time in a far off land there lived a king who was very lonely. He had tried for years and years to meet the love of his life, but he felt defeated for he hadn’t found the one…”

It takes over an hour – three stories and two muggle songs before Scorpius is soundly sleeping once again.

Draco shifts him with the expertise of a parent before leaving his bedroom with you in tow.

He goes to close the door, but you place a hand on his wrist, stopping him. “Leave it open two,” you start, “the light from the landing will comfort him a little if he has another nightmare.”

Draco leaves the door open a crack. Turning to you, he says, “I don’t know why I never thought of that.”

You shrug, “It’s something my mum used to do for me.”

“You were incredible in there by the way,” Draco compliments as you descend the stairs together.

“Thank you,” You murmur shyly.

“Where did you learn those stories and songs?” He asks, “I feel like I should take notes for next time,” he chuckles half-heartedly.

You laugh too, “The stories I made up years ago and the songs are muggle ones I heard on my travels. I used to babysit my younger cousins for extra pocket money – I got to be creative very quickly.”

“Well it paid off,” Draco comments, eyes flickering to the stairs.

“It certainly did,” You murmur; eyes following Draco’s.

It’s silent for a few moments; the both of you thinking of the other without the other knowing. You, terrified to tell him for the fear of rejection. Him, terrified about letting down his dead wife.

You both go to speak at the same time and promptly burst into quiet laughter.

Through the span of the conversation, you’ve gravitated towards Draco – bodies angled towards each other, hands close to touching, heads close together.

If you leaned forward an inch, your mouth would be on his.

The alcohol coursing through your veins makes the connection for you as in the next second, you’ve leant forward and attached your lips to Draco’s.

He doesn’t respond at first; too in shock by your boldness but when you’re about to pull away, he wraps a hand in your hair, keeping your mouth pressed to his. Lips glide together seamlessly. He bites down on your lower lip, making you gasp. He deepens the kiss then; shifting on the couch to press you further into it.

Your hand make their way into his hair, and Draco groans against your mouth at the feel.

But it’s all too much and you need to pull away.

Chest heaving, you drag your mouth away from Draco’s. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, pressing little kisses across your jawline to your ear before sitting back up.

“I didn’t expect that,” You gasp.

“Neither did I, but I’m not mad about it.”

“You aren’t? I did just jump you.”

Draco laughs, “It would have happened sooner or later.”

“Really?” You ask; a note of happiness unmistakable in your voice.

Draco nods, running his thumb across your lips, relishing in the fact that they’re swollen because of him.

The wine has gone to your head, and you feel your eyes begin to droop before the first yawn hits. You sigh, pulling away from Draco’s distracting touch, “I think I better head off.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to leave.”

“Why, do you want me to stay, Draco?” You tease.

He nods, “I can’t offer much, but this couch is really comfy.”

“And where will you be sleeping?” You ask; the wine making you more brash.

Draco blushes. You take back your words, “I’m sorry, Draco. Red wine goes straight to my head.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. I just propositioned you and all we’ve done is kiss,” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

Draco pulls your hands away from your face, “(Y/N), it’s fine, really. The blanket on the back of the couch is really warm; grab it will you?”

You feel your face heat as you reach for the large grey blanket draped over the back of the couch. Draco stands momentarily to toe off his shoes before settling back down on the couch. You slip off your own shoes before clambering onto the couch next to him.

This was all so intimate.

Draco throws the large blanket over you both. Once suitably covered, his arm slips around your waist and your hand rests on his chest.

Neither of you say anything. No words need to be spoken now; everything expressed through actions alone.

With a kiss to the top of your head, Draco falls asleep unafraid of what he’ll meet in the morning.

--------

It’s the sunlight that wakes you. Bright light warming your face; you flutter your eyes open to find you face to face with Draco’s chest. Neither of you had moved in night; if anything, becoming closer together. At some point, his legs had tangled with yours and your hand had gripped his shirt so tight, it came away wrinkled when you loosened your grip.

You sigh happily; then you glance at the clock on the mantle piece where the hands make it abundantly clear that you were going to be late for work.

Extracting yourself carefully from Draco’s hold, you pick up your shoes from the floor. You search quickly for a spare piece of paper and a pen; scrawling a note for Draco to read when he wakes.

With one last look at the man you had fallen for in such a short amount of time, you apparated away.

-----

Draco wakes not long after you leave; feeling oddly light without the weight of your body pressed up against him. He frowns when he realises that you’ve left without a goodbye but with a glance at the clock, he doesn’t have much time to worry about it.

Scorpius would be awake any minute and demanding breakfast.

Draco sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It had been so long since he had slept with someone by his side; wrapped around him the way you were, and he was happy to admit, he had missed the feeling of another human pressed so tightly against him, he could feel every contour in their body.

He almost falls off the couch when he notices your note lying on the table. He grabs it with shaking hands:

“Had to go to work – meet me for lunch if you can? Thank you for last night. You still owe me pancakes – (Y/N).”

He feels like a teenager again experiencing the rush of his first crush. He runs a hand across his face; standing up to get a start on breakfast. He folds your note in two before sliding it into his wallet for safekeeping.

It’s then that Draco realises he has two things he needs to do.

-----

Draco drops Scorpius off at Astoria’s parents for the morning. Apologising to his son for bailing on their plans of the park and the library; Scorpius simply pats his father’s face in goodbye before running to his grandma and grandad Greengrass.

Draco waves at his in-laws before apparating to see their daughter.

-----

The graveyard looks entirely different, but Draco knows nothing has changed. What has changed is him, and he need to tell Astoria.

Kneeling in his usual place in front of her grave, Draco releases a shaky breath.

“Hi darling, I know I’m early for our visit, but I have something important to discuss with you,” He looks down at his hands before continuing, “I think I’ve met someone, and I really want to pursue it. I want to see where it goes.

“You have to understand, darling, I never thought I would love again after you. I really didn’t and for three years, I’ve been an island with just enough room for Scorpius. I didn’t expect it, but it happened, and I like the way (Y/N) makes me feel. I feel excited again; my hands are shaking from the very thought.

“Scorpius likes her by the way, and she likes him, but they both know they won’t ever fill the role that you were supposed to. And I think they’re both happy with that knowledge.

“I’m not asking for your permission, but I am asking for your forgiveness. For not loving you harder; for not taking more time to be with you; for not apologising immediately after every argument. But I’m ready to start living again and I’ve found someone that makes me want to live again; that incites that spark of life within me, and I desperately want to see where it goes.

“I haven’t seen you in a while; around the house. I think you realised what was happening before I did and finally made your peace with it. I can’t ever forget you and our time. I see whenever I look at our little boy, but I’m ready to begin again, and so I shall.”

Draco stands from the grave feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had to speak to Astoria before he could speak to you; he had tell her his choice but to reassure that he would always love her, but his heart was ready to make room for another person.

And that person was you.

With one last glance at the marble headstone, Draco apparates to Diagon Alley.

----------

The offices to the Daily Prophet newspaper lie in a side street just off the high street. He signs in at reception but asks the receptionist not to alert you of his presence. The receptionist flushes when she realises that she’s now part of a romantic plot. Draco smiles at her gratefully as he makes his way to the main lift, asking for your floor.

He taps his foot the entire ride up to your floor, annoying every single person in the lift with him. But he can’t help it; he’s both excited and nervous.

In a few moments, he’s changing the direction of his life forever, and he couldn’t feel more ready to start.

The door opens on your floor and Draco rushes out, followed by the happy sighs of those journeying to higher floors. He wants to laugh at their reactions, but the butterflies rioting in his stomach make him feel as if he could vomit right on the muddy brown carpet.

It’s not hard to find which desk is yours by the amount of trinkets on there. Files are precariously high in one section, and then the rest of the desk bar the cream typewriter is covered by snow globes and tiny figurines of landmarks from your travels. From this first look at your desk, Draco already has a sense of what your flat will look like.

You gasp when you see Draco standing in the door to your office, “Draco, you’re early for lunch.”

Draco walks up to your desk; his hands shaking through it all, “Let me make you pancakes.”

“What?” You ask, breathless.

“Let me make you pancakes,” He repeats, “I want to make you pancakes in the morning.”

“Really?” You sniffle; tears collecting.

Draco nods, “I’m still grieving, but I always will be. However, that doesn’t mean my life needs to come to an end and I realised that I want it to continue with you by my side so… let me make you pancakes every morning.”

Tears have started to fall down your face and you sniffle before speaking, “Okay. You can make me pancakes.”

Draco beams; eyes crinkling. He leans in close to you, whispering, “Do you think you can get off early?”

You grab your bag before he finishes his sentence, “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco holds his hand out for you to take. At the feel of your skin against his, a jolt of electricity runs between you. It takes everything in him not to drag you into a kiss in the foyer of the building.

He waits until he’s in the street.

Like a gentleman.

He waits until the coast is somewhat clear before pulling you into his side and drawing your mouth to his like you did last night. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

It’s not your first kiss, and it won’t be your last, but this one kiss means the world to the both of you.

Through it all, you’ve learnt to swim.

-------

A year later:

Scorpius is almost five years old when he visits his mother’s grave for the first time in his life. He had been less than three weeks old when she was buried in the Greengrass plot

Scorpius watches as his father kneels before her first; apologising for his absence and asking for her forgiveness.

But then he looks to Scorpius; where he stands with his hand holding onto yours tightly.

Draco beckons to Scorpius with an open hand. Scorpius staggers to his father’s side immediately.

“Hi Mum,” he whispers.

Draco’s hand is firm on his son’s shoulders; a comforting presence.

“I miss you,” he starts, “I know I never got to know you, but I miss you. I have your picture in my room, so I know what you look like, and Wellesley. I’m starting school soon; a small magic school with kids like me and I’m really excited. Dad’s doing well. He was sad for a while but he’s happier now and he talks about you more with (Y/N) who I like too. I want to come back, and I think Dad will let me, so I’ll see you soon, Mum.”

And with that, Scorpius walks away, happy to have finally met the mother had wanted to meet for so long.

Draco watches his son potter back to the still creaky gate in awe. You join his side; fingers tangling in his. “How are you feeling?” You ask, watching Draco’s face.

“Happy and in love,” is Draco’s reply.

*****

Muggle songs:

Johnny Ace - Pledging My Love

Paul Anka - Put Your Head On My Shoulder

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04

Draco Malfoy taglist @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy reader insert #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n

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chuuyas--boo · 3 years

Text

Fic time <3.

AN; read the tags luvs.

"Riley be careful, he might hurt you again..."

Riley glanced back, her gaze locking with Eddie's under his mask. "I'll be fine, don't worry~ plus what could happen? He's probably weak at this point."

"But...he's hurt you before." Eddie was very close to the slightly taller ginger girl, and fond of her, she was always good to him.

"Trust me, Eddie. I'll be fine. If something does happen, Danny can help."

Eddie sighed and nodded. "Just...be careful..."

Riley smiled softly before going back to her floor. The revolver was already loaded, but, Riley took out all the bullets except one. And now, all she could do was wait, the grave was already dug, she'd do the headstone later, if she decides to even give him one. Those who had caused any part of her trauma hadn't gotten proper graves, she'd burned her mother alive, killed her sister on Cathy's floor which made it so she couldn't make her a grave, why would he get one? Spinning the barrel of the revolver, Riley watched him run from the other Angels, giggling like a maniac every time he got close to getting caught. Sure she wanted to kill him, but it was still funny to see him suffering.

"Ahh I bet he'd look better in a pool of his own blood..tch, not as if that's help how ugly he is."

Riley had thought of different ways she couple tortured him and killed him, but ultimately decided to borrow a revolver from Eddie, promising she'd give it back after.

While Riley seemed like a sweet girl, she was actually terrifying, giggling like she'd just seen the funniest thing ever after killing someone. Though, no ones mental state was good in that facility, so almost everyone was like that, but her sudden changes in attitude could be scary.

Her green gaze shifted to the screen, noticing he had made it to her floor. "Finally, I thought he'd never get here" Riley watched as the brunette boy; Jordan aimlessly wandered around the floor, confused and breathing heavily.

"Ahh, it couldn't have been that difficult. Especially for you...unless...you're weak."

Riley's voice echoed through the floor as she walked around in the dark, of course she knew where she was going, unlike Jordan who became even more startled.

"W-who's there?! GET OUT HERE–"

Riley giggled and circled around the boy, though still out of his line of sight.

"Who are you?"

Jordan grabbed Riley's wrist. Riley pulled her wrist away and stood right in front of him.

"I half expected you to remember me, especially since you beat me oh so many times, laughed and giggled when I'd get beaten by my family, and you tried to kill me."

Jordan's hazel gaze met Riley's piercing green gaze.

"R-Riley–?!"

"Nahhh...OF COURSE IT'S ME DUMBASS!"

"I-I'm sorry..."

"Don't lie. You're not sorry. If you were I wouldn't have a gun pointed at your head."

Jordan stumbled back, almost falling, but Riley grabbed him by the arm and yanked him towards her. "Yeahh you're not getting away like that." Riley's grip on his arm tightened every time he tried to pull away. "Stop struggling, idiot. Unless you want me to blow your brains out right now." Jordan stopped, his gaze seeming to shake with fear, Riley giggled "I guess I can see why you liked to hit me and make me cry, fear in peoples eyes is quite amusing. Especially yours, all panic stricken and afraiddd, quivering in fear~" giggling still, Riley pressed the barrel of the gun against Jordan's temple. "You have two choices, I can blow your brains out right nowww~ orrr we can play a game"

Jordan trembled violently, trying to pull away. "What g-game?"

"Oh I dunooooo..." Riley paused and smiled "Russian Roulette!~ you win, I die, just like you'd want."

"Y-yeah...that's how it works..."

"Shut up! I win, you die, and you're mine, forever."

"What do you mean by that..?"

Riley pulled the gun away from his temple and giggled "You're real dumb, huh? It doesn't matter."

"Why do you suddenly want me to be yours?!"

Riley just quietly stared at the boy "SHUT UP-"

"No! Tell me why!"

"You know exactly why! YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME AND THAT YOU WOULD FOREVER! AND I SAID I'D DO THE SAME-"

Breath hitching, Riley spun the barrel, then tilted her head back, holding the barrel against her chin so that if it did end up actually shooting she'd die for sure.

"I-I DO! WAIT-"

Riley just smiled and pulled the trigger.

. . .

And nothing happened, Riley giggled "Your turn now!~ ahh you'd better hope you die from it!"

Jordan's hand grabbed Riley's, attempting to pull the gun out of her grip. "HEY– What're you doing?!"

"I didn't say YOU'D be the one to pull the trigger, after all it wouldn't be me killing you if you did. Plus it'd be more fun if I did it."

Pressing the barrel against Jordan's temple again, but before the ginger could pull the trigger, Jordan, without thinking, grabbed the girls hips and pressed his lips against hers. Riley squirmed and pulled away "WHAT THE HELL–?!" her face grew hot from embarrassment and anger.

Eddie who was watching grew slightly jealous, but also worried for the ginger girl, what if Jordan did something else...?

"I-Im sorry! I just–"

Riley smacked the boy causing him to stumble and fall, standing over him she glared at him "Don't ever touch me again. You won't get another chance anyway." Not caring about the "rules" of Russian Roulette, she spun the barrel so the slot with the bullet would be the one shot and pointed it at the trembling brunette.

"Wanna say anything else before I blow your brains out?~ mm...you'd look better in a pool of your own blood..."

Jordan could barley breath, let alone form words but he managed "I-Im sorry...I shouldn't have d–"

Riley giggled "SHUT UP YOU LITTLE LYING MANWHORE!" Without any sort of hesitation, she pulled the trigger. Blood, skull fragments, and brains splattered everywhere, on the wall, floor, even on the ginger who started giggling more, like a psychopath, her laugh was enough to send chills down the spine of even another killer, and it did, Eddie shuddered where he stood, watching the girl giggling and laughing. The sight of Jordan's body was quite gruesome, one eye hung out of its socket and the rest of that side of his face was blown off.

Sighing, Riley set the revolver on the floor, glancing at the grave she'd dug. "He'll rot too fast..." Letting out a small huff, Riley ran off and came back with an old scarf, gently pulling Jordan's body into her lap, Riley tied the scarf around his head, hiding the eye that was dangling out of its socket. After hiding the severely damaged side of Jordan's face, she carried the body towards a large freezer. "Ahh, sorry I couldn't make you look nice..." Opening the freezer, Riley sighed before gently placing the body in it. The cold would preserve it, especially in the freezer, it was alright pretty cold on her floor, but it wouldn't be cold enough. Sighing happily, the ginger left the room, Jordan was hers now.

#Tw murder #Tw death #Tw gun #Abuse mention tw #Tw gore #Oc; Riley Morgan

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jane-fucking-seymour · 3 years

Text

NEW LEGEND OF THE SIX - CHAPTER 25 - SECRET OF THE FAE

AO3 Link

They had lost.

Catherine rose with the others - almost all the others, actually, as Katherine had not rose - as they calmly looked up at their master, their lord.

Anne disappeared in a cloud of shadow, Maggie and Elizabeth’s screams a distant echo.

Anna disappeared in a surge of fire, a dragon screech almost drowning out the screams of thousands.

Cathy disappears in a cloud of blue and pink, the maddened wails of soldiers in her wake.

But Catherine… Catherine remains. And kneels. And offers her sword.

The person in front of her takes it, and he smiles.

Henry smiles, and Catherine feels… foreign relief.

“You’ve finally seen the light of day, have you?” he asks. “Go on. Fulfill your duty to your king.”

She stands, turns from Henry and Jane, who was suddenly there, and looks down at Maria. Maria is being held down by golden chains.

“Please,” Maria sobs. “Don’t do this, Catherine. Please-!”

The sword’s Blessed energy glows, but it’s angry. Pleading, almost.

“PLEASE!” Maria yells, but the sword swings down-

The Blessed suddenly gasps awake, sweating slightly as she gasps for air. She looks around wildly, grabbing her sword next to her-

-only for a steady hand to shoot out to keep the blade on the ground.

Catherine immediately whips her head towards the source, ready to fire-

“Catherine.”

She blinks.

“Anne?”

Anne Boleyn keeps her hand on Catherine’s, holding the blade down. Her gaze isn’t judging at all, instead calmly assessing the started Blessed before her. She keeps Catherine’s gaze until she sees the panic settle for the normal type of calm - well, as normal as it could be given the circumstances.

“You’re not usually this jumpy,” Anne observes, slowly releasing Catherine’s hand.

She steps back as Catherine puts the hand that was on her blade onto her forehead. She shakes her head. “Just a nightmare. Nothing more.”

“What happened?” Anne asks, standing up.

Catherine shakes her head. “It’s… it’s nothing.”

Anne is silent for a moment before she nods.

“Well, it’d be a shame for you to suddenly break your Oath, Blessed, so do try to remember which of us is friend and foe next time you reach for that blade of yours, yeah?” Anne asks, stretching.

Catherine chuckles. “And here I thought we were being friendly.”

“Eh, we’ve been reunited for a day now,” Anne says with a smirk, looking over at the girl. “Let’s get out of here.”

They both step out of the tents they made for the night, stepping into the clearing that they had set up camp. The City of Everlasting Promise seemed nearby - infuriatingly so.

“Still stuck in this loop, eh?” Catherine asks with a sigh. “Even with how far we’ve gone…”

“Cathy has a plan,” Katherine says, but she’s not looking at the Blessed; instead, she’s looking forward, at Cathy.

The woman in question was with Anna, a few feet away. She was looking down at something in her hand, discussing it quietly with the Battlereeve.

“You’re probably right,” Cathy says. “I think that makes the most sense.”

Anna nods, somber. “It’s the only explanation I have as to why this area has grown so quickly in the time you suggested.” She shakes her head. “And with what you know about the Fae here… I think you might be on your own on this one.”

Cathy nods. “It makes the most sense, yes.”

Anne walks over. “Are we ready?”

Anna nods. “This is mostly Cathy’s show, but considering what I’ve been seeing, I think I can help towards the end.” She looks over at Cathy. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Cathy stands up, taking a deep breath… then starts to summon a portal. Multiple ones, actually. To so many places that there’s some even Catherine doesn’t recognize. Anna puts on a brave face, steeling herself, just before she moves to go into one of the portals-

“HEY! THAT’S CHEATING!”

-and suddenly, there’s Fae all around them. They’re a bit mad.

Cathy stops the summoning, a bit winded. “We were trying to get an audience with your leader-” Cathy starts, but a Fae steps forward and gets right into her face.

“NO, YOU PLAY WITH US FOREVER.” The Fae hollars.

Cathy shakes her head. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

“Yes, you can!” The Fae is clearly distressed. “We can make it so.”

“But then,” Anna says, voice soft and kind. “We wouldn’t be able to help you.”

The Fae around them pause, chat amongst themselves for a moment.

“What do you mean?” The Fae ask.

There’s suddenly thousands of them around - so many voices and magicks that the group starts to feel whoozy. Katherine, in particular, leans a bit heavily into Anna’s side. Anna frowns, keeping the girl close, as she takes steady breaths in an attempt to steady herself. Even Catherine is affected, though far less than the rest of the group.

“What you’ve been showing us… these games… why did you make them?” Cathy asks.

The Fae narrows its eyes. “You dare ask a question of us?”

“To help,” Cathy tries. “To play-”

“This is NOT the game we wanted to play!” The Fae replies. A chorus of agreement is all around them. Maggie falls to the ground, holding her head, the world spinning. Anne tries to help her, but she’s struggling as well.

Cathy pushes forward; this had gone on far enough. “Alright!” she yells. “Alright. Let’s make a deal: we beat your next game, and we are free to go.”

The Fae chatter. Elizabeth looks pale.

The Fae smirk.

“That’s fine with me!”

All of the Fae’s eyes glow. All of them fade into nothing. All of them start to disappear into the mist that was now forming.

Cathy panics for a moment; before it gets too bad, Catherine rushes forward, grabbing her goddaughter just before they can no longer see anyone.

“This… isn’t good,” Catherine mumbles, looking around warily.

“No,” Cathy replies. “This is actually close to the plan.”

Cathy looks through the ring with a grin - through the ring, she can see as clear as day. She’s quick to bring them all together again. The mist fades.

The Fae are annoyed.

“How did you?” The Fae asks, but Cathy shrugs sheepishly.

“Through a ring can you see all things,” Cathy explains. “Especially one given to me by one of your own.”

They look over at the Fae in question and then back at Cathy. Cathy is smiling softly at the Fae in question. Then she looks up.

“I request an audience with your leader,” Cathy says again.

The Fae talk loudly around each other before, suddenly, they’re all transported again, this time back to the City of Everlasting Promise.

Catherine groans as she puts a hand to her head. She can’t seem to stop herself from grabbing her sword with her non-dominant hand. Elizabeth also seems to be unable to stop herself as she fights with her own off-hand, the two quickly pulled into a duel not of their own making.

Cathy is quick to stop this with some ice magicks. Anna takes the weapons before melting the ice. Katherine binds the two with vines instead.

“Is that what they made you do?” Cathy asks quietly, respectfully. “They made you fight each other?”

More angry voices. More swirling. This time, they’re back at the castle, and suddenly Katherine and Maggie are in some sort of path. They were stumbling through the path, and certainly would have fallen to their doom, had it not been Elizabeth and Anna using magicks and wings to guide them to safety.

“They tricked you, made you fear them?” Cathy asks, once again respectfully. The others haven’t said a word, refuse to at the moment. Anything they could say, after all, could damn them. “They used mind magicks?”

The Fae once again rise up in anger, and then, with a might shriek, they caused the group to fall to their knees in pain. When Cathy looked up, however, she’d find herself back in something of an ethereal Weston, with see through buildings and villagers.

She’d see through her husband as the execution went through.

She did not expect to feel it.

She screams in pain, body writhing around as it continues. She holds onto her neck for dear life, she squeezes her eyes shut to block out the pain-

-until she feels someone put a hand to her shoulder and tense. The pain is considerably less, but still agonizing. She knows the armored leg next to her belongs to Anna, who has seemingly grabbed onto her. Then a golden armor appears next to her, and the pain lessens, and they continue more and more, with the pain getting less and less the more it is shared. Cathy can look up now, to see the others taking the pain with her, all grimacing at the unpleasantness but remaining steady.

It gives Cathy the strength to continue.

She gets up, and then, with a deep breath, she yells:

“I call for John Parr!”

It all stops as suddenly as it began, and the Fae are quiet.

After a moment, someone steps forward.

“You know my name?”

Cathy’s smiling through tears.

“I would be a terrible wife if I didn’t.”

The area calms, and the thousands of Fae around them disappear.

John frowns, a hand to his head. “What’s happened?”

“You were executed,” Cathy explains quietly, getting up. She’s not alone - Catherine is right there with her. “You were executed, but you couldn’t move on.” She holds onto her wedding ring, the one that she used before to clear the mist. “You were stuck here. And you still are.”

John frowns. “Why do I only just remember this now?”

“Because of the trauma perhaps?” Anna asks. “Because of the magicks?”

“Magicks?” He asks, and he tenses as he remembers. “Oh, my god, the magicks-”

“Where?” Cathy asks quietly, and he’s clearly shaken, but he’ll answer.

“They… they’ve done some foul things, Cathy. They’ve hurt us all. They’ve trapped us here.”

“As prisoners?” Cathy asks.

“As energy sources.”

Cathy looks over to a Fae nearby, the Fae from the mirrors.

“I remember now, too,” they say. “Guess I just needed the reminder.”

“You’re all trapped here because of some magicks that are intended to keep you here for energy?” Catherine asks, and Maria tenses a bit because of the tone. Catherine’s furious.

“Yes,” John replies. “I… we’ve been turned into something we did not know was possible.”

“Anything like this is possible,” Anne replies gravely, “if you are a Keeper of Necromancy.”

Anna frowns. “You think Jane’s done it?”

“I think she’s part of it,” Anne says. She looks over at Catherine. “You can’t call me biased in this either, you know what they can do. The bad ones.”

Catherine sighs. “I don’t think I could argue with you on that,” Catherine relents, and she shakes her head. “This needs to be undone. We need to figure this out.”

“This was the biggest game of all,” Cathy says, moving closer to John. “Figuring you out. Figuring this area out.” She wants to hold his hand, to embrace him, but she knows she can’t; it’s too risky. Embracing a Fae - regardless of how they were made - rarely has good consequences. “We need to get out of here.”

“You can’t,” John replies. “Not without leaving something here. Not without a placeholder.”

Cathy frowns. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” She holds up her wedding ring, on its chain, and lets it go - it floats in the air. “My heart is clearly here. And here it will stay.”

John frowns. “I’m sorry, Cathy.”

Cathy smiles back. “So am I.”

He takes the offer begrudgingly, taking a deep breath before the ring disintegrates into nothing. Cathy forces herself to watch, even as it feels like her heart is being ripped from her chest all over again.

“I’ll strike a bargain, one that is for me and me alone, not my comrades,” she says quietly. “We help free you all, and I get my trinket back.”

The Fae discuss it with each other for moments before they all go silent at the same time.

John steps forward.

“You are a Friend of the Fae, Catherine Parr,” John says quietly. “And we will accept your terms.”

Cathy nods. “Let us leave, and I will fulfill my end of the bargain.”

Everything starts to fade - the City, the Fae, and John. Cathy can barely hold back tears as her husband fades away, barely holding back sobs. He smiles until he’s no longer visible.

“Are they gone?” Katherine asks, looking around warily.

“Not gone,” Anna says. “Just out of view.” She looks at the Catherine’s. “We need to get going. We’re not too far from Parlemont, which means we can grab the Seroserum and sprint to the Festival.”

Catherine agrees. “Even at our fastest, we’ll only have one shot at this.”

Cathy takes a deep breath before she uses her magick to summon spectral horses. Catherine raises her eyebrows at that, but Cathy doesn’t seem to care.

“Let’s do what we can, then,” Cathy says. “Push on.”

With a nod, they ride.

Elsewhere, far, far away, the Capitol’s festival preparations were in full swing.

The town was buzzing with anticipation of the upcoming festivities - servants and villagers alike ran in the halls, putting up decorations. The courtyard was converted to fairgrounds, with people setting up tents and mead halls and sparring pits. Already many had made their home there, and for the next few months they’d likely remain. The city was completely energized and excited.

It was a shame its queen couldn’t feel the same.

Jane watched from above it all, at the top of her tower, fairly passive. This, normally, would be one of the most exciting times of the year: the King would be in incredible spirits, as would the entire world around her, so Jane would have no choice but to be happy.

This year, however, was anything but a joyous occasion: her work was far from done, and would likely get more complicated and dangerous from here. The defenses - which she usually had no part in - were now her sole objective of the festival preparations thanks to her newly-minted Keeper status.

The people she worked with didn’t seem to question why the queen that once was in charge of the food and drink of the festival was now the head of security; they didn’t ask what had changed since her disappearance. Not that she’d be able to say why, after all; her being a Keeper was a closely guarded secret. Still, despite the secrecy and the like, people did start to look at her differently, even if they had no clue what was really going on.

Her dress, for example, was no longer what it was. Her signature black and white long sleeved dress with a cloak on the back was now replaced by a light coat and pants situation, with the seal of the Realm right over her heart. Her staff was no longer the long elegant one she was known for, but instead one of hard angles and a green crystal that seemed to faintly glow occasionally. It was a massive change, though that change was met with sympathy, with the people thinking it was through her trauma that she had changed.

Which, technically, they’d be right, but also so very wrong.

“Mum?”

She was brought out of her thoughts by a young man with a bright smile and something behind his back. Jane smiled back at him, brightening up at the sight of him.

“Hello, Edward,” Jane says fondly, softly. “How are you?”

“I’m well, but, uhm,” he says, bouncing up and down excitedly. “I’m… here!”

He whipped his hands around from behind his back and showed off what he made - a wooden star, painted black and white, with Jane’s name on it.

“Just like how we used to!” He says. “But this time, this star is for you!”

Jane swelled with pride as she took the star, smiling at him and hugging him tightly. “I love it, Eddie. Thank you.”

He nodded, his smile faltering after a moment, as he nuzzled into his mom’s shoulder as they continued the embrace. “I’m… not entirely sure what happened before.” Jane tenses as she remembers the situation. “But I think you saved me from something, didn’t you?” He releases and looks back at her. “I think something terrible’s happened, hasn’t it?”

Jane sighs. “You know it’s bad of you to say those things so loudly, don’t you?”

Edward shrugs. “Elizabeth said I shouldn’t worry that much. That he needs an heir.”

Jane chuckles. “She’s bright for her age, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you.”

“I know,” he admits. “Because he can hurt you instead, and that’d hurt me.”

She pauses at that, looking down at her boy, before she nods.

He looks up at the stars then, and smiles.

“At least we’ve the stars to keep us company.”

Jane tilted her head curiously as she watched the stars move above them, a small smile slowly appearing on her face. Eddie’s laughter rang through her ears soothingly, like a song she never wanted to stop hearing.

“We should make a wish!” Eddie says with a small smile. “You always said a meteorshower like this means that the gods are listening closer than ever, so we should make a wish! One that we can think of so loudly, they’ll have to listen.” He closes his eyes, head still tilted towards the sky. “I know exactly what I’m going to wish for.”

Jane chuckles and nods, going to close her eyes before, suddenly, her gemstone on her staff starts to angrily pulse. She stiffens; it means she’s being called.

It stops as soon as Eddie opens his eyes, though, and he smiles.

“I hope it comes true. For both of us!” He nods, backing up. “I gotta go now, though; I promised Joan I’d help with the decorating.”

Jane nods, a bit relieved that Joan’s keeping Edward focused on other things while Jane continued with her grim task. She’s been a lifesaver, that Joan.

“Go on, and give her my best,” Jane says. Eddie nods, sprinting off with a final wave, down the tower and into the courtyard. Jane can see him as he meets up with Joan. He starts off and Joan looks up, directly at Jane. They share a moment before Joan nods courteously, then follows the boy.

Jane’s smile fades the farther her son gets from her.

She goes to the middle of the room, to a seal. It wasn’t there until recently. She presses down on it, and suddenly she’s transported to a room with no doors. It looks like a cellar of some sort, but Jane understands that this is no cellar; it might not even be in the world.

She takes a deep breath and moves towards the gentle pulsing orb that is in the center of the room. It’s actually quite soothing… or it would be, if it wasn’t the personification of the God of Death.

“Can… you hear me?” she asks.

The glowing orb pulses.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll take that as a yes,” Jane says quietly. She watches the orb for a moment - the movements are rhythmic. It’d be calming if it wasn’t a literal beacon of death.

“I’ve done some more research into you,” Jane says, head tilted down as she continues. Her tone is respectful. “And how you operate. And how… Keepers of Necromancy are.”

The pulsing continues, so she does as well.

“It’s a really interesting history, if I’m being honest. The ways that Keepers of Necromancy are rarely by choice, but by traditions or some sort of Pact.” She lowers her gaze. “Of Pacts that held treaties in some of the Forgotten Kingdoms.”

The orb glows brighter, pulsing suddenly before tendrils of green energy extend from it, dropping to the ground. The tendrils of light form into people. They’re completely green - still made of the energy of course - but their eyes are glowing.

Jane frowns. “Are these… other Keepers?”

She walks to each of them. One holds out their hand, still emotionless. Jane tilts her head curiously before taking it.

She gasps, head thrown back as her own eyes glow green. She’s pulled into a vision, looking through the eyes of the person whose hand she touched as if it was her own eyes:

“Callum,” the woman next to them, hand in theirs. “I know this isn’t what you had hoped. I understand that this wasn’t in the plan. But you must understand - this is for the good of us all.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eye. “I know you will do this with grace. I know you won’t disrespect us. I just know it.” She starts to tear up. “As much as I did not want this for you.”

And with that, Jane is released.

She stumbles backwards, hand to her head as her eyes fade with the green energy. She gasps for air as she watches the person she had just moved to dissipate into nothing.

“That…” she takes a deep breath before composing herself. “That makes sense.” she looks back at the orb as the rest of the figures disappear from view. She steps forward. “I thank you for telling me more about my current… predicament.”

She’s being far more formal than usual because this was, after all, a god she was talking to. A god that now held her soul.

For now.

“I came to ask for a blessing, of sorts,” she continues. “Though I’m unsure if you grant them to your Keepers, I hope that you can honor your servant’s request.”

The orb does nothing.

Jane looks down at the ground, averting her gaze, taking a deep breath before she looks back up at the orb, intensely.

“I’d like to make a Pact of my own.”

A hum fills the room and Jane smiles at it.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #six fanfiction #sixfic #legend of the six #lots #six fic

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exauhstedsunflower · 4 years

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In The Light Of The Moon

In which Cathy has a nightmare, Kitty takes her to Catalina for comfort, and they all get some rest as Cathy ponders the moon.

Cathy shoots out of bed, flinging herself to the window in a moment of adrenaline. She catches herself on the wall beside the window and looks desperately to the moon in an attempt to ground herself. That dream was bad, not just a normal nightmare. This one left her absolutely terrified, so much so that the panic allowed her to practically fly across the room.

This isn’t new, just a bit inordinate. But sometimes she’ll wake up so scared that she falls into something. The first night she was able to sleep after reincarnation she knocked over the lamp on the bedside table. Usually though, she just sits up with her heart racing and her eyes squeezed shut in a vain attempt to protect herself from the horrors.

But tonight she didn’t hurt anything, nor did she break any of her possessions. That counts as a win, she thinks to herself, feeling her heart rate slow to a reasonable pace. Still not a healthy pace, but one that she’s confident won’t send her to the hospital. She slumps against the windowsill as she feels the flight response slip away from her. The shaking hasn’t subsided, likely won’t for a few hours.

Reflecting on the dream isn’t something Cathy wants to do. No, she’d rather never think of it again. But he looked so angry, and she was so scared she couldn’t speak-

She pulls herself back up off of the wall, looking at the moon one more time. The same moon from her first life. That moon saw all of the things she sees only in her dreams now. She wonders what the moon would say about humanity, if it could speak. Maybe it would be angry; or maybe it would be tired. Or would it cry? Would it too be too afraid to speak? After all, Cathy hasn’t seen half of what it has and nearly all of her fight has left her.

Either way, it still comes back around to provide light. Will Cathy have to come back again and again, like the moon? How many cycles will she have to go through before it ends? Before she can stay in peace?

Perhaps that’s a selfish thought, she reasons. Because the moon has been doing this since the beginning of time, and it isn’t complaining. Cathy has only been at it for two lifetimes.

She looks away in shame, as if the moon might hear her thoughts. Attempting a shaking breath, she walks back over to her bed. But she doesn’t get back in it, she starts rifling through the blankets for her phone.

Slightly damp, I need a shower.

She finds her phone and checks the time. 1:23AM, she’d only slept about twenty minutes. Her dream had felt like a lifetime though. A lifetime of him grabbing my wrist and screaming-

Grabbing her towel on her way out of her room, she makes her way to the bathroom. She just puts the flashlight on her phone, not bothering with the light. It would be too harsh. It would make everything a little too real. There’s something that makes her feel protected by the dark. If the light is on it would make reality too loud, not that that makes any sense. She knows that her reasoning makes no sense, and yet here she is, setting up the shower with shaking hands in the low light of her phone. She puts her hair up into a bun so as not to wet it, and steps in.

The rhythmic feeling of the water against her back is so calming that she loses track of time. She hasn’t even picked up the soap yet, has just been standing there taking in the warmth. Maybe she misjudged how tired she really is, maybe she should have gotten back in bed and dealt with this in the morning. Because this is all so relaxing, and her adrenaline is wearing off, and she’s feeling a crash coming.

A knock on the bathroom door nearly sends her to the grave one again. She catches herself on the handle they attached when she sprained her knee. Useful, that handle was.

“Cath? Are you okay?”

Kitty, it’s just Kitty, She reassures herself. She isn’t sure who she was expecting, but hearing Kitty’s voice through the locked door makes her visibly untense.

“Y-Yeah, I’m good Kit.” She replies, kicking herself when she stutters. No way Kitty will believe that.

“Can I come in?”

The question causes Cathy to tense up again. Normally she has no issues with being naked in front of the queens. She knows they aren’t going to try anything, and she’s not the one with the sexual trauma. But right now she doesn’t want to be vulnerable, even in front of one of the people she trusts most in this house.

After a moment of careful contemplation, (Does she really want to admit that she doesn’t want to be seen right now? What would that imply?) she decides to ask Kitty to give her a moment. Only a moment, nothing more. If only to give her time to unlock the door. If only to give her time.

Forgoing any actual washing, she gets out with one quick rinse of her body. Her hands make quick work of putting her towel on as she curses the fact that she forgot to bring any actual clothing with her. She takes another small moment to prepare herself to open the door.

Are you preparing to greet the cold air? Or preparing to greet your friend? She imagines the moon is asking her these questions. It sounds calm, genuinely curious even though it knows the answer.

Perhaps all of the sleepless nights have gotten to her, she knows she isn’t as sharp as she is made to be in this life. But, to the moon’s questions- Cathy does not know the answer.

Kitty looks only concerned when Cathy opens the door, holding tightly onto the edges of her tightly wrapped towel. She’s holding a bundle of clothing out to her.

“You never remember to bring clothes with you. I brought sweats and a jumper.”

Cathy thanks her, and selfishly asks for one more moment to change. Kitty grants her the moment.

When she finally emerges from the bathroom, freshly changed into clothes that are definitely Kitty’s, not Cathy’s own, Kitty immediately takes her hand. Cathy doesn’t pull away, she doesn’t flinch or squeak in fright or pale in fear. She would like to have reacted in any way that would make Kitty not touch her, but she doesn’t. She’s never been good at saying no.

She allows for Kitty to pull her through the hall, although they aren’t heading toward their rooms. No, they’re going straight to Catalina’s tonight.

It was a given, of course. Kitty must have also had a bad night. Cathy almost feels bad, since she’s started going to the others for help at night it’s only increased the amount of interrupted sleeps Catalina gets. Kitty can’t always help, and Cathy has half the mind to put her own worries aside to comfort the girl.

She won’t; because she is a coward and can hardly speak at all. But oh, would she absolutely love to. Usually she would, too. She’d also love to pull her hand out of Kitty’s grasp, because it is beginning to feel increasingly claustrophobic.

Kitty doesn’t knock, she just opens the door and heads for Catalina’s bed. This is unlike Cathy’s usual routine because Cathy usually waits for a quiet noise of acknowledgment from the other side before walking in. Her usual is also different because she doesn’t go for the bed right away. She goes for the window, checks that she can still see the moon, then slides into bed without much of a word at all.

“Lina?” Kitty whispers, sitting on the edge of the bed. Catalina wakes up immediately, only slightly aware.

“Hm?” She looks confused, clearly very tired. Cathy spares a thought of guilt as they wake her up.

“It’s Kitty and Cathy, Lina.”

That gets her up. “Are you alright?” Is always the first thing she says.

Cathy nods, she always does. And then Kitty elbows her lightly and disagrees. The only difference with tonight is that Cathy flinches.

Kitty immediately attempts to apologize, which causes Catalina to fully sit up in concern. And in turn Cathy completely shrinks in on herself at the attention she’s receiving.

Catalina, ever so gently and slowly, reaches over and pulls Cathy’s hand out of Kitty’s grip and replaces it with her own. Cathy tries her best not to look relieved that she’s not being touched anymore. Although she thinks she failed, because she can see a slight look of curiosity cross Kitty’s face.

“Nightmares?” Lina questions softly, receiving two timid nods.

She tuts softly at them, murmuring something involving mis hijas and hermosas. Of course Cathy blushes at the cooing, whereas Kitty just absolutely melts. Lina’s hands make their way up and down Kitty’s arms, almost in a petting motion, as she maneuvers her into a comfortable position tucked in tightly under the covers. It isn’t long before she’s dozing off to the tune of Spanish murmuring. Cathy nearly fell asleep watching the display.

When Lina’s attention turns to Cathy it’s unexpected. It shouldn’t be, she’s here in Lina’s bed after all. It’s just that Cathy had gotten so caught up in being the third party, she’d forgotten she came for comfort as well.

Does it count as her coming for comfort if Kitty all but pulled her here?

Lina’s soft gaze melts right into Cathy in the dark. Just the eye contact feels warm, like a hug.

“Oh, mija. You must be exhausted.”

She can only nod, because she is so exhausted that she isn’t fully able to form words. Lina then stands, much to the confusion of Cathy. When Cathy doesn’t stand with her, Lina looks at her kindly to explain.

“Up you get. You haven’t seen la luna yet.”

It had never occurred to her that Lina might have picked up on her habit of looking at the moon. She never says anything as Cathy stares out the window. Cathy had always assumed that she’s too asleep to notice the movement until Cathy got to the bed.

She stands on shaky legs to sluggishly move to the window. Lina doesn’t touch her, just follows her with one hand ready to catch her if she falls. She isn’t sure how much longer she can stay up for. It’ll be really bad if she starts falling asleep mid walk. Cathy won’t be able to explain that away, and Lina will have seen it so she’d freak out. Cathy might actually need to seek medical help if that happens. She’s unsure what the medical support would do, but it’s always been a scary but steady option.

They make it to the window, and she doesn’t sit like she usually would on the window seat. She wishes she had one of these in her room. Although to be fair, if she had one of these in her room she wouldn’t use her bed.

The moon is still there, still watching. It’s a comfort to know, in the midst of the night terrors and chaotic waking, that there is always that peaceful looking constant. She wonders if the moon knows, if that’s the reason it keeps itself looking so regal and calm. The moon is, and always will be, a comfort to humanity.

They don’t stay by the window very long before Cathy is crying softly. Catalina immediately moves into action. Not touching, but speaking.

“Estará bien. Lo sé. Lo sé. Oh, querida, it's okay. We are here.”

She continues her reassurances until Cathy can properly breathe again, and her crying has slowed to a minimal amount. Cathy tears her gaze from the window and moves it to Kitty, who is still sound asleep in Lina’s bed.

She’d been so tired. Has been tired since they wed, why can’t he see that she’s tired? Why won’t he let her go?

In a small bit of bravery, Cathy grabs Lina’s hand. This goes against everything her body is telling her to do. Her mind is telling her to run far, far away from any human contact. Her body is telling her she’s going to get hurt. Her heart says that she’s being stupid.

But Lina just gently caresses her thumb across the top of Cathy’s hand and leads her back to the bed.

Lina gets in first, Cathy suspects this is so she can be in between Kitty and her, and then she urges Cathy under the covers as well. She doesn’t pull her in, but on the other side Kitty immediately snuggles into the woman.

It’s all so gentle, loving. A stark contrast to Cathy’s dream. Her wrist was in so much pain and he didn’t care. He may have broken it. She’s not going to be able to write like this.

“Mi hija, what’s going on?”

Cathy flinches once again when she is broken out of her flashback. The steady breathing of her godmother truly is relaxing to listen to in it’s own right, so she focuses on that to calm herself down.

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes, because this is ridiculous. She should have a handle on this by now. It’s been a month since she’s let Catalina and the other queens help her and nothing productive has happened. On top of that, she can’t even stay in the present. She keeps thinking about the past, about him.

And in that moment, she thought, ‘Oh lord, I’m going to have his baby. This monster is the father of my daughter.’ She could not leave him.

“Don’t be, mija. It’s quite alright.”

She pulls her hand out of Lina’s grasp and instead grabs at the women's nightgown. Nevermind the fact that she feels like a child as she does it, she needs this right now. Lina gets the hint, because of course she does, and pulls Cathy in. Cathy tries to explain, she does, but all that comes out is a mess of my baby and he hurt me.

She feels an explanation is more than needed, but apparently Lina doesn’t, because the woman just shushes her and rubs her back soothingly.

And, under the slight light of the moon, in the embrace of a trusted family member, Catherine Parr finally falls asleep. When Catalina wakes up in the morning, she’ll be warm and held together by two content sleeping figures. Her daughters, so she calls them. They needed her, still need her. And so then she will go right back to sleep, allowing the two girls to catch up on some much needed rest.

#Six #six the musical #Six the musical Fanfiction #six ff #Catherine Parr #Katherine Howard #catherine of aragon #same universe as “There is a reason for every little thing we do’#If you wanna read that series as well on ao3 #its a lot like this but longer #okay thanks for reading this #if you got this far #❤️

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faintingheroine · 4 years

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Chinese Wuthering Heights (Episode 1)

A few weeks ago I’ve stumbled upon a Chinese soap opera based on Wuthering Heights. I’ve immediately decided to watch and do a review of it, but the fact that it is 30 episodes long and still doesn’t do the second half kind of made me hesitate (really they had no excuse to not do the second half). But my curiosity got the better of me and I’ve decided to watch and review it anyway.

Since I’ve found this series completely by chance and it might be difficult to find it on the internet, I will reblog this post and give a link to the playlist of the episodes.

Since I’ve went into watching this series with no idea what to expect and since the people who are reading this are unlikely to be familiar with it, this ended up being an opinionated and detailed recap of the first episode rather than a review.

I’ll call the characters by the names of their book counterparts for clarity’s sake.

I am unfamiliar with Chinese history and culture, so please feel free to correct me if I say anything widely off the mark or offensive.

So let’s get started with the first episode.

Intro is super dramatic with scenes of people slapping each other, and the scenes that are chosen seem to summarize the plot of the whole show.

According to the only English post about this show that I’ve found on the internet, the show takes place in Late Qing Dynasty/Early Republican Era China. So, it is set in early 20th century China. Based solely on the scenes in the intro, the clothing of the characters seems to get more Westernized as the story goes on.

The story is narrated by Nelly as in the book. The episode starts with Nelly (who is actually the age she is supposed to be in the book, yay) bringing food to Cathy. But Cathy is not in her room and is being naughty by attempting to free a bird (*metaphors*). Joseph scolds Nelly for Cathy’s naughtiness but Cathy defends Nelly.

Mrs. Earnshaw arrives at the scene and Cathy’s naughtiness is once again blamed on Nelly. But Cathy bravely tells that Nelly needn’t be blamed, it was all her. (This is honestly nicer than anything Cathy in the book has ever done). Apparently in her dream her father had told Cathy that she has to pick him up from the town (I don’t know how this relates to the bird to be honest). Mr. Earnshaw seems to be away at the equivalent of Liverpool.

Earnshaws of this version aren’t upper middle class owners of a farm but a noble family with lots of servants.

On the way to the town Mr. Earnshaw relives the trauma of losing his son. Apparently he arrived at the place where his grave is. There is a surprising amount of focus on the dead Earnshaw son in this adaptation.

Back at the Linton home, Mrs. Linton is scolding Mr. Linton because he doesn’t get Mr. Earnshaw from the town. Mr. Earnshaw is Mr. Linton’s older brother in this adaptation! (There wasn’t enough near-incestous relationships in the source material apparently). And Lintons are the poorer family and rely on the Earnshaws to support them! And Mrs. Linton is clearly envious of Earnshaws’ wealth and status. This is quite the change from the source material!

Isabella tries to get Edgar to come to breakfast but Edgar playfully hides from her and then scares her.

We see Heathcliff picking up fruits in the forest where the Earnshaw son’s grave is. I don’t want to be stereotypical and compare the two East Asian adaptations, but his hair looks a lot like that of the Japanese Heathcliff in the 1988 Japanese adaptation of Wuthering Heights.

I couldn’t find a photo of the child Heathcliff in the Japanese adaptation unfortunately.

Mr. Earnshaw immediately associates this child he met at the graveyard with his dead son and thus we get a neat explanation of Heathcliff’s adoption.

Nelly talks about how sadly Mr. Linton played his violin.

It is getting dark and Mr. Earnshaw still hasn’t arrived at his home despite Mrs. Earnshaw expecting him by supper time (which is a detail that is taken from the book). Edgar wants Nelly to play chess with him but Isabella wants Nelly to play with herself. Here all the children know each other from the start.

Cathy gets dressed up as her father and makes everyone laugh. They got her tomboyish and playful personality right. Hindley is still nowhere to be seen? I guess he isn’t in this. A Wuthering Heights adaptation without Hindley? That’s a first.

Mr. Earnshaw finally arrives at home.

Cathy and the Lintons have a very sibling-like relationship here. They call each other “brother” and “sister”. This makes the eventual Cathy-Edgar marriage even weirder.

Edgar talks about his studies to Mr. Earnshaw.

I get the feeling that in this adaptation the characters of Edgar and Hindley are blended and Edgar will be wary of Heathcliff since he is the next-in-line as the sonless Mr. Earnshaw’s nephew. Maybe the writers didn’t find Mr. Earnshaw preferring Heathcliff to his biological son appropriate?

Heathcliff is brought into the sight of the Earnshaw/Linton family. Edgar immediately calls him a “little devil”. Mr. Earnshaw scolds him. Mr. Earnshaw calls Heathcliff to the table and gives him food. Children are disgusted by his lack of manners while eating. Edgar calls him a “little beggar”. (I think it is clear at this point that this is a composite character of Edgar and Hindley, but I will call him “Edgar” for clarity’s sake). Edgar apparently tries to give Heathcliff some food but it turns out that he put some weird shellfish thing in it (which is certainly more of a Hindley move than an Edgar one). Heathcliff angrily throws something at him. (Is this the applesauce incident? It is too early in the story to be the applesauce incident).

Joseph blames the whole incident on Heathcliff since Edgar is above him in status. Classic Joseph. Heathcliff gets a haircut.

Mr. Earnshaw tells his wife that he believes that he was led by something to his son’s graveyard. This lends credence to the idea that there is something supernatural going on with Heathcliff. Mr. Earnshaw likened Heathcliff’s silence to his dead son’s (who apparently couldn’t talk at three years old - interesting). Mrs. Earnshaw is moved by her husband’s story (very unlike her book counterpart).

Next day, Joseph makes Heathcliff into a servant. Heathcliff starts to work at the kitchen and Cathy accuses him of stealing food. This is their first actual interaction. Slightly more promising than her spitting at him. Heathcliff gives Cathy the silent treatment.

Mr. Earnshaw sold some of his properties in his last business trip and Mrs. Linton clearly doesn’t like that. I guess Mrs. Linton is the resident Scheming Bitch that is mandatory in every soap opera. Mr. Linton is characterized as very shy and is not interested in worldly matters. (Maybe the dead Earnshaw son took after his uncle?)

Earnshaws are very forgiving of Heathcliff’s lack of manners and adaptability issues. They are characterized as a very nice couple that only aim to do charity work. All the evil here comes from the Scheming Lintons.

Heathcliff can’t talk at all instead of speaking “gibberish” like in the novel.

Mrs. Earnshaw likes Heathcliff nearly as much as her husband. Mrs. Linton offers to give Heathcliff Edgar’s old clothes to test the Earnshaws and is super offended when they accept it.

Mrs. Linton tells her husband when they are alone that she feels bad for the Earnshaws because their son died and that she can give them Edgar. Mrs. Linton is offended that a nobody Mr. Earnshaw brought home can throw things at Edgar and Mr. Earnshaw can be ok with that. To be fair, she is not completely wrong.

Edgar, Cathy and Isabella are studying while Heathcliff is doing housework. Cathy sees that Heathcliff is wearing Edgar’s clothes and tells Edgar. Edgar beats Heathcliff up, girls separate them. Nelly informs Edgar that Mrs. Linton was the one who gave Heathcliff his clothes.

Mrs. Earnshaw asks Nelly why Heathcliff looks beaten up. Nelly attempts to lie and say that he stumbled while fetching water. Classic Nelly. Then she tells the truth.

Mrs. Linton tells Edgar that he is the young lord of the family and Heathcliff is just a beggar. (Really I’m calling this character “Edgar” but he is 80 percent Hindley and 20 percent Edgar so far). Mrs. Linton warns his son that he shouldn’t offend his uncle, and that he is the only heir of the house and should act like it.

Mr. Earnshaw is talking about his businesses to his wife. Mrs. Earnshaw says to him that they need to buy new clothes for Heathcliff from the town, and that it is not actually appropriate for a servant to wear Edgar’s clothes. Her husband thinks that Edgar is too spoilt and arrogant because he is the only boy of the family.

Next day Mr. Earnshaw brings Heathcliff to the town to buy new clothes for him. The tailor mistakes Heathcliff for Mr. Earnshaw’s son and Mr. Earnshaw doesn’t correct him. Mr. Earnshaw buys some sweets for Heathcliff at the town and Mr. Linton witnesses it.

Mr. Earnshaw tells his wife of the mistake the tailor made. Mrs. Earnshaw thinks that he should have sent Heathcliff to the town with a servant. She worries that Edgar’s feelings might be hurt because Heathcliff attacked him. Mr. Earnshaw rightly tells her that Edgar was the first to bully Heathcliff by calling him a “devil” and a “beggar”. Mrs. Earnshaw tells her husband that Edgar had fought with Heathcliff over the clothes.

Nelly finds Heathcliff outside and Heathcliff gives her Edgar’s clothes. Nelly tells him that Edgar doesn’t get mad as long as the servants don’t upset him and that servants should be humble in front of the young lords and ladies. Heathcliff should be a diligent worker so that Joseph doesn’t scold him and he can ask for her help if he doesn’t know something. This girl really is Nelly.

And the first episode ends here.

Quite a bit is different from the source material. I feel like they wanted to change one thing, and they had to change a bunch of other things to make that change work. They simply didn’t want Hindley to exist in this adaptation and Edgar’s counterpart had to take his role. So they had to make him Mr. Earnshaw’s nephew and they had to make Lintons poorer than Earnshaws for Edgar to feel threatened by Heathcliff’s presence. And the whole logic of the story changed because of this.

I don’t know why they wanted to write out such a crucial character as Hindley. My guess is that it wasn’t appropriate for Mr. Earnshaw to bring Heathcliff home when he already has a son? I’ve considered it being for budget reasons but this is not a cheap production. It is a period drama with nice costumes and settings. Surely they could pay one more actor playing a main role? If this change has something to do with Chinese culture and values please let me know. Of course it is always possible that writers just felt like it.

A good portion of this episode is taken up by the interactions of Earnshaw and Linton parents and to be honest I didn’t really like their whole dynamic. I don’t know if it is even right to call them Earnshaws and Lintons since they are the same family. I guess they should be collectively called the House of Tian (the name of the family). I didn’t like the binary between the good, noble, patriarchal Earnshaws and the evil scheming Mrs. Linton and her doormat of a husband. I guess the character of Ambitious Scheming Sister-in-law is universal in soap operas regardless of their country of origin. And of course Lintons being poorer than Earnshaws is completely against the book. (Though I guess Cathy will be of lower status than Edgar when her father dies because Edgar will be the lord of the house).

But, despite the massive changes in plot, character motivations and setting, this still felt like Wuthering Heights. More than some of the more “legitimate” adaptations. I think there are two main reasons for this. Firstly, I can’t know how true the subtitles are, but the language that is used seems to echo the book’s language, especially in regards to the insults that are thrown at Heathcliff. And many of the scenes echoed the similar scenes in the novel, though they were placed differently.

Secondly, and much more importantly, Heathcliff and Cathy, the main characters, are mostly true to their book counterparts. Heathcliff is mostly Heathcliff and Cathy is mostly Cathy. We didn’t really see them bonding in this episode, and I’m curious as to how the show will present their relationship.

All the child characters are very well done. Even the Edgar/Hindley hybrid child is well-done if you can accept that he mostly plays the role of Hindley at this part of the story. Despite him being an arrogant bully, you can sympathize with his panic at the possibility of being replaced by Heathcliff in his uncle’s affections. In some ways his panic feels more valid than book Hindley’s, because he is Mr. Earnshaw’s nephew, not his son. Nelly is awesome. She is Nelly. From the little glimpses we saw of her, Isabella also seems true to her book counterpart.

As a show, I’ve had fun watching this. It was the first Chinese Drama I’ve ever watched and I’ve enjoyed it. It isn’t Art, it is very much a melodramatic soap opera, but it was fun for what it is.

If you have made it this far in reading this recap/review, please tell me if you are interested in reading more on this show. I think it is an interesting adaptation. I can’t promise that I will watch all 30 episodes, but I will try to make it to the “I am Heathcliff” part.

I will post a link to the playlist of the episodes in reblogs if anyone is interested in watching it.

See you next time!

#wuthering heights #chinese drama #asian drama #china #WH Chinese soap opera watch 2020

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ranjxtul · 5 years

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Fire and Reign: The Unquiet Grave

Here we are with Witches AU Chapter Five! (Finally, am I right?) Sorry it’s been such a long wait loves. TWs: violence (not graphic)

Ao3 Link: The Unquiet Grave

“This is slightly insane. I’m kinda shocked it was you who came up with it,” Anne teased as she got out of the car.

Aragon rolled her eyes, a small amount of fondness behind it. “Well, all the non magical routes were failing us, so why not use magic?” she shrugged, locking the car behind them, and putting her keys into her pocket.

“I mean, that’s fair, but I didn’t think you of all people would think necromancy, maybe Jane or Cathy, but not you,” she shrugged in return.

“Well I guess I’m full of surprises then, aren’t I?” Aragon raised a brow in Anne’s direction, as if she could see it in the pitch black of night. “Anyway, this is where Katherine was killed, correct?” Anne gave a nod in affirmation. “Maybe he’s as patterned as he is methodical, and maybe some other victims will be here after all,” she mumbled under her breath to herself.

“Right. We’ll need a bit of light,” Aragon recovered aloud. She started to reach into her pocket to get her phone flashlight, but before she could, Anne held up a hand filled with a small flame, illuminating a small smirk on her face. While the gravity of the situation didn’t escape Anne, she couldn’t help but feel a bit excited at what they were doing.

It wasn’t often, Catherine or anyone really condoned necromancy or darker magic, so now she was intrigued. She’d get to see how it worked first hand, and maybe they’d make headway with the Henry problem.

Mingled with Anne’s fear regarding the situation, she also felt the impending sense of urgency as well as anger. This man had tried to hurt the people she called family. He’d succeeded in killing one of her blood relatives. Luckily they’d gotten to Katherine in time, and she wouldn’t imagine what would happen if they hadn’t.

Aragon glanced at the flame in Anne’s palm letting the hand reaching for her phone fall flat, “Well, I suppose that’ll do, let’s go,” she nodded beginning to trek through the open, desolate field. She let Anne take the lead as they walked. No insects chirped and the air lay flat in the atmosphere. The only audible sound were Anne and Catherine’s gentle footfalls.

The countryside was expected to be quiet, to an extent, but an environment this quiet reeked of something darker. It was as if no living creature dared breathe and break the mist of dread that seemed to cover the field.

Anne hadn’t noticed it on her first trip, and rightfully so. In those moments, her cousin had been the first thing on her mind. Now with each step she took further into the grass the more a feeling of dread burrowed its way into her bones. The flame in her hand lept in size as her heartbeat sped up and the need to see and understand the dread around her. The unpleasant feeling in her bones could have come from an actual inkling of evil, or the simple human fear of the unknown. Whatever it was, Anne couldn’t shake it or ignore it the more she continued.

Catherine followed Anne focusing on the blackness ahead, repeating words she’d read across a page in her head. She had to do this right or she could make this worse than she’d imagined. Looking out into the blackness, she was reminded of everything she didn’t know. She had no clue what was out there, who lay dead in the ground (if anything) or if she could pull off this type of magic, after all, she’d never practised it. She shook her head, forcing the nerves down with a sigh. There was no turning back, and certainly no room for doubt.

“Stop,” she called to Anne. “We can start here. We don’t have a scope of where he’s possibly started killing and burying people, so here’s as good a place as any.”

Anne rounded on her heel to look back at the Supreme, “What’re you going to do here?” She asked, tilting her head curiously.

“A detection spell, something along the lines of divination still, but borderlining necromancy,” she explained, hoping her voice came across more confident than she felt. Anne nodded expectantly, observing as Catherine allowed her eyes to fall shut. Her lips moved in an inaudible, whispered, incantation and cautiously she stretched a hand out in front of her. Each spell had a different ‘feel’ to it, when the caster cast it. This one was intimate and pulling, searching, but much to Catherine’s dismay she found nothing but dirt and the usual animal bones and material debris under the ground.

“Nothing’s here,” Catherine shook her head as she retracted her palm. “Let’s keep moving.”

Anne nodded, “Yeah, sounds good.” She started off again, letting the air fall silent before she spoke up, “Do you think we’re heading in the right direction?”

“Honestly?” Catherine raised a brow, contemplating her own answer, “I’m not sure. This could be a dead end in of itself. I did tell you that, but if I had to guess, the further we go, the closer we may get. Either way it’s hit or miss.” There was no point in lying or beating around the bush about the situation.

“Could you hold the detection spell as you walk?”

“Possibly. I’d considered that, but I don’t know its ins and outs as well as I’d like… if I did, I’d need you to keep an eye on me and guide me physically. If I were to begin to look too tired, you’d have to stop me,” she warned, mulling the possibility over in her head. The thought had occurred before they’d even arrived, but she’d dismissed it for fear of being unalert or draining herself before they actually needed her magic.

“I could do that,” Anne assured eagerly. Though non vocalised, her will for this ‘mission’ to succeed couldn’t have been any more clear.

Catherine stopped, standing still and regarding Anne for a few moments before she nodded, “Very well. I’ll try it.” She made her way to stand by Anne and took hold of the hand down by her side so as to have a way to be guided through the dark before she closed her eyes and whispered the latin incantation again.

Very slowly, once Anne heard the words, she began to walk pulling Catherine along with her, watching out of the corner of her eye. Wearily, the curly headed woman extended a hand as magic flowed through her body searching her surroundings. The minute portion of her brain not occupied with the spell and its findings however inconsequential thus far, couldn’t help but to fear something as simple as what might be waiting for them in the dark, human or inhuman.

After about ten minutes of silence and walking, Catherine abruptly stopped and opened her eyes as the bitter residue of what used to be humans washed through her body. “Here.”

Anne had fallen into a steady rhythm leading Catherine and listening into the deafening silence for what hells could await them, so when her companion spoke, she nearly jumped. “You’re sure?”

“Definitely. I couldn’t get a read on how many, but I could recognise it as human, and relatively recently dead,” Catherine confirmed with a nod.

“So, what’s the next step?” Boleyn asked, an edge of excitement returning to her voice.

“We summon whoever’s down there,” Catherine said, an unspoken, ‘and we hope for the best,’ lingering in the forefront of her mind.

Anne nodded, “Do you need me to do anything to help?”

“Can you keep watch? If anyone comes along at this time of night it certainly won’t be good and we can’t be caught off guard.”

“Course’ And, you got this, Catherine,” Boleyn offered a wink of encouragement. If she were in Catherine’s shoes she’d be nervous messing around with something like this.

The Supreme only gave a small smile and nod in response before she knelt down to the ground to begin. Anne moved about five feet away so as to give Catherine some space but still enough light to begin.

With a sigh, she set out to work. She’d read about several methods of summoning spirits and the one that was most in line with the current predicament was the most dangerous. Essentially, she had to ritually use her blood in the summoning spell and draw the spirit back to earth through its remains with her blood as an intermediary of sorts. This tied her to the spell and spirit, and as long as she was in control she’d be fine, but if for some reason she were to lose control she could be injured, or worst case scenario possessed.

Before she could think too much, she took out a small pocket knife for the blood component and slashed open the palm of her hand. With a wince, she squeezed the hand into a fist and let blood stream down onto the earth and soak into the ground. As this happened, words she’d put hours into memorising perfectly streamed out of her mouth quickly and thankfully without stumble.

The blood on the ground soaked in as if it hungered for the red, coppery liquid, and in exchange a nearly indiscriminate mist began to rise from the ground and take shape before her.

Now, standing in front of her, or perhaps floating was a more apt term, was a misty figure of a young woman who couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. Her hair was cropped around her shoulders and in her spectral state, the most defined colors were the greenish pallor of her skin and the raven black of her hair.

Catherine slowly stood, taking stock of the situation and the spectre before her. As her eyes swept upward, she got the confirmation she needed that this was one of Henry’s victims when she saw the thick raised scar on her neck. So, he’d been careless with her. When she met the girl’s tired, milky white eyes, she only saw a bone deep exhaustion. Before she could speak, the girl spoke up, “What do you want?” Her voice was hollow and brittle from death and disuse.

“I-” Catherine started, then she fell short, realising how selfish she was going to sound disturbing this girl from her rest.

“What?” Asked the ghost again.

“I’m so sorry to have disturbed you, but I need to talk to you.” It was a weak explanation.

The ghost raised an eyebrow, “How’d you know that? You don’t know me and I don’t know you.”

“I know who your killer is,” Catherine said with a sigh. Henry was her only leverage. This made the girl go silent. Then, her face contorted.

“How’d you know I have a killer?”

“I can see your neck love, and you’re buried in the middle of nowhere in a field.”

“So, you know him?” She asked accusingly.

“Not as you might think,” Catherine shook her head, forcing herself to not to take a step back. “He’s been trying to kill my girls, and killing numerous women of our kind. I don’t know how much you knew before he killed you, but you were a witch.”

The ghost shifted uncomfortably, her defensive facial features betraying her fear, “I kinda guessed that in the last year, didn’t know what to do… your girls?” she questioned looking back up at Catherine.

“Yes. I’m the Supreme, the leader of the London coven.”

“Coven?” Her eyes widened.

“Yes, not many know we exist because of people like Henry, your killer, that’s what makes it hard to find, teach and protect young witches. I’m Catherine, by the way,” she added with a small smile in an attempt to ease the ghost’s wariness.

“I’m Florence… and I do know that’s his name,” she shrugged unable to meet Catherine’s eyes.

“Can you tell me what you do know, and what happened to you?” she pried gently. Florence was by no means dangerous, but she was flighty and Catherine knew if she asked the wrong thing, things could go south.

Florence let out a quiet sigh. She pretty much had no choice. Catherine’s spell held her here, and she had no idea what it could do. With a quick nod, she began to speak, “I was at a gig one night. I was a musician, a good one too,” she added a bit bitterly, “and he was there with a buddy of his, someone named Thomas. They chatted with me all night after, said they liked my music. I thought it was harmless enough. I guess I was just desperate enough to meet some genuinely nice people.”

“By the time I said my goodbyes, it was about one in the morning, and they followed me. They followed me and didn’t stop even when I asked. That’s when they attacked and I woke up in this field, my hands tied around a stake and then it was lights out,” her voice faded sadly as she recounted her last moments. “I was eighteen,” she added before she could stop herself.

Catherine’s heart shattered hearing Florence’s story and the true cruelty of Henry and his accomplice who was apparently named Thomas. “Dear-” Before she could complete her statement Anne, who’d been keeping watch as promised turned.

“Catherine, someone’s headed this way, now,” she said, her face paler than usual. Catherine glanced at Anne and then their surroundings in an attempt to make out whatever it was that was coming their way. It was then that the Supreme herself could vaguely hear heavy footfalls close by.

She glanced back at Florence, “Thank you,” she nodded before whispering the incantation that ended the spell and severed her ties with the ghost. She hated having to be so disrespectful and abandon the girl so quickly, but whatever was coming their way couldn’t be good.

Catherine made the quick journey to stand beside Anne, “Put out the light, and we need to move away from the sound,” she said quietly.

Silently, Anne did as she said, allowing Catherine to guide her through the dark as she saw fit. The downside to this all, was that they were in a field. Grass meant no cover.

Seconds later, the footfalls neared and a flashlight beam pierced the night. At the end of it, the duo could make out a muscular dark haired man who with one hand, dragged something.

Catherine furrowed her brow, attempting to make out what this man could be dragging. He stopped about twenty feet short of where the duo stood and luckily stayed with his back facing them. He set the flashlight down on the ground and took a rather large, camping backpack off of his back only to pull out a spade.

Then, he began to dig. In that moment, it hit Catherine. He was digging a grave, and what he was dragging was a body. She froze. This had to be Thomas doing Henry’s dirty work, and a part of Catherine wanted to take care of him right then and there, but she also had no idea what sort of tricks could be up his sleeve.

She leaned over to Anne, “You know what he’s doing right?” she hissed as low as possible.

“Yeah. Who is he?”

“Think he’s one of Henry’s accomplices, Thomas. I say we follow him when he’s done here.” If they followed him then they could maybe glean a bit more information and if he did see them, he wouldn’t have whatever he had in his pack at his disposal.

Watching Thomas dig the shallow grave and carelessly dump the body of the girl in it pained both witches watching, and incensed them. How could he have so little value for someone’s life or be so mindless that he would aid and abet a monster like Henry Tudor. There was no doubt in Catherine’s mind by the end of this twisted funeral that this was the Thomas Florence had spoken of.

Once he started to head away from the grave site, Catherine pulled gently one Anne’s arm indicating they should go. The brunette clung to the other’s arm so as to stay close as they walked following about fifteen feet behind, barely daring to breathe for fear of discovery.

It almost seemed too easy, as they neared the edge of the field, Thomas stopped and pulled out his cellphone. Seconds after the man held it to his ear, the unmistakable voice of Henry Tudor boomed through the all too silent field, “Culpeper! I suppose it’s done!”

Thomas Culpeper. That was his full name. He let out a laugh spinning on his heel gleefully, “Yeah I-” It was then his flashlight beam caught Catherine and Anne in the radius. “I have to go take care of something.”

The minute they were discovered, every bone in Anne’s body screamed for her to transmutate away, but Catherine didn’t move. Her mind whirled with possibilities until she settled on a course of action.

Culpeper neared all the while, his hand reaching back toward his pack, for God knows what. “Anne, on my count, we light him on fire,” she said as evenly as she could. “He’s not prepared for it, then as soon as he’s burning we transmutate out and back to our car and we head back to the house.”

Anne glanced at Catherine, surprised at the decision, but she didn’t disagree. She simply nodded, waiting for the go.

“Three, two, now,” Catherine hissed flicking her wrist down by her side as the resultant plume of flame began to travel up Culpeper’s side. In a fraction of a second, a similar flame encompassed him starting from the back of his neck. Simultaneously, the duo glanced at each other and with a simple thought, were whisked up for a moment, only to be brought back down by their car.

It was then Catherine allowed the anxiety of the situation to run its course, she slouched back against the door. They’d almost been caught by one of his accomplices, who’d lucklily been unprepared, but nonetheless, if they’d been unprepared, they could be dead. And to think, she thought necromancy had been the original source of worry.

Anne too slouched back against the car beside Aragon. She’d been close it felt like, to losing big time. It was all so real. It wasn’t just a hypothetical game anymore. They’d probably just killed a man in a life or death situation, but the killing wasn’t what Anne was hung up on. In her eyes, Culpeper had it coming. She was stuck on the true gravity of it all. They could have transmutated to begin with, but that would only belabor the situation. Running could only get them so far, and they’d finally made a move, a bold move. It was Henry’s move now.

#catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #thomas culpeper #jane seymour #catherine parr #anne boleyn #anne of cleves #katherine howard #witches au

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jae-ha · 5 years

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between silence and sound. »「chapter three 」

Chapter Index (Ao3) // Chapter Index (tumblr)

.summary –– [ Road trip // slight AU ] - Once Zack and Rachel leave the strange building behind, they realize, on long stretches of road and under diamond-bright stars, there are so many things to be discovered about one another.

.chapter note –– This chapter is basically just the “hurt/comfort” genre thrown in your face.

.chapter three » 「i reach for you most mornings.」

「 — sunday : 5 a.m. 」

It occurs to Zack that Rachel doesn’t have nightmares. At least, not in the same way he does. Rachel is a silent and solemn girl, and if she ever has nightmares, she never says anything about them. She conceals them as her own little secrets, allowing them to stain her mind but never to spill out of that hidden chamber. Unlike him, Rachel’s learned to exist quietly. Or rather, it’s more accurate to say that Zack no longer knows how to exist quietly.

He used to be a lot like her when he was younger— when his body was pathetically scrawny and the only emotion his blood knew was hatred. Back then, his expressions were as soulless as hers, and he often felt like his actual soul would ebb away completely had it not been stubbornly tethered to a body that was no stranger to sorrow-colored bruises and an ugly, protruding ribcage.

Regardless of the shitty hand life has dealt him, he’s never wanted to die. And that's exactly why these nightmares terrify him. Ever since he left the building where his bad memories were constantly dragged to the surface and thrown in his face, the dark dreams await him each night like some sort of twisted companion.

He was never really afraid of Cathy’s poison room or Eddie’s graveyard, but his mind magnifies these places and he relives them— this time, with no escape. When he closes his eyes, he can feel the poison choking him, easing into his lungs like he’s being possessed. He can scratch and claw and curse all he likes, but still it claims him.

Other times he sees himself buried six feet under, nostrils clogged with dirt, eyes devoured by worms, wrapped in soil, forgotten, unheard, screaming for his life. Although he refuses to be buried alive by that stupid, little brat, in his dreams, he’s as helpless as his mind chooses him to be.

Worst of all is the priest’s floor. Or rather, the staircase tucked away on the priest’s floor. Sometimes Zack’s dreams unfold right in the middle of that staircase. His body is frozen, but in that strange, omnipotent way that seems to come naturally with dreams, he knows what’s coming next. The roof shudders, the walls groan, black rubble falls, and as swift as it takes to extinguish a pulse, the flames spring up around him. He can feel the fire licking at his skin, eating him again. What he fears most is to be weak, helpless, vulnerable, and he’s all of those things when it comes to being a slave to the fire.

He can’t move— he won’t. His mind won’t let him. So he stands in the midst of it all, trembling and sweating and screaming as the fire seizes him.

Of all the pains he’s experienced —the blistering currents of the electric chair, bullets shredding through fibers of his skin, his own scythe ripping him apart— the fire is the worst. It threatens to wipe him away, to leave nothing left. To mangle him, to melt him, to corrupt and claim every last thing until he isn’t recognizable even as Isaac anymore.

Yes, many of his nightmares take place in the building, but not all of them.

Some of them are painted the colors of the orphanage. Initially, those dreams make him more infuriated than scared, but soon enough they also find a way to chill him to the core. In those dreams, he once again sits immobile, forced to hear the proprietors say, “Dig, you tool. That’s all a monster like you is good for. Finish your job so we can throw you away.”

And suddenly he’s under a spell where his limbs move on their own. His arms grab a shovel provided by phantom hands and he thrusts it into the dirt, again and again, just like back then.

He digs and digs for an eternity of seconds while their voices paint his mind’s walls with commands and insults.

“Dig, you tool.”

“Hurry up.”

“Finish your job so we can throw you away, just like your mother did.”

At some point his shovel hits the graying bones of whomever he’s burying, and the same phantom force lifts him into the air before suddenly letting go. It’s then that he realizes he’s falling. Falling into the grave he dug himself.

They throw him away without another word, into the dark, because his purpose is now fulfilled and it’s too costly to keep him breathing. He reaches out a hand, but no one is there to grab it, no one wants to grab it, but still he reaches out, gasping and grasping for anyone to save him to please, please, save him—

And his hand always finds Rachel’s.

His eyes fly open as the nightmare finally relinquishes him. He jolts into a sitting position, struggling to take in as much air as his quivering lungs can handle. The nightmares come often, but there are few times when they are so potent that they leak out from his mind and affect his physical body. His hoodie gets stained with sweat, his chest gets clouded with shock, his throat burns as he forces himself to take deep breaths in an attempt to cool it. On those nights, he throws out his hands and they always grab onto something. He shouts out a name and it’s always the same one.

His soul always finds its way back to Rachel.

And he hates it.

Never in his life has he searched for comfort in someone else’s warmth. So, why is it that Rachel is the only one who can soothe everything that screams within him? Why is it that the cold that follows him like some kind of demonic presence becomes nothing more than a dull whisper when his hand finds hers?

Rachel awakens mere seconds later, her face blurry with bewilderment, her eyes wandering towards the hand Zack holds. She always does the same thing, always asks the same thing in a voice that has innocence sewn into its corners.

“Zack, are you okay?”

And because she always asks the same question, he always gives her the same answer. Not a verbal one, but an answer in the form of yanking his hand away and rolling onto his side so he doesn’t have to confront those eyes. Even in the dark, that weird look she’s giving him sinks under his skin and swims in his veins.

No one’s ever looked at him with a face like that— with eyelids so droopy and attention so concentrated that he doesn’t know how to react. That look on her face… there’s something else to it, something he can’t place, and it makes him fidgety and agitated because he can’t put a name to it. She looks like she wants to reach out to him, to caress what’s broken, but it all makes him want to sneer at her, to knock her down a peg and say, “You can’t fix me, Ray. No one can.”

It's not that he thinks he's broken, but her eyes are constantly whispering to him, Let me fix you. Let me try to fix you.

He’s come to terms with being a monster on the outside, but his chaotic heart is his alone and he plans to keep it that way.

He lingers, unmoving, for several minutes until Rachel’s breaths steady and her gaze on his back becomes nonexistent.

He wills himself to sleep after that, and the nightmares become no more.

When Zack wakes, the sun is pale and pure and new. It calms his nerves, causing everything from the night before to evaporate into a blur of painless warmth and distant birdsong. With a hint of grogginess, he makes sense of his surroundings: chestnut brown drawer, bluish-green dish, doughy, red armchair... He's just woken up in that cheap, dingy hotel room.

Droplets of sunlight trickle in through the flimsy silver curtains, warming him like some sort of lullaby. When he sits up, the first thing he notices is how displaced Rachel is. The last time he shut his eyes, they were sleeping back to back in the oversized hotel bed. Now, she’s facing him, bundled in upon herself like a crescent moon, her head only inches away from his stomach.

The previous night begins to wash over him, causing him to remember what occurred before he was plunged into the nightmare realm. Rachel had re-sewn the torn stitches.

He dips a hand up under his hoodie and ghosts his fingers over the red thread, a tad surprised by his own gentleness in handling himself. Once again, her work is impeccable. Well, it seems that way to him anyway, and as long as the stitches do their job at keeping him from coming undone, he considers it impeccable.

Rachel is fast asleep and has probably been that way all night except for when his panic woke her. He doesn’t know why, but her sleeping form fascinates him. When he first met her, the real her, her dishonest eyes were both radiant and bleak. But there’s no bleakness to be found in her when she’s asleep. In fact, she looks like just a normal girl.

As much as the cheap analogy makes him cringe, the sight of her is welcoming, just like the sun. It’s all like medicine to assuage the pain.

The light washes over her just as much as it does him, highlighting her in mute shades of white and yellow. He watches her, studies her, before deciding to let her sleep. It isn’t as if they have anywhere to go.

There’s no clock around, so he has no idea how early it is, but the groan that his body gives as he rises from the bed tells him it’s much earlier than when he usually wakes up. He rolls his shoulders in an attempt to unfurl any remaining tension his body has captured.

He wanders over to the drawer that sits on his side of the bed. There’s a lamp, a blank notepad and pen, and a collection of glossy brochures advertising the hotel’s amenities. Because they have pictures, he flips through them with mild interest. They actually make it look like a nice place, which means the shots must’ve been taken years before the place went to hell.

When he finishes with one brochure, he lifts up another. There’s an empty glass and a plate pictured on the front, and as Zack skims through it, he figures it to be some sort of menu. Room service, as they call it.

He discards the second brochure with an exhale. Regardless of his intrigue, it’s not like he can understand the instructions for how to call room service in the first place. He wouldn’t even know what to order, either. With nothing more of interest in the shabby room, he dips into one of the stolen wallets and pockets a credit card before retreating out into the hallway.

The hallway is empty, and with the emptiness comes a deafeningly irritating quiet. He decides not to linger for long and shambles towards the elevator, hands in his pockets. It takes him a moment to remember that the lowest level is represented by a button with the word ‘Lobby’ (“however the hell you read that”) on it. After a short descent, the doors reopen and he steps out into an area that looks remarkably unlike the trashy hotel rooms several floors up. This area is incredibly clean with polished marble floors, a stone fountain, and a faint, relaxing twirl of jazz music. Probably a trap to lure people into thinking it’s actually a decent place to stay…

There are shops in the opposite direction of the receptionist desk, so Zack decides to go towards them. The first is a gift shop that he initially doesn’t plan on visiting until he notices that they sell clothes. The only outfit he has is his hoodie and pants— complete with bullet holes and a bloodstain right in the middle. It was never any problem when he lived alone on B6. There was no one around to judge him— or rather, there was no one who lasted long enough to judge him. He didn’t mind his outfit, he liked how comfortable and easy it was to move in, but bloodstains attract attention. Unwanted attention. And as much as he wants to stay out of sight, he knows there are going to be times (like now) where he has to be out in public, among people.

As accustomed as he’s become to the grunginess of his outfit, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to put it through the wash at least once. The smell of blood, gunpowder, and whatever weird antihemorrhagic solution Rachel used on him have seeped into the fabric.

He walks inside, relieved that it appears to be empty. There are spinning display stands for postcards, shelves of snow globes and baseball caps, and an arrangement of multicolored books and magazines. He pauses every-so-often to study something that catches his eye, sometimes turning it around in his hand or making a small hum of intrigue before moving on to the next thing.

At last he arrives at the rows of clothing. Oddly enough, even in the summer, there are hangers with hoodies right next to the ones with T-shirts. He shuffles through the hangers, bypassing any of the ones with wording on them before finding one that’s dark blue and around his size. He rolls the cuff around in his hand, satisfied when he imagines how warm and sturdy the fabric will be. He decides to buy it.

Just as he’s about to leave, the sight of a smaller, matching sweater catches his eye. He thinks of Ray, probably still upstairs in her cradle of dreams. All she has is that sundress they found in the backseat of the stolen car and the T-shirt and shorts she’s using as pajamas. Has she ever gone to bed cold? He usually tries to keep the car warm during the night, but sometimes it takes up too much gas or the humming engine attracts too much attention.

He pulls the second hoodie from its hanger and eyeballs the size before trying again with a different one. After settling on one that he thinks will fit her, he decides he’s tired of the gift shop and would rather be somewhere else. As he leaves the clothing section behind, it isn’t without bitterness that he notices he’s no longer alone. A woman with her brown hair tucked into a bun stands behind the register, flittering back and forth like a hummingbird.

Zack’s never had any money, so he’s used to stealing when he knows he can get away with it. However, the security cameras peeking out from numerous corners are enough of a deterrent. He can’t risk being kicked out and Rachel being left alone upstairs.

He drops both articles of clothing at the register, shooting the woman a dirty look when he realizes she’s gawking at his bandages. Their eyes meet for a split second and that seems to be enough to get the woman to scramble for her barcode reader.

When she squeaks out the price, he all but thrusts the credit card in her face. When she doesn’t reach for it, he turns his glare on her again.

“The card reader, Sir,” she peeps. “You have to chip it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You have to insert the credit card’s chip into the reader.”

“And I’m telling you that makes no sense.”

With a shaking hand, the woman reaches over, rotates the card and imitates with her own hand what to do next. “You have to insert the card into that slot down there… please.”

He does as he’s told, jamming the card inside and waiting. When the card reader lets out a beep and black letters flood onto the screen, he once again looks to her for instruction.

“What’s it say?”

“You can remove your card now. Do you want cash back?”

“Huh?”

“N-Never mind. You can simply remove your card.”

He does, and the woman bags up both sweaters, rips off the receipt, and all but thrusts the items at him. She spills out a hasty, “have a good day,” before rushing to the safety of a backroom. Zack stares after her, mildly entertaining the thought of slicing her open. The thought causes a smile to peel across his lips, but once again, those security cameras make it impossible to get away with. He takes his purchases and exits the gift shop.

Once he takes his first step back into the lobby, a sugar-sweet scent finds him. It’s a reminder that he hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon. He follows the scent to what appears to be a café that sits in the middle of the lobby. There’s a sign hanging from the ceiling, but he can’t read it, so he doesn’t bother gazing at it for very long. He figures it’s just the café’s name.

Beyond several identical tables is the register and pastry display. Behind the register is what appears to be a menu written in flowery white lettering. There are doodles of coffee cups and pastries there, too. If only that much effort was put into the actual hotel rooms…

Zack considers what Rachel might want to eat. She usually isn’t too picky. He knows that she likes cornflakes and he honestly doesn’t mind cereal, either, but it doesn’t look like they have any. He peers at the buttery croissants and powdered cakes glittering inside the glass display. Guess they’ll just have to have dessert for breakfast, then.

“Do you need any help?”

The voice belongs to an elderly employee, and when Zack lifts his gaze, he’s immediately reminded of the old man from his childhood. This man’s eyes also have a smile hidden behind them. Oddly enough, Zack isn’t bothered by it. It’s kind of similar to the way that old priest from the building smiled at him, only this old man doesn’t seem to have some kind of hidden agenda.

Zack decides that he doesn’t dislike him.

He glances back at the pastries before pointing a finger at one that has some kind of glistening fruit peeking out of its crumbly folds.

“Hey, old man, what’s that?”

“It’s an apple dumpling.”

“And that one?”

“Raspberry cheesecake.”

Zack hums in thought, tapping his fist against his hip. The old man stands behind the display case, smiling in that dark green apron that looks more than a little unfitting on him. It would seem more natural for him to be fishing on the edge of a lake or playing chess in the park or doing something else old men do.

After a while he begins making suggestions, discussing the texture of certain desserts and how they’re made before finally asking, “Do you like chocolate?”

“Yeah.”

“Our muffins are baked with chocolate chips,” he says, motioning towards them. “They’re freshly baked, came out of the oven not even ten minutes ago. They’re one of my favorites.”

“Gimme two.”

The man nods, but bags up three instead, saying, “And an extra one, for whenever you get back on the road.” He bundles the muffins with two cartons of milk taken from an icebox in front of display case.

As Zack leaves the café behind, he catches the old man waving him goodbye, and he can’t help but feel like he’s seen the old man from his childhood smiling at him one last time.

Zack returns to the hotel room in silence. The bag of sweaters is dropped to the floor, the muffins are placed on the nightstand.

Just being in this room reminds him of his nightmares once again. The blanket is still tousled from where he kicked it off and the edges of his pillows are still bunched up from where he gripped them. His chest begins tightening until…

He finds Rachel still asleep in the exact position in which he left her. Nature has painted her in different colors than before; she’s paler now, more ethereal as the sun cradles her. Her face is shining, lips blooming pink, messy hair somehow finding structure in jumbled, silken swirls.

She looks so much younger, so much more innocent than the girl who knew how to aim a pistol with manic eyes and steady fingers. She’s almost like — and Zack laughs scornfully at this— an angel.

Something strange and foreign steams in the pit of his stomach when he gazes down at her. Just the sight of her extinguishes the darkness, chases it away and makes it no more. This girl, this angel, this question mark that takes up a prominent page on the story of his life, makes him feel something he isn’t sure he’s ever felt in his life.

And he doesn’t quite hate that feeling… even if he doesn’t have a name for it.

He glides his hand down her cheek with featherlike gentleness. The feeling in his stomach responds by flaring up and then icing over. Somehow the sensation feels like he's taking a nap in the sun.

Even when I'm wide awake, I'm still reaching for you.

His features soothe into a smile as he moves his hand to her shoulder and gives it a rough, little shake.

“Hey, Ray. Time to wake up.”

#Satsuriku no Tenshi #my fanfics #Angels of Slaughter #Between Silence and Sound.

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khymer-vulture · 7 years

Text

I have like 3 stories I’ve written a month ago but have yet to post em, cuz I end up liking the newer stuff a little more...so, next short story I post will be one of those older ones

Kinda set during Captivate, but before the main event of it.

It’s not wise to wake a sleeping beast...but sometimes that chance needs to be taken.

Nights have been mostly peaceful for Zack and Ray, it seemed when they both slept in each other’s arms, they felt a sense of comfort that helped keep the dark thoughts away. Though it was rare on some nights for emotional discomfort to slip through the mental cracks in their slumber. Most the time, it was Ray who often suffered from small nightmares and it was Zack who consoled her in his blunt way.

The pair had taken temporary shelter at an inn for the night, and slept in the large bed during the passing hours. Ray was sleeping soundly until she felt Isaac lightly squeeze her in his arms, followed by the sounds of frantic and heavy breaths.

She slowly raised herself up as she glanced at Zack, judging from his behavior, the man was having an awful nightmare, and it brought him to the point of making the man hyperventilate. She began to worry as she heard his erratic breaths get heavier, Ray brought a hand up to touch at his cheek and softly beckoned his name.

“Zack? Zack…please wake up…”

Zack fidgeted for a moment until his eyes shot open, then locked right onto the person in front of him. Ray suddenly felt the man grasp at her neck, instinct made her try and loosen his tightening grip, but she remembered she did want to die by his hand. She peered into Zack’s eyes and saw that they weren’t normal, they were glazed with fear, he was acting more on fear driven impulse than his usual bloodthirsty nature.

“…Zack…” she choked out.

It took only a few seconds before she could see reality snap back into the man’s odd-colored eyes and his tightening grip loosen around her throat, his hand quickly retreated to himself as he panted heavily from his rapid heartbeats. Zack appeared both lost and panicked.

“What the fuck just happened?”

He saw Ray grasp and rub at her neck with a slight pained expression, that could only mean that he did it without thinking. Zack could feel guilt weigh heavily on him for once.

“Shit…I hurt you, didn’t I?”

“It’s fine, Zack…” Ray quickly replied, but when Zack brought a hand up to check, she recoiled.

To accept being hurt must be an old habit of her life back then, some way to make her cope, Zack grit his teeth from that thought, because she was now doing that with him - something he had no control over had cracked her trust.

“It’s not fine,” he growled, then grabbed at her arms.

Ray flinched again, but noticed that his grip was gentle. Zack placed her arms down to her lap while he brought his hands up to inspect the damage, he saw red marks that his grip left on her skin, and it angered him.

“Fuck…” he muttered, allowing his fingers to tenderly caress the affected area, “why did I do this?”

Ray felt herself blush faintly as she felt his fingertips gently touch her skin, “…You must’ve been having a really bad dream…you were breathing so heavily…I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry…”

Right, he was having a nightmare - or something of the sort, though it was rare to have it shake him up so much. Zack sighed as he ran his fingers through Ray’s hair, as if he was compelled to express that he wasn’t going to harm her again.

“…I’m not mad that you woke me up…kind of fuckin’ glad you did…I shouldn’t have reacted that way though,” Zack replied. “I could’ve killed you without realizing it.”

“Don’t you want to kill me though? I wouldn’t have minded…that’s why…I didn’t try to struggle…” Ray spoke.

Now Zack lightly bopped her, not to hurt her but to knock some sense into her.

“Dumbass, of course I do…but not like this, shit!” he grunted. “Hell, I wouldn’t do a fuckin’ sloppy job of strangling you either…I’d never take you out that way. I want to be me when I do the job…not under some sort of haze…”

Ray remembered, Zack was drugged the last time he attempted to kill her, it was on Cathy’s floor, he even pleaded to her to not allow him to kill her in such a state. Now she began to ponder why she allowed herself to cave in a similar circumstance.

“I guess I got a little selfish with our oath, I’m sorry…”

“Idiot, stop apologizing for nothing. I snapped out of that bullshit, it’s done and over with…” Zack replied, then glanced at her neck again, “…I should be the one to apologize though…fuck…it’s gonna leave a mark…”

“Only for a little while Zack, it’ll go away in time, I can just cover it…”

Ray could see the guilt in the man’s eyes, for someone who reveled in killing, she’d never expect to see such an expression. She scoot her body close to his and gently nudged her head against his shoulder, Zack jolted at first to feel her lean against him, even his heart started to race a little, but he sighed as he reluctantly wrapped an arm around her.

“God damn it, you’re too forgiving, ya’ fuckin’ know that?” he grumbles, “Get pissed off once in a while or something, stop being boring for once…”

Ray softly chuckled at Zack’s annoyance, or rather, his attempts to sound annoyed. She knew that he was actually flustered, his tone of voice was getting easier for her to read his real emotion.

“Hey Zack? What was the dream about? I’d never seen you so scared before…” Ray asked.

Zack groaned quietly in the back of his throat, he didn’t want to recall it, but if it fulfilled Ray’s curiosity, then so be it.

“Just a bunch of shit that happened in the past…I can just put it in the back of my mind again, it tends to haunt me once in a long while,” he said. “…you have seen me get scared before…”

“Oh right…when the tower was collapsing…all that fire.”

Zack shook his head, “When you got shot…I seriously thought you were going to die.”

That answer surprised her, though she couldn’t remember too much of it, her consciousness was fading in and out from both the pain and loss of blood that day. His answer seemed so vague to Zack though, and he knew Ray would eventually pry.

“Look, it’s not cuz’ I was losing a free kill or something…it’s…it’s cuz’ you chose me to kill you. Plus, I know you wouldn’t have wanted to die like that anyway, especially to that creepy fuck. I don’t know what I would’ve done…” he prattled, “...so yeah…whenever that day comes for the oath and whatnot, I’ll kill ya in whatever seems fit…”

He’s doing so much for her, she felt the need to at least do something in return. Being close to Zack during her frightful nights helped soothe her fears, yet Zack never had a crutch of his own, he trusted her alot, but that was about it. She brought her hand to the man’s and laced their fingers together. Isaac flinched slightly from the contact as he stared at her with a puzzled expression.

“Zack…I know you’ve comforted me when I had my share of nightmares…maybe I can do the same…every time you talk to me when I have bad dreams, I feel relieved and even safe. It’s better than just bottling them up, I was actually getting scared for you to see you like that…”

Isaac raised a brow, talking what was on his mind wasn’t his thing, he mumbled to himself then gently pat her head.

“S-sure…just…not now though, I’ll tell you in the morning…”

“Promise?’ Ray asked.

“I’m not a fuckin’ liar,” Zack growled. “Let’s go back to sleep…”

The two laid in bed for a while, but sleep wasn’t around to reclaim them yet, Ray remembered Zack mentioning that he had different things in mind when it came to fulfilling her wish. Of course, she already knew that he wanted it to be done consensually, both in the right states of mind and with the equal desire.

“Hey Zack, if you were to kill me…how do you want it done?” she asks.

Zack was quiet for a moment, “…Quick and painless…how you want me to do it is yours to decide though…”

For a killer, it seemed strange for her to hear that he did not want her death to hurt, he used to enjoy other people’s suffering before snuffing them out, yet she was a rare exception, he even wanted her to tell him how she’d prefer it to be done. A special request of sorts.

“How come you want to give me special treatment compared to everyone else? I…I’m just curious, that’s all…”

Even that question seemed odd to his usual behavior, he ran his fingers through his hair as he mumbled to himself.

“Because you are different than those bastards I took out…they’re all scared to die…so they all deserved to die…” Zack answered, “you want it though…hell, you’re the only one to ever treat me like I'm a normal person…and I’m strangely okay with it. I guess it seems fair to have someone give you what you want and how you want it…ya’ know? Just because you’ve been treated like trash in life doesn’t mean you have to be in death…”

Within seconds, he realized what he said, “Oh fuck me, I’m starting to sound like that grave digging little shit…”

Ray couldn’t hold back a giggle, though, she felt self-doubt sweep through her, she was touched that Zack was willing to treat her more fairly from everyone else, he just slew people without hesitation, but he was going thick through thin for her. Zack was taking care of her, protecting her, sheltering her, and soothing her fears even though one day it would all end. Ray felt like she was putting him through a hassle just for one simple kill.

“What’s with that face?’ Zack murmured, he could see the familiar sullen look the girl had.

“I feel like I’m being so troublesome…”

Zack rolled his eyes, then flicked at her nose, “Moron, I woulda killed you already if I thought that…ya’ ain’t troublesome, alright? I’ll tell you a million fucking times, you’re different from everyone else. If you were bothering me, you’d fucking know by now.”

“What really makes me so different from all the past victims?”

Zack’s mind was clouded with thoughts, and it took him a moment to piece the words, “…I don’t fuckin’ know...you’re the only person I don’t mind being with…shit, I can be myself with you around. Also, you once said that you like being with me too…nobody’s ever said that shit before. You’re the only person...I...kinda got around to trust…ya make me feel comfortable when you’re nearby and some other weird stuff too…”

Other weird stuff? Possibly other emotions that Zack doesn’t fully understand yet, his grumpy behavior is the only neutral face he knows to put on, but his actions and voice were always his dead giveaways.

“…Maybe it’s happiness you’re feeling?’ Ray asked.

“I…I guess? I don’t fucking know…” Zack grumbled.

Maybe it was, he wasn’t sure, but how he had been feeling around her lately was definitely strong. Zack became much more flustered, at times his chest would feel tight, and his body acted on impulse more than usual – it was god damn frustrating to not know why. If that was happiness, it made him feel all sorts of fucking weird.

“W-whatever…you’re not a fucking bother, got it?” Zack mumbled, “So don’t go thinking dumb shit about me…I’ll tell you myself…I’m a grown ass man.”

Soon, he heard her giggle again, god damn it sounded so innocent.

“You don’t act like it though,” Ray whispered.

Did she just say something sarcastic to him? That comment quickly caught him off guard, she was always so apologetic and honest, now she was being witty.

“I’mma kick you off the bed Ray, not just shove…kick.”

His voice gave away his feelings again, he was amused by her comment – not angry. Hell, he couldn’t hide a small chuckle in his tone of voice.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said, yet she couldn’t stop laughing.

Zack brought his free arm to pull her close in a mock bear hug, he couldn’t bring himself to pull his other hand apart from Ray’s, the feeling of their fingers linked together gave him a sense of security, as it reminded him that she was close by and was there for him.

“Yeah, yeah…sure you are…go the fuck to sleep, brat…”

Rachel made herself comfortable as she laid her head against the brash man’s chest.

“Goodnight Zack,” she whispered.

Zack stared at her for a moment as Ray eventually dozed off, she did make him feel all sorts of weird emotions, things he had never felt before. It was conflicting yet comforting at the same time, maybe he couldn’t get completely frustrated about it, because Rachel was around to try and explain things to him.

He was so used to being alone, taking care of himself, and handling his problems on his own. Now there was Ray willing to ease his own inner demons, since he chose to take on hers under his watch. Of course, there was an old agreement for her to be useful to him, but he easily sensed that the intentions were different. It wasn’t just to be resourceful, but caring to one another, something that neither one of them have ever gotten.

In her company, every day felt like a new discovery about himself, it was both exciting yet frightening at the same time because he grew up never truly experiencing things normal people have. Ray was there to enlighten him, amuse him, help him, and be there for him. One day it will end, and he wouldn’t know what to do from there, simply going back to his old life didn’t seem to appeal to him. It was like Ray would be his final and ultimate kill.

However long they would choose to have together, the two were going to make the most of it.

Zack did feel some of his anxiety from his dreams go away, she was right when she said that talking brought a sense of relief, and feeling her comforting body gestures made him feel all the more mentally secure.

Impulse began to overcome him again, he had kissed her forehead a couple times, and maybe one more wouldn’t hurt. He gently pressed his lips on Ray’s forehead as she peacefully slept, Zack could feel a warmth swell in his chest as he carefully pulled the covers over the both of them.

“…Goodnight Ray…”

#khymer's fanfics #that our bond series thing #satsuriku no tenshi

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