#my prayers for more lucy drops were answered! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 11 months

Note

hi!! i thought i'd send in a request for lucy gray baird! i was thinking maybe hurt/comfort set in the arena, where reader gets injured and either lucy helps them or has to leave them alone for a bit for whatever reason? gn reader preferred but i don't mind too much!

can't wait to read your writing in the future! no pressure to write this specifically though, of course <3

— @aubeystawby

I'm so excited to write about Lucy Gray, she is such a cool character. And thank you for reposting my requirements list! Also, I'm sorry if she's OOC, I've never written for her and haven't read the book in a couple of months.

Lucy Gray Baird x Gender neutral! Reader (hurt/comfort)

Warning: mention of murder, blood, description of wounds, spoilers for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, and hand-holding!

Keep in mind: the story can be taken in a platonic or romantic way. There are no kissing or romantic gestures but the way it is written can be taken either way.

Gliding one hand along the arena wall, you covered your eyes from the sun. The sun beamed down onto your skin, bathing you in warmth, but it wasn't pleasant. The midsummer heat and the humidity in the arena made it unbearable. It felt disgusting being in the sun from how little you had eaten in the past couple of hours.

When was the last time you had eaten a full meal? Maybe the night before reaping day. You couldn't have eaten anything the actual day from nerves. Your mentor barely gave you food from the days in the monkey house. The closest semblance of food you had received was from Capital citizens, which was minute and didn't help your appetite. You just had to hope your mentor pitied you enough to feed you now.

Hunger pains washed over your body, climbing through your body in waves. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, hoping the pains wouldn't last as long as the last time. Your prayers weren't answered, rather, the pains lasted nearly twice as long. Loud and deep breaths were heard coming from you as you keeled over.

When the hunger pains had left, you glanced around the dirt-covered arena, wanting to find any semblance of food. Perhaps another tribute willing to trade food for something. But what would you give? The only thing you had was a roll of bandages and a small knife. You could always threaten them. But it probably wouldn't have worked, the other tributes presumably had more than you. No point in that option.

You reminded yourself to stay focused, being in your head was not somewhere you wanted to be, especially in this place.

Your eyes glide over the surrounding area. The walls looked the same, a beige and dirty tone, it seemed to suck life from the already lifeless building. But the vibrancy of the six flags of Panem hung on the walls brought it back. Or rather five flags. One was gone and laid over several bodies in a large area of the arena.

Reaper’s graveyard. It brought a sense of disgust to you. The idea that they will always have Panem over them, even in death, made you pity them.

You didn't feel to count the bodies, rather, your eyes were drawn to a body in a small corner of the arena. It was a male tribute's body, several water bottles lay next to his body. You gave up discerning the identity of the tribute at the sight of a handkerchief over its face.

Buzzing sounds filled the silence as you looked up at a drone slowly flying toward you. It held a bread roll in its metal claw. A grin crossed your face as you reached your hand for the drone. At the sight of the bread in its metal hand, your mouth watered. Thank god your mentor had mercy on you. You held your hand out before it dropped the roll into your hand. It left as quickly as it had come but you didn't pay any mind to it.

You were swift as you took large bites out of brown bread. The stale, crumbly bread fell apart in your mouth but you kept eating. It didn't matter that the food wasn't the greatest, it was good you were even given food at all. Your fingers tore the bread apart rapidly. The feeling of hunger made the bread taste twice as good.

You were barely three-quarters through the bread when the small sound of metal hitting concrete filled the air. Your body stiffened. Silence filled the emptiness as you looked around quickly.

Your eyes trailed over the walls of the arena, then to the tunnel entrances. Your grasp on your knife tightened as you listened for anything else.

You were expecting one of the tributes to come running at you with a blade or an axe. Hell, you were expecting Reaper.

But the idea of someone getting their hand on a trident wasn't something that crossed your mind.

Heavy footsteps overtook the quiet and they grew closer. You didn't take a chance to look at who was running after you as you run for the channel entrance. A boy's voice yelled for another tribute, the boy calling for Coral. It must have been Mizzen. He was the only tribute that was allied with the girl tribute. And he was the only other tribute with a trident.

It took barely a second for the trident to be thrown through the air and hit your leg. Your body hit the ground roughly as you cried out. Pain flowed through your body as you reached back for the weapon. You peek at the boy running for you, and you were correct. It was Mizzen. You pull the trident from your leg harshly.

The pain grew worse as the air touched delicately at your bleeding wound. You got up and threw the weapon in another direction. It wouldn't be smart to take the trident with you. The situation was already bad but it would be worse being hunted for taking someone's stuff.

The trident hit the dirt-covered ground loudly. Mizzen was quick to rush for the skewer. It gave you little time to run since it seemed he wasn't willing to leave you alive.

Your footsteps were heavy as you dash through the flickering tunnels. Reaching down to hold your wound, you turned corners swiftly and continued running.

Agony crept up your leg and sprouted in your nerves as you ran from the boy. Mizzen’s shouts filled the flickering channel as you rush past corners. It took everything in you not to scream and wail from pain.

Hot pain wafted through your body as you limped through the tunnels. You took swift turns around the corners, wanting to get rid of your attacker. Heavy gasps left your lungs, not only from running but also from agony in your leg.

The lights shine down onto your blood-covered limb. Your face contorted in agony as you held your leg with one hand. Mizzen’s footsteps slowly quieted as you ran deeper into the dark tunnels.

When you were sure Mizzen and Coral had given up their chase, you finally stop running and slow to a walk, a slow and painful walk. You ground your teeth as you took in deep breaths. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts. You reminded yourself.

You ultimately looked down at your wound, taking in the damage done to your limb. It was far more disgusting than you had thought. Blood ran down your leg, soaking your socks in reddish-pink tones. The trident had torn the muscles in your leg and putting any pressure proved painful.

Blood ran down your ankle and gradually covered the dark cement floor. Your breathing was heavy as you tried to unroll the gauze from your pocket. Tears cascade down your face as you hurriedly wipe dust and dirt from your wound, pain welling from the scratchiness of your clothes and the dirt.

You take deep breaths, trying to think happy thoughts so you can continue. You knew you couldn't be in the same spot for long. Another tribute would find you fast, and they wouldn't have mercy on you.

You looked at the remnants of the bread roll in your hand. The deep brown crust had become maroon from the blood it soaked up. Its insides were a pinkish hue. You cursed to yourself and threw the bread angrily at the wall, it hit with a soft ‘splat’.

You rigidly reached back into your pocket, withdrawing a small hunter's knife. Reaching for a piece of clothing, you cut at the fabric quickly. Threads came undone as you slash hastily but it didn't matter. You needed to make a tourniquet.

The soft clicking could barely be made clear. The tapping of shoes. Looking around the dingy hall, you're quick to grab your knife. Your breath is rigid as you give your best effort to stand. The pain in your leg seemed to claw at your body and nerves. You whined in pain but kept standing. Your good leg held most of your balance, while you kept your free hand against the curved wall. Your exhalation came as a pant.

You glared at the figure, guiding your knife to the woman in the dark. “Stay back!” You screeched, jutting the knife at the girl. She held her hands up, as though she was getting caught for something. You were still on guard when you started to piece together who the girl was. Her dress was vibrant, contrasting her tan skin. Oh, you knew who this was.

Lucy Gray.

It was obvious the arena warmth and stress had affected her. Her dark hair was tangled, and her forehead was sweaty, though her dress stayed vivid. You were slightly surprised she hadn't been killed yet, her dress could have given her away. But it must have been her sneakiness that kept her alive.

Even if she was a nice person, you knew not to back down. No matter how nice she was, you knew her survival was always number one for her. No matter how sweetly she spoke, you didn't want to look away from her out of worry she would attack.

Lucy Gray stepped into the light, showing herself fully. There were no noticeable weapons on her. The only thing pointing out that she had something on her would be one side of her rainbow ruffles hanging lower than the other. Something was in her pocket.

“(Y/n), I know how scared you must be. I saw your interaction with Mizzen, it didn't look too pretty,” Lucy Gray spoke, acknowledging the gaping wound on your leg with worry. “Yeah, no shit,” You retort, keeping a hard expression as you exhale through your teeth.

“I can help you, I have water to clean your wound. Plus, I want you to be my ally for the rest of the Games. I lost my District partner and you're just as alone as I am,” Lucy Gray seemed saddened at the mention of her District partner. Wasn't it Jessup? You couldn't remember properly. You stared daggers into her wordlessly. The only sound that could be heard was your loud breathing.

Your brain gradually shifted from her hurting you to the idea of partnering with her. Lucy Gray was popular in the Capital, everyone knew that. Partnering with her would have a lot of benefits since she has a lot of sponsors. Which meant food, lots of it.

Blood dripped onto the floor in large droplets, but you didn't pay attention to it. The only thing you were worried about was Lucy Gray. “(Y/n), if you don't let me help you, you're gonna bleed out,” she muttered and took a step closer. At the small action, you slashed at the air in front of her. You blinked lazily. Your breathing grew staggered as you slowly became lightheaded. You swallow thickly as you fall over onto the hard concrete.

Your body hits the ground with a thud. Silence follows as Lucy Gray peered down at you. She is quick to get closer, reaching into her rainbow ruffles to grab something. As you recover sluggishly, you immediately swing your knife at the closeness between you and the girl. Seeing her reach into her pocket, you sliced at the air near her with more intent.

You pointed the knife at Lucy Gray, giving her an angry yet weak stare. “Get away! Stay back!” You exclaimed as you used your free hand to trudge your body along the dirt floor. The dirt gradually covered your clothes as you tried to move away from the girl. You groan as the skin near your cut got dragged along the cement flooring. Tears ran down your face from the pain but you kept going. Pushing yourself farther from Lucy Gray, even if it was only a couple of inches.

Your body grew weak as the soreness in your body grew. Lucy Gray watched you closely, acting as though you were a hurt animal. You used your free hand to wipe the tears

Yet, she didn't try to hurt you. She simply gave you a saddened look as she tried stepping closer. “I'm not going to hurt you,” Lucy Gray spoke in a soft tone.

“How... How should I know you won't?” You bellow, your words coming out slowly from the pain of your wound.

Lucy Gray expressed her tenderness with a slight smile. She calmly reached into the ruffles of her rainbow dress. Your eyes stay fixed on Lucy Gray, the knife never pointing away from her. She didn't mind the knife and your angry gaze. She must have understood your fear, this was the Hunger Games after all, and you couldn't trust anyone. She finally pulled her hand out of the ruffles, attaining a clear bottle of water and a dark compact. She shook her colorful skirt, hoping to prove she had nothing else.

“I don't have anything else, see?” Lucy Gray smiled graciously, putting the compact back in her pocket. Her movements were slow and steady. She kneeled, laying the clear bottle on its side, and rolled it to you.

You eye the bottle and Lucy Gray, looking between the two swiftly. Your body grew weak as your arm holding the blade faltered. “(Y/n), I don't plan on hurting you. I know you don't trust me and I respect that, this isn't the place to trust anyone,” Lucy Gray took a step closer.

The lights in the tunnels flickered as you gaze up at her. Each second gave the impression of hours. Each time you blinked, it felt like a day. You lowered the blade bit by bit until it rested at your side. You placed yourself against the wall and grabbed the water bottle, acting as though you were reluctant. Lucy Gray looked pleased by you wordlessly accepting her offer, so she sat down next to you.

Some part of you wanted to push her away, maybe even point the knife at her but you were too weak. Instead, you held the bottle to Lucy Gray, letting her take it from you. She took it from you carefully, as though the small action of taking it too fast would hurt you.

You kept your focus on her, even if your vision was dazed and a bit blurry. The girl poured water onto her dirt-covered fingers, washing the soot off before turning the bottle to your wound. You braced yourself as you felt the lukewarm water run against your injury. Waves of discomfort washed through your body but you didn't try to stop Lucy Gray from helping you.

Her touch was gentle, her fingers caressing the skin around the bloody injury. The blood stains on her fingers greatly contrasted with her tan skin.

Every touch on the sensitive skin and flesh was painful. Lucy Gray was careful, her touch was only uncomfortable. She took the knife from your grasp and brought it to finish cutting the clothing you had started. But she didn't use it immediately. She set the cloth onto her vibrantly covered lap, reaching for the roll of bandages.

You were somewhat faster to grab the knife from her, not wanting her to change her mind about helping you. Light glinted off the dirty blade, shining a small light onto the floor. It brought a small ounce of happiness to you. It was childish but it was nonetheless fun to move the reflected light. You twisted the handle and the reflected shine glided over the cement. Even if the blood loss was causing your change in mood, a smile crossed your lips as you moved it again.

Lucy Gray looked between taking care of your injury and at your complexion. The smile brought a small sense of comfort to her. Knowing that you were able to keep your mind off the wound, even if it was childlike, brought Lucy Gray a kind of reassurance. She didn't stress to take the blade from you too.

She instead focused on your leg. She wrapped the bandages tightly around the bloody wound, which caused you to wince. Lucy Gray shushed you calmly. “Take deep breaths, think happy thoughts,” she muttered as she kept up with her care. You nodded. Instead of going back to distracting yourself, you took in the details of her corset.

It was beautiful, the corsets design drew you in. Two snakes tied as a bow, a beautiful primrose in the center, and katniss flowers painted around it. A lovely primrose protected by katniss, ain't that sweet?

When your attention was led back to your leg, Lucy Gray had already finished. Your leg was covered in stained bandages, your thigh tightly wrapped with a tourniquet made from a part of your clothes.

Lucy Gray held the bottle of water to your mouth. You didn't reach for it but accepted her help with drinking from it. There was little left for you but you needed it, your mouth dry from drinking nothing for days.

When the bottle was finished, Lucy Gray smiled and set it to the side. She took your hand and encouraged you to move when she wanted you to. Lucy Gray wanted to move you like a puppet but you obliged. Her hands moved to your shoulder then your back, pulling you gently to face away from her.

The small action made you worry but you were too weak to ask her what she was doing. But your thoughts were answered fast when Lucy Gray pulled your head into her lap. The rainbow ruffles that decorated her skirt tickled the back of your neck.

You could feel Lucy Gray holding you close, yet her arms loose. You watched her as she smiled down at you, your head in her lap. The lively shades of red and purple made you feel as though you were in a flower bed. Lucy Gray’s voice came out quietly, it seemed she still thought you were weak. You were but you wouldn't admit that to her.

“I can get us food when we go into the arena again, but not now. I want you to rest, ok?” Lucy Gray said softly. Her hands were gentle as she touched you, her fingers gliding over your skin.

Your eyes fluttered as you stared up from her lap. The want to show that you didn't want to rest was prevalent in your head, you knew it couldn't be seen on your face. You wanted to grab your knife and force her to take you to get food but you realize it was a bad idea. Lucy Gray has the power in this situation. She could kill you if she wanted.

Your thoughts came to a stop as Lucy Gray started to sing, murmuring the words. The words were difficult for you to hear but it nonetheless brought comfort. She kept your head propped up on her lap. Her fingers traced an indiscernible pattern on the back of your hand. It was calming. And Lucy Gray was so sweet. As you had thought before, she could have murdered you with your weak stare, yet she took care of you.

Lucy Gray kept serenading you in a soft voice. The sound of her voice didn't carry far, it only carried to you and her. Lucy Gray sang for comfort, not only for you but for herself. Lucy Gray’s fear and stress were distinct. Her voice was slightly shaky and so were her hands. They kept grazing your skin, trailing her fingers along your arm. At her evident stress, you shifted your hand to intertwine with hers.

Lucy Gray’s voice somewhat faltered, not expecting your touch. But she didn't pull her hand away. She squeezed your hand and continued to sing. Her voice is stronger now.

Each touch comforted you, it almost made you feel like you were in an entirely different place. You weren't in the arena, you were in her comforting arms. You didn't feel the pain in your legs or the fear of the other tributes. You only felt Lucy Gray’s warmth.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the hymn made your fatigue grow. Your body loosened in Lucy Gray’s arms. She kept you close as the song she sang ended but continued to another. She belted out the tune with sympathy and kindness. Her voice brought so much comfort, the meaning of the song wouldn't have mattered to you. Lucy Gray could have sung about murdering people but it still would have carried a sweetness.

Exhaust filled your body but Lucy Gray spoke again.

“Good night, (Y/n). Sleep well,” Lucy Gray’s voice whispered with the evident sound of a smile. The words conveyed something to your mind, permission to sleep. Her words gave you acceptance to be weak (or weaker than before) with her.

And you finally slept. You slept in her arms, your head against her rainbow ruffles. You imagined you were in a field of beautiful flowers, rainbow flowers. Some part of you hoped that is where you would be when the Games are over.

Feel free to request any TBOSAS content if you liked this!

176 notes · View notes

highfunctioningflailgirl · 1 year

Text

My favorite books (and audiobooks) 2022

ID: “Lancelot” by Giles Christian

An epic retelling of the story of Lancelot - the most tragic figure of the King Arthur saga. The first half of the book focuses on his youth and upbringing as a warrior on a remote island where he meets Guinevere when they’re still both kids. In the second half, we get to see him as a fully grown knight, his friendship with Arthur and his fatal love for Guinevere.

It’s a beautiful, patient, sometimes gritty and sometimes poetic novel that culminates in a heroic and tragic showdown. Its only flaw is a rushed last quarter, as if the author needed to squeeze too much story into the last 200 pages. Maybe this should’ve been a two-parter instead?

ID: “Die Diplomatin” by Lucy Fricke

A wry, cynical novel on the privileges, grey areas and limits of diplomacy. We follow a German consul from her peaceful post in Uruguay to a much less serene post in Istanbul where politics are in a fragile, incendiary state. And managing a crisis turns out to be the most disillusioning affair our protagonist has ever faced.

A very contemporary, very apropos little novel that’s written with a glimmering scalpel.

ID: “The Darkness Outside Us” by Eliot Schrefer

I almost dnf’ed this one after eye rolling my way through the first hour of teenager-y gays-in-space. But then my jaw began to drop as this YA sci-fi took a very dark turn.

Two young astronauts from enemy countries, stuck on a spaceship together, band together against insurmountable odds, and if you read this you won’t see coming what’s gonna hit you. The most surprising, wrecking read I’ve raced through in a long time. And the audiobook narrator is really, really good.

ID: “A Psalm for the Wild-Built” by Becky Chambers

A tea-monk and a robot become BFFs on an ecotopian moon. That’s it. That’s the plot. An uplifting, touching and heartwarming read that both brought me to tears and gave me so much comfort.

“What do humans need?” That is the big question this quietly philosophical little Solarpunk story revolves around. And there are no simple answers.

Becky Chambers single-handedly invented “cozy sci-fi”, and I am so grateful she did! Part two, “A Prayer for the Crown-Shy”, is just as good, btw.

ID: “Anna” by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

Full immersion into Russian history, culture and geography in the early 1800s is what you’ll get from this underestimated historical romance novel.

We follow English governess Anna from Paris to Russia where she’s in the employment of the very attractive (and very married) Count Kirov.

Surprisingly, their love story isn’t what’s so beautiful about this book - it’s Russia herself, her landscape, culture and many different people. Anna spends time in glittering St. Petersburg, in majestic Moscow, but also in the wild Caucasian mountains. We meet Tartars, Kosaks and Mongols; counts, peasants, horsemen and warriors. We learn about Russian folklore and superstition, about traditions and rituals.

It was an eerie experience to read this book while Putin invaded the Ukraine, but what happened IRL also made “Anna” an even more valuable read. Parts of the story take place in what’s now the Ukraine, in Kiew. Back then, it was the other way around from what we’re seeing today: Napoleon invaded Russia, and Moscow became a victim of fire and flame. “Anna” taught me quite a bit of history I’d never learned in school.

In the end, “Anna” is a beautiful, sweeping saga from which I emerged reluctantly and wistfully, wanting more.

(Fair warning: the edition I read was obviously a reprint and riddled with printing errors to a degree that sometimes made it hard to read. Such negligence puts a really good novel to shame which it really doesn’t deserve. So please check which copy/edition you’re getting if you want to read this!)

Special shout-out to @hobbeshalftail3469 who recommended this book to @vgriffindor who then gave it to me as a gift!)

Your turn, bookish people! What were your favorites of 2022?!

#my reading #best books of the year #best books of 2022 #best audiobooks of 2022 #my favorite books #lancelot #a psalm for the wild built #giles christian #becky chambers #die diplomatin #lucy fricke #eliot schrefer #the darkness outside us #anna #cynthia harrod-eagles

20 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Moirai [7]

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 [Finale]

➜ Words: 6.6k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

❇ Royal Romances Chapter 3 -Prince Route- ❇ The darkness is pitch black. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time. Anastasia lurks within the shadows, looking both ways with a flickering oil lamp carried in hand. She darts her head down the long corridor and when there isn’t a soul in sight, she sneaks past the archway before pressing her palm against a stone brick behind a marble pillar. There’s a shift, gears spinning and the wall pulls back and to the side, tucking itself in. She enters through the hidden passageway and the wall seals itself shut again as it never opened. The cobblestone spiral stairs are dusty and dank without a single window. She cringes and bats her hand in front of her nose, damning him for choosing such an awful place to meet. Who knows what’s down here! Ugh. A bastard son born will be a bastard life lived. No amount of effort can make someone noble if they weren’t already born with it. She doesn’t know why she was expecting that man to be dignified. “I didn’t think you would come so soon.” The King’s bastard son stands at the landing of the stairs. The spiral staircase seems to descend further behind him, but she isn’t curious to where it leads. “Hmph.” She turns away, lamp still in hand, and she pulls her shawl closer to her. “I already made up my mind. I want to get rid of that orphan whore, so I’ll do whatever it takes. She dares to try to seduce my fiancé when she doesn’t even know her place.” The corner of Taehyung’s thin lips curl. “Then by all means, I’ll erase that problem for you.” The Duke’s daughter turns and her eyes glimmer with intrigue. The man reaches into the sleeve of his cloak and hands her a tiny vial of green liquid. An emerald jewel on the cap shimmers against the dim candlelight that casts their ominous shadows on the walls. “It’s poison. One drop in the Empress’ tea cup and you can frame her for it. That’s all it’ll take.” Anastasia smirks, a rush of air leaving her nose in satisfaction. It might be easier just to dip the tip of a dagger in and stab that wrench with it, but framing her would make Jungkook lose his trust in the girl. He wouldn’t look at her twice. And she’d be executed without the real perpetrator ever being implicated in the crime. She takes the vial, holding onto it carefully. Yet her eyes flicker up to Taehyung’s. “What’s in it for you?” “All I want is the empire’s wealth.” ….. .. . ❇ Royal Romances Chapter 7 -Prince Route- ❇ Punishment does not come in the form of her stripped title or even her head rolling away from her neck. Punishment arrives in the darkened loneliness. That loss of sanity that whisper she has failed to capture the attention of the only person she ever loved. That she failed to make him love her. Everything she did, it drove him away. Every act of love placed distance between them. Everything. Liberation comes back with the music of trumpets muffled by the stone walls. “What’s going on?” her voice is hoarse through her parched throat. The servant screams when her arm reaches past the bars to tug on the girl’s dress. Her eyes are bleary as she looks up at the girl. “Why is it so noisy?” “T-The civil war’s over.” The girl backs away and the celebrations become more distinct with the realization. “The villain is dead.” The girl withdraws into the cell and cackles rip through her lungs, resounding across the empty chambers. The servant scurries away as the knight huffs out through his nose and shakes his head. But it’s the best news she’s received since she’s been stowed away. That bastard son — Taehyung. He was a liar. He tried to kill her beloved Jungkook. He dared to try and replace him. But no amount of effort can make someone noble if they weren’t already born with it. A bastard son born will be a bastard life lived. She may have been condemned as his accomplice — she may have been used as his pawn, too blinded by her own affections to realize. But she is mad with joy that she will not die alone. She can only hope he died a cruel and painful death. Anastasia cackles again.

You gasp. Your entire body jolts and you tear yourself up into an upright position. The covers pool in your lap, your white nightgown stuck to your back slick with cold sweat. You press your palm on your forehead, focusing on studying your heaving breath. It was just a nightmare. Or rather, it was scenes from the original game. The way it was supposed to be. It felt so real. As if you were Anastasia and those choices and decisions were the ones you made. The door opens and the maid entering is startled to see you already awake. “Good morning, my lady. It’s still quite early….” There’s no way you can return to sleep after that. “Today’s a busy day so I’ll get ready now.” The maid nods and follows after you to the vanity. “Lady Devon has a lilac gown prepared for you today, my lady. The late Queen wore the same colour during the inauguration of the last Head Priestess.” “Shouldn’t everyone wear it then?” “Of course not.” The young servant smiles as she runs the brush through your hair. “Only the future queen should.” Pft. Yeah right. It’s a ridiculous idea that you would ever be queen. Anastasia never had the chance in any route or lifetime and you doubt you will either. But rather than changing the dress like you normally would, your hand tightens in your lap. “Bring it to me then.” As the future Crown Princess, you’re dolled up by several maids. Your tutor paces back and forth, commanding the flurry around you on each of their actions, from a strand of your hair out of place to a loose thread sticking out. Your cheeks are powdered in a soft pink and your lips are painted in the same cherry blossom shade. You feel like a Barbie being dressed up and not in a good way. But thankfully, the dress is simple for the occasion and your hair is plainly clipped back on both sides. It isn’t a ball after all where people are going to be flaunting themselves. The next two days marks the inauguration of the new priestess. It’ll be a day of celebration and then a day of solemn prayer and song at the empire’s largest cathedral. Aka, it’s going to be boring as hell. Once you’re free from outstretched hands touching your body and making sure you’re a photoshopped version of yourself without the photoshop, you head to the gardens for a breath of air. And also to escape Lady Devon’s lectures of how you should ideally behave. But by now, you already know what she wants to say. Don’t chew with your mouth open. Keep your back straight. Don’t back talk to your elders. Most importantly, don’t speak to Tae— “Anastasia!” The corner of your mouth tugs. “Lucy.” You shouldn’t be so happy to see the heroine of this story. Not when her existence naturally opposes yours and you purely forged a friendship for your own self-preservation. But somewhere along the way, you found that she’s the only female who doesn’t look at you any differently. She doesn’t smile just to make you happy. She doesn’t call you just because she has something to gain. Unlike so many others, you know she has no intention of using you. The girl doesn’t have ulterior motives. Unlike you. “Good morning.” “Morning.” You meet her between the bushes of peonies on the cobblestone path. “What are you doing here so early? The play doesn’t start for another three hours.” “I didn’t want to be late, but I guess I came earlier than expected.” Her smile is sheepish and she lifts her arm, a single white lily held in her fingertips. “I saw this on my way here. I heard it was lucky to have white lilies on the day of the Head Priestess’ inauguration ceremony, so…” You take her gift. “Thank you.” The petals are delicate and the fragrance is subtle enough that you lift it to tickle your nose. It’s then and there, while you’re twirling the stem with your fingertips, that you notice a gaze upon you. By sheer coincidence and coincidence only, it seems like Taehyung was seeking refuge in his corner of the garden again and ran into you. The corner of his mouth lifts, distance kept yet he’s somehow close. You can’t pretend that he’s not there. Your eyes have locked together. Immediately, you grab Lucy’s hand and turn to her. “You have no one to accompany you to the Eastern Cathedral tomorrow, right?” “Uh…” Before she can answer, you take her to the dark-haired man and smile cordially at him. “Good morning, Your Highness.” “Anastas—” “This is Lucienne from the House of Liza.” You drag the girl to your side and she murmurs a timid greeting to him. “I’m sure the two of you must’ve met each other a few times. She has no one to accompany her tomorrow.” “Anastasia.” Lucy shifts to you. She’s visibly uncomfortable, her brows knitted together, fingers rubbing the skirt of her dress. “It’s quite alright, I don’t need anyone to—” “Nonsense,” you interject with another friendly smile. “It must be lonely to go by yourself. I’ll be busy with Prince Jungkook. It’s important that you get to know others as well. You shouldn’t latch onto the Prince all the time.” She’s visibly taken aback at your insinuation. It’s not like you want to be so blunt, but there has to be no room for refusal. This is the only way. It’s no longer about trying to avoid the three of them. It’s no longer about bringing Lucy and Jungkook together and remaining on the sidelines. If you want to save Taehyung too, you need to use the only person who can do so. You’ll find other ways to save yourself. But Taehyung needs her. “I…” Your voice remains firm. “You should go with Taehyung.” Lucy is the heroine of this game. It’s possible that they can end up together instead. She can comfort Taehyung, change his mind about revenge, ease his suffering, rid his grief. She’s the only one who can clear the darkness stowed inside of him. They don’t know it, but you do. You push her towards him. The girl stumbles from the loss of her footing and he steadies her by her shoulders. “S-Sorry!” “It’s fine,” he brushes off quickly and then turns his head, eyes boring holes in you. “What are you doing?” Taehyung holds his gaze, searching your impassive expression and the corners of your mouth pulls stiffly. “I’m just joining two people who I think really suit each other. Oh, look at the time! I should leave before I’m late for my morning greeting to my fiancée. I’ll leave the both of you to it then.” You curtsy hastily and spin around to walk away. But Taehyung is three steps ahead of you. His strides are long and he overtakes you easily, stopping your form far away enough that it’s out of Lucy’s earshot. He grabs your arm, pulls you back and stares deeply into your eyes. His frown deepens. “Is this because of what I did that night of the feast?” he asks in a quiet murmur that makes you swallow hard. You don’t want to be reminded of that. Not now. Not when you’re trying to pay back the favour of saving your life by saving his. “Anastasia, I meant everything I said that night. I meant everything that I was about to do—” You interrupt him, not wanting to hear anymore of it. It shouldn’t be this hard. “It’s not that.” You stare directly into his pupils, unwavering in your gaze. “I have to go now.” You brush past him and don’t glance over your shoulder, even when the temptation is overwhelming. It really shouldn’t be this hard. You know the future. You know what’s entailed in their destiny. But why does it seem like you’re making all the wrong choices. // Your knuckles rap against the surface. There’s a muffled ‘come in’ and you open the door. Jungkook is getting ready in front of the mirror. His cape is being pinned perfectly on his back, navy blue jacket with ribbons and golden buttons making him look like the picture perfect prince of every Disney movie. It’s no wonder all the ladies constantly swoon when he passes. To you, he’s always been that doe-eyed boy afraid of ladybugs. But marrying him wouldn’t be so bad. You’re sure it would be a good marriage. At least one full of respect and mutual understanding. It would be better than half the marriages in the twenty-first century that ends in divorce. Jungkook looks at your reflection in the mirror. “Anastasia. What brings you here?” “I have matters to discuss, Prince Jungkook.” “Very well.” He looks to the attendants beside him. “Please bring in refreshments.” “There’s no need.” You quickly stop them and the man in front of you turns, visibly surprised at your rejection of sweets and tea. It’s the main reason why you come to visit each other after all. “This’ll be quick.” They bow their heads and the doors shut a moment later, giving you and Jungkook privacy. He pinches the hem of his sleeve. “Did you get in trouble with your tutors again?” “Jungkook.” Your voice is solemn, your expression even more serious. He looks up and the corner of his mouth falls into a straight line. He follows you to the sofa and sits across from you. “What’s the matter?” He’s frowning, worried about your changed demeanor. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself. “We should solidify our engagement as soon as possible.” Jungkook’s eyes widen. “W...what? Why so sudden?” “Is it?” “You’ve never been interested in being queen before.” His eyes narrow in on you and his brows furrow more. “Is this about the Duke and Duchess? Are they rushing you?” “No.” You shake your head. “This is about me. It’s about us.” “But this isn’t like you, Anna.” “Why is it so surprising?!” Your voice is pitched and instead of anger, frantic desperation seeps in. You don’t know why everyone has to make it so difficult for you. “We’ve been engaged since our childhood! It’s only natural to move ahead. Who else are you supposed to marry—?!” As the words come out of your mouth, it slaps you right back in the face: you’re falling into the same pattern as Anastasia. Demanding the prince to marry you. Being blunt. Curt. Upset. It’s so easy. It was as if your entire life was set up to be the villainess. Oh god. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what the answer is. You don’t know what choice to make to wind down the best path— “Anna!” Jungkook calls you for the fifth time in the midst of your meltdown. You lift your head to find him sitting beside you, his hands firmly squeezing your shoulders. He’s asking you if you’re alright, if you need a healer or some rest to clear your mind. He’s saying how the two of you can talk about this later. But you don’t want later. It’s always been later. Making choices now for later. Making plans now for later. Everything you’ve done is for later down the line and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to reap the benefits or find the happiness you were so desperate to have when you died the first time. Now. You want someone to shoulder your burdens with right now. “Jungkook, what if….what if I told you I was from another world and I know the future of this world?” “What?” You swallow hard and meet Jungkook’s doe eyes. He searches your visage, unable to comprehend where this is coming from, where you’re going with this. “What if...the only way to save Taehyung is through Lucy? The only way is if they fall in love and she saves him.” He’s completely lost on that. “Taehyung? What does he need saving from? Who told you he needs to fall in love with her? What?” Your mouth opens, but you don’t know where to start, how to explain, if he would even believe you in the end. “You just need to trust me, Jungkook. I know things you don’t.” “I...don’t understand what you’re talking about.” There’s a simmering pause between the pair of you and Jungkook looks carefully at your profile. Then his lips part to speak forbidden words— “Are you in love with Taehyung?” It’s your turn to be confused. Befuddled. Taken aback. And Jungkook must read the expression on his face, since he replaces your speechlessness with his own voice. “Otherwise, why would you care so much about him? You’ve never brought anyone up to me before. Not even your own parents, Anna, and I know they make things difficult for you. I’ve never seen you care about anyone else more than you care about yourself.” You rise to your feet in an instant and turn your back on the man. “That’s impossible. It’s impossible.” “Why? I thought you always told me it was okay if we ended up falling in love with other peopl—” “I said it was okay if you did. Not me.” You don’t get such a privilege. Jungkook is the protagonist, the hero. No matter what route it is, which way the story goes, he always wins. He will always live. But you will either die or be casted away. “It’s different.” Jungkook has nothing to risk. You have everything. “Anastasia.” “Don’t change the subject. I came to tell you that we should move ahead with the engagement. There is no reason you should refuse, Jungkook.” You turn and leave the room, ending the conversation there. He doesn’t know. He makes it sound easy. But you can never be with Taehyung. The Crown Prince’s fiancée and the bastard son. What a pair that would be. As long as you’re living in this world, in this society, any relationship deeper than an acquaintanceship would bring disaster. It’s not as simple as falling in love, calling off the engagement, eloping together far away. This isn’t a fairy tale. This isn’t a romance narrative. It’s life. A society that scrutinizes and shames. A culture that slanders names with scandals. The Devereux house will fail anyway and you don’t care about soiling your reputation and being outcasted. But the King would deem it treasonous. The royal family’s reputation would be marred and ruined, and he would never accept that. He was already unhappy when Taehyung danced with you at the debutante ball, when Taehyung handed you the Hunt’s prize, when Taehyung rescued you from being kidnapped. And you cannot risk your life and Taehyung’s like that any more than you already have. Jungkook is terribly naive if he thinks it could ever work. // The royal court is lively with warm drums and bright flutes that echo throughout the capital. Famous minstrels and troubadours across the empire have come to perform for the King, having made their way through the streets in the morning for the commoners as well. He smiles in approval from his throne, the middle-aged priestess to be coordinated tomorrow seated beside him and the pair look to be enjoying the show. Your parents are no exceptions either, seemingly relishing in the festivities. They’ve brought Edith and Joan in tow as part of their entourage, faces you never thought you’d miss. The former nods her head at you in silent greeting and the latter smiles, but you don’t get a chance to speak to either of them. Not when your parents have kept their distance. It seems like the last incident has made them rethink their involvement in your affairs. And for that, you’re glad you’ve been granted a little more freedom. Marquess, earls, counts, viscountess and barons seated around speak to one another in between performing acts, sipping on their wine as the afternoon sets into evening. Once in a while, laughter sparks through the courtyard and thunderous applause succeed performances. But unlike them, you can’t enjoy it. In spite of sitting next to Jungkook and visibly smiling, the space in-between the pair of you is tense and stiff. Lucy sits a few rows down from where she is beside her father and you can tell she’s uncomfortable with what happened earlier by her expression that never seems to ease. All of it would be easy to ignore. If not for Taehyung’s gaze. He’s standing in the corner against the stone walls that line the courtyard, inconspicuous but not to you. A glance at a crowd and you could still pick him out in an instant. But he doesn’t watch the play, doesn’t watch the musical performances or the acrobatics twisting around. He looks at you. As if that alone could figure out your intentions, like he could deduct what’s in your mind. You don’t spare him a peek. Even when it’s difficult to resist. You avoid him until the very end. // The moon is full, a perfectly round sphere that’s golden. Like a firefly amidst the blanket of stars. It isn’t brighter than the sun, but not any less beautiful. Taehyung stares up at the horizon and then his eyes stray to marble railings. He floats up to your balcony and his feet touch against the white, stone flooring. He won’t let you run away. The room is dark, but he makes out a lump in the bed that’s turning and twisting. Taehyung knocks against the glass door and the figure freezes before it moves a moment later. Within a minute, the door opens and you emerge into the golden moonlight. “Taehyung? What are you doing here? You’re not allowed to be here,” you whisper harshly, looking both ways of the castle grounds while tugging the white, laced shawl around your shoulders closer. “I had to come see you,” Taehyung gazes into your eyes tenderly and he leans down to capture your hand gently in his. The skirt of your nightgown flutters in the warm breeze. “I know there’s something wrong. Did Jungkook do something? Did he say something?” You shake your head. “Then why push me away?” You turn from him, ripping your hand away from his grasps. “I don’t know what you mean.” Taehyung grabs your arm and your head whirls back to him, eyes connecting. “You know exactly what I mean.” “I’m engaged.” “To a person you don’t even love.” Your eyes widen and your brows furrow. “You don’t know that.” “I love you.” It’s a bold confession spoken from his lips, his deep timbre that doesn’t lack any sincerity. An earnest proclamation that has your heart stuttering in your chest, your breath hitching in your throat. Your heartbeat is thunderous in your ears and something stirs in the pit of your stomach at the sorrowful expression Taehyung looks at you with. He murmurs, “I was going to take that secret to the grave, but I can’t stand by and watch you like this. I love you. Be with me.” Be with me. A three word plea. Whispered secretly on a full-moon night. An affection full of warmth that you never had the privilege of receiving before in your past life or this life. Until now. You never thought it would be like all those cheesy movies — Love Actually, Pride and Prejudice, the Notebook. But nope. They’re right. When you hear a love confession, when you hear someone say ‘I love you’ and ‘be with me’, it really does make you overwhelmingly happy. It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to hug him, kiss him, throw your arms around him and scream ‘yes’. It makes you imagine the rest of your life, growing old with someone you love. But you stagger away from Taehyung. No. No. It can’t be. He can’t love you. No. You aren’t Juliet. Elizabeth Bennet. Allie. This isn’t your love story. You aren’t the main character. And this most certainly won’t have a happy ending. Taehyung was never supposed to love Anastasia. This is a mistake. An accident. Repercussions to your actions. “Don’t mistake sympathy for feelings of love.” You surprise yourself at how stern your voice sounds, never once wavering. You suppose years of growing up in the Devereux household and being put under rigorous training allowed you to control your exterior well. “I don’t love you. You don’t love me, Taehyung.” “You’re wrong.” He steps forward, closing the distance, as firm as you are. “I’ll even fight for the throne if you want. I’ll fight Jungkook if that’s what it takes for you to be by my side—” “No!” The scream echoes in your own ears, loud and shrill enough to bring alarm. “Please. Don’t. Don’t.” It’s then and there, in the throes of his reckless promises, it slams into you — the realization of how desperately you don’t want to see Taehyung die. You don’t want to witness his tragic ending. And you don’t want him to do it for you. Taehyung’s expression is crumpled in anguish and his arm lifts, hand extending. The pad of his thumb tenderly wipes away the tear that’s streaked down your cheek. The corner of his mouth upturns, but the sorrowful smile never reaches his eyes. “Do you hate the idea of being with me that much that you’re crying?” “No...Taehyung…” He withdraws. “I’m sorry.” Taehyung gazes at you and then he shuts his eyes, falling backwards off the balcony. You cry out in absolute terror and your legs lurch forward towards the railings. Your arms snap out to grab him, but your fists merely catch the passing wind. He’s vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but traces of magic in the air. You collapse onto the floor, grasping at the banister as sobs wreck through your body. “T-That’s...not...i-it—” The matter of life or death should be simple. The choices should be easy. But you don’t know why each path you choose has its own tragedy, why happiness never seems to come. Why can’t you control your own destiny?

A wheeze tears from the bastard son’s mouth. His ruined hands are wrapped around his silver staff until his bloodied knuckles have morphed white. But it’s his leverage, keeping him standing on his shaking legs. He may have lost but he refuses to collapse until his last breath has been taken. His pride won’t allow him otherwise. “Why?” He lifts his head and locks eyes with the impassive Prince, dignified and noble. A hero to all. A brother who he never deemed as a brother. Only in blood and never truly in name. “Why did you do this?” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls. Even on the battlefield when they are both armoured and armed with weapons — in the moment of death — Jungkook is as oblivious and ignorant as when he was a mere child. Taehyung spares a thought as to what it feels like to be that naive. He concludes it is a privilege. “W-hy….d..o...you...think?” The Forgotten Prince’s feet sinks into the mountain of brittle bones. He had to bring the dead back to life through necromancy to build an army for this war. No one would fight on his side after all. No one’s ever wanted to fight on his side. But even so, he was never able to bring himself to revive his mother. But it’s foolish he didn’t. She may have just been a marionette doll with tangled strings, a simple outer shell of a real human being, but he regrets not doing it. He should’ve. Even if it was just to see her for a moment. But it is a regret too late. He has another wish he wants to achieve in these last moments. Taehyung chokes out that girl’s name. He didn’t know he would have feelings for her. He was simply intrigued. Anything that belonged to his brother was always something worth envy. And he wasn’t wrong. She was a pawn on the opponent’s side who turned out to be more valuable than the queen. “P-Please….” Blood curdles at the back of his throat, thickening his words into pathetic sputters. “Let me...see her….on.e….las...t….tim..e…” “I’ll never let you see her.” The Prince’s hands tighten on the handle and he rips the sword out of his abdomen in a single motion. The sound of silver cuts sharply through the air and Taehyung drops to his bruised knees. His own blood has splattered across his visage, scarlet drenched on ashy skin. The Prince stands tall, the very furrow of his brows jarring against the cold, cordial expression he maintains. It’s an expression of contempt, of hatred and indifference. His shadow looms over him, the status he was born with intrinsic in his sheer presence. “All...I...ever..wanted….was to be you. To be...powerful...to have everything you have.” The Forgotten Prince rests against his staff and shuts his eyes. He ponders for a mere moment if he will be able to see his mother after this. But if there is such a thing as an afterlife, it’s still unlikely that fate would grant him such peace and refuge. “I...d..idn’t...want….to...be...aban..doned…” The remnants of magic surges through his veins and with a weak flick of his wrist, Taehyung’s last magic summons the girl who had occupied his thoughts. She appears in front of him, manifesting with his spell, and she screams. Jungkook calls out to her and they embrace. He holds her, covering her body with his arm. The two of them look down at Taehyung in fear and disdain. But her vicinity is enough for him. He wonders when he became this pathetic. Or if he was always this way as their villain. Taehyung chokes on the blood curdling at the back of his throat, but his lips upturn into a smile. He mouths her name and dies at their feet. …. Anastasia. You wake up with a gasp tearing from your chest. Your breath heaves out of you and tears coat your cheeks and the pillow beneath your head. Most of all, your chest fucking hurts like your heart’s about to burst. So you call for a maid at the top of your lungs and within seconds, someone scatters in. “My lady?” “Water,” you croak and she nods. A glass is presented in front of you within moments and you down the entire thing, able to calm yourself down once you’ve finished. The maid notices your sweaty form and asks if you would like to change clothes, but you wave her off and she leaves. Your worst fear came to life in a nightmare. Instead of calling the heroine’s name, Taehyung called yours. // The ceremony at the Eastern Cathedral is exactly like all other events and celebrations in the castle. Boring. Tedious. Like sitting in a lecture hall with the most unenthused professor droning on about the art of paint drying. Except you have to slap a friendly smile on you, sit straight, make small talk and pretend you’re intently listening. You wish cardboard cutouts were a thing, so you could just slap a picture of yourself in your seat instead of having to deal with it. But the entire ordeal keeps your mind from wandering about last night. There’s something about pretending that you’re fine that makes you feel fine after a while. Like you’ve tricked your own self into being okay. You’re even anxious once it’s over. Once the quiet has settled back in. Many of the guests leave, viscounts and countesses bidding their farewells from the cathedral and getting into their carriages. After you’ve sent off Lady Devon and you’re free of her scrutiny, you quickly turn around to find Jungkook and get out of here. The last thing you want is to run into Taehyung right now. You don’t know if you’ll be able to manage your reactions, control your expressions. But on your way back, your attention is taken by an elderly priestess dressed in white robes with a cane, hobbling around. Her hands are outstretched and she bats the air. She’s blind. “Excuse me, do you need help?” “Oh, yes, please, that would be wonderful.” She smiles and the tens of wrinkles on her face crease. The old lady reminds you of your grandma and the corner of your mouth quirks. You take her hand and place it on your arm, guiding her. “I’m usually not so clumsy but I lost my way and had to re-orientate myself. You can just bring me into the side house, it should be on the West side of the cathedral grounds.” You look around and spot it around the building. “It’s this way.” “Are you here for the ceremony?” “Yes, I am.” “How nice, Emelisse will make a fine Head Priestess. Her holy magic is quite powerful.” You hum and get to the smaller building within two minutes. The doors are already open, so you peek inside to see if anyone’s there to take the old lady, but there’s no one. “We’re here.” The Priestess reaches out and grabs the door frame. She smiles and gets up the steps herself, but not before turning around. “Thank you. Not many people would personally aid me in this day and age, and for that I’m thankful.” “It’s not a problem.” It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to speak so casually to someone. But it’s relaxing to forget about your titles. You don’t have to be the Crown Prince’s Fiancée. The future Queen. Or the heir of the Devereux house. You’re just Anastasia. Y/N. A mix of both that makes you you. “Would you be willing to hear an old secret in exchange for helping me?” “Uhhhhh…..” You glance over your shoulder. There’s no palace guards or Jungkook in sight. You really don’t want to stick around for too long. But you remember your grandma got pretty lonely towards the end of her life and was willing to talk to door-to-door salesmen for a good hour or two until they wanted to run away and blacklist the house from their list. Bless her heart. You decide to indulge the old woman, so you go along with it. “Sure.” “I once knew a woman, a kind but poor woman. She was with child,” her voice croaks and you lean in closer, realizing it’s juicy gossip and it sparks intrigue. “The father of that unborn child wasn’t very happy to know that child was coming into existence, so she, worried, came to see her fortune and her child’s on the eve of the Solar Festival.” The old Priestess holds the handle of her cane with both hands, placed in the middle of her body. She faces the sky, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin as she continues the story. “She came to this cathedral and they told her about doom and her child’s inevitable doom. Desperate and heartbroken, she begged to find a way to deviate from such a fate. She wanted to do anything she could to change the predetermined destiny of her unborn child.” Your brows furrow. You begin to wonder why she’s telling you this. “And?” “She did a ritual of dark magic to search for a soul that would protect her son.” The old woman shakes her head. “She defied the laws of destiny itself without knowing the pain it would cause.” “But through sheer will, she broke it!” The Priestess smiles, her voice having been a murmur drawing you in. “She found a fitting soul and that soul was sent to another dimension before this one to learn about what was to come, so that they could protect her son.” You stagger back. Breath caught in your throat. Blood draining from your face. There’s no way. It can’t be. But everything aligns. It matches perfectly. “W-What happened next?” The woman hums a low note and you realize too late that she’s the former Head Priestess, the one who had just stepped down. “I’m not quite sure what the ending to that story is since that soul wrapped in dark magic is standing right in front of me.” The former Head Priestess smiles gently and turns around, entering inside her abode. She leaves you standing rooted to the ground on your own as it dawns upon you — It was all on purpose. Being reborn into this world. Having memories of your past life. Being burdened with the knowledge of what fates there are, what the future holds. All along, it was to serve your purpose: to protect Taehyung. Your destiny was entangled with him even before this lifetime. But you’ve already failed. You let his mother die. And now his own time is running out. You turn around. The urge to see him overwhelms your very being. You have to tell him how you really feel. You’re not just Anastasia. You’re Y/N. And you won’t allow the original storyline to confine your choices anymore. None of this was an accident. You weren’t messing anything up. None of your actions, your feelings or his are wrong. Nothing was a mistake. You’ll find a way to save Taehyung, to be with him. You have to. In the south courtyard of the cathedral, by sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you see him there. Of all the places of these vast grounds where he could be, you still found him. “Taehyung!” You call out to him and he turns at the sound of your voice. But then your smile falls. Your feet slow. By coincidence, an arrow soars towards him, slicing through the air. You shout at the top of your lungs and Taehung whips his head around. The tip of the arrow freezes an inch away from his nose and clatters to the ground through his magic. But then five more arrows splits the sky and flies towards him. Taehyung dodges, stops another, but one catches him in the arm. He sharply inhales. A scream of his name tears from your throat. Taehyung winces and rips the shaft of the arrow out of his skin. He looks at the tip before throwing it away. He can feel the poison spreading in his veins, bleeding inside of his body. It inhibits his magic and before he can yell at you to get away, another arrow spirals in the horizon. He shuts his eyes. Taehyung feels an impact. But the pain never comes. His eyes shoot open, brows knitting together and his mouth draws open when he sees you. Your arms have wrapped around his body in a warm embrace, shielding him away, protecting him like you were meant to. The end of the arrow has pierced into your shoulder. But you can’t feel it. Taehyung shouts your name and you collapse. He holds your body in his arms, cradling your head against his shoulder as he screams from the pit of his stomach for help. And you watch him through foggy eyes, a smile gracing your lips. You’re glad he’s not hurt. Your hand slowly lifts to caress his cheek and he looks at you. “I….fi..nally came….on time, Tae...hyung.”

#bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x y/n #taehyung angst #taehyung x reader #taehyung scenario #OOOOOoooh #ONLY THE FINALE'S LEFT!

292 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 11: You Don’t Come Around No More]

A/N: I apologize profusely for the long wait. Thank you all so, so, so much for your support. Every single reblog, message, comment, emotional rant, and/or screech of despair makes my day, and I couldn’t do this without you. 💜 Only THREE more chapters left!!!

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “More To Life Than Baseball” by Petey.

Chapter Warnings: Language, angsttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

Word Count: 7.5k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

The Rain

I wish I felt empty.

I’m supposed to feel empty, right? I’m supposed to feel steeped in grey, oceanic misery; I’m supposed to dip in and out of depressive naps all day and sob delicately over creased photos and fading, wistful memories. I always envisioned heartbreak as a soft and inherently feminine sort of affliction: the hems of nightgowns and bathrobes sweeping along hardwood floors, Kleenex boxes and concave couch cushions, weepy phone calls to friends and aunts and mothers, Queen Victoria wearing black for the rest of her life after Prince Albert’s death, Mary Todd Lincoln sinking into dark and hushed obscurity. Women, hollowed out by despair, cross the history of the earth like lines of latitude.

I don’t feel empty at all. I don’t even feel sad. I feel razored by sharp, red, ceaseless anxiety. I am consumed by thoughts of what I did wrong, what I said that started the wheels of doubt spinning in his mind, if he had known how it would end from the start. I dream of white, clawed hands dragging me down through cold waves. I hear words scream to me as I toss at night in my suddenly too-spacious bed, words that now hit me like knuckles to the gut: Shhh, hey, it’s just me, don’t get up, as Joe slipped beneath the Arizonan blankets, wrapped an arm around my waist, kissed my collarbone as I tumbled back into sleep; I love you to death, as his Subaru idled in Charlie’s driveway; Baby Swan, listen to me, nothing is supposed to hurt, okay, so if anything hurts, ever, at all, you tell me and we stop, deal? as we stood in the doorway of our hotel room at the Four Seasons in Chicago. And now...and now...

And now everything fucking hurts.

It doesn’t make any sense; and yet it does. Look at him. Look at me.

The Polaroid photo from Homecoming was still taped to the top of my full-length mirror. I peeled it free like a layer of translucent, friable reptilian skin, tore it straight down the center, burned both halves over a brand new three-wicked, lemon-scented Bath And Body Works candle—a gift from Renee and Paul—and closed my eyes like a child casting a wish over her birthday cake like a spell. I wished for my memories to vanish with the photograph. I wished to get hit by a truck and wake up in the hospital with no recollection of the past two and a half months. I wanted the Lees to dissolve into distant, enigmatic mystery; I wanted to join the rest of Forks in believing that they were nothing more than bewildering and yet harmless freaks, barely worth noticing, one of those glitches of the matrix that were better off ignored like liminal seconds of déjà vu. I wished to carve out every part of myself that they had ever touched.

And Joe’s voice came rushing back from where we stood by that star-lit fountain outside the Church of Saint Lawrence, accompanied by falling raindrops and a crooked grin: I can make wishes come true.

The three tiny flames flickered in the breeze that sighed through my open window. The bright, citrusy scent of the candle reminded me of Lucy. I couldn’t fucking win. What else is new?

I turned back to the mirror. I flinched when my gaze snagged on my reflection: bloodshot-eyed, swollen-faced, utterly unbeautiful, restless like a caged animal. Look at him. Look at me.

I ripped the last memento off the mirror—Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!!—and watched the yellow square of paper catch fire, curl up around the edges, become unrecognizable, turn to ash. And I wished over and over again, like a poem, like a prayer: Let me forget, oh god please let me forget.

Charlie keeps asking if I’m okay. The answer, of course, is no; but I can’t tell him that. So I wear a serene smile like clip-on fangs, a cheap polyester cloak, crimson smudges of lipstick like trails of spilled blood down the side of my neck. Every day is Halloween for me now. I dress up as someone who isn’t haunted, who hasn’t become a ghost.

And when Charlie turns up the World Series or I’d Do Anything For Love on his geriatric, staticky kitchen radio—the same radio he’s had since my mother was the one joining him for daybreak coffee and Pop-Tarts—I choke back tears like dragonfire.

Missing In Action (Revisited)

Joe wasn’t here. Neither was Ben.

Lucy, Rami, and Scarlett were sipping cups of tea at the Lees’ usual table, their eyes downcast, their voices low and murmuring, their pristine lunches neglected. Lucy and Rami were dressed in matching charcoal grey turtleneck sweaters; Scarlett had come from Fencing Club and was wearing royal purple yoga pants and a black tank top, her duffle bag of gear on the floor by her sneakered feet. Her hair was in a long fishtail braid. Archer hadn’t mentioned her since Joe broke up with me. That either meant that it was going blissfully and he didn’t want to injure me further, or that Scarlett had ended things as well.

Since Joe broke up with me. That sounds so fucking pedestrian.

I stared at the three present Lees, almost leered, commanding them to see me, to acknowledge me, to admit that I had once meant something to them, that this hadn’t all been some transitory delusion to fill the cavernous void of losing my home, my life as I knew it in Arizona. They took no notice whatsoever.

Jess kicked me beneath the lunch table. My attention snapped back to her.

“Sorry, what?”

“You want to go shopping with me and Angela tonight?” Jessica’s hands were folded just beneath her chin, her voice gentle, her eyes large and sympathetic and watery. This was her version of being supportive. I appreciated it...in a perpetually tormented and preoccupied sort of way.

“No thanks.” I forked my cold, sauceless spaghetti listlessly. I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I didn’t have an appetite anyway. I had deleted the GrubHub app from my iPhone and had no intention of using it ever again in my comparatively short and calamitous human life.

“You could come to temple this weekend,” Jessica pressed.

“Uh.” Mingling with a churchful of sociable, wholesome, marriage-obsessed adolescent Mormons sounded like the absolute last thing I’d want to spend my evening doing. “That’s a really generous offer, but I’ll pass.”

“Well you have to do something,” Angela said. “You can’t just sit in your bedroom alone all weekend and stare at the wall and wallow in self-pity.”

We’ll see about that. I turned to Jess. “How’s Vodka Boy from your Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class? Did he ever reappear? What’s his name again, Elmo? Ellington? El Chapo?”

“Ellsworth.” She frowned as she slurped her patron-drink-of-Mormons Sprite. “And no, he definitely failed out or overdosed or something, because he never came back.”

“Tragic,” I noted.

“But I’m pretty sure Mike’s coming over this weekend, so we’ll see if I can get some Netflix and chill action going.”

“Jess,” Angela chastised, widening her eyes and nodding to me subtly (but not quite subtly enough). No talking about getting lucky in front of the heartbroken single loser, that look said.

“I think I can be emotionally supportive without taking a goddamn vow of chastity, Angela!” Jessica hurled back.

“I gotta go.” I stood, threw on my backpack, discarded my nearly untouched lunch.

“You’ve barely eaten anything!” Angela protested. “You’ve barely eaten for a week!”

“I’ll live.” I picked my umbrella up off the slippery tile floor—peppered with muddy shoeprints and pearlescent drops of water fallen from coats and limp, sopping locks of hair—and headed out into the pouring rain. I hated the rain. I hated it. Maybe I had forgotten that for a while, but it all came hurtling back now like a hurricane, like a hand cracking across my face. I ached for the desert, for blatant and unapologetic heat, for palm trees and cacti and naked stars in the night sky. I had been researching marine biology graduate programs in the Southwest. There were good ones at UC San Diego, UC Santa Barbara, Texas A&M, the University of Southern California, UCLA. I would miss Charlie and Archer—and maybe Jessica and Angela on occasion—and absolutely nothing else about Forks. At least, that’s what I promised myself.

This is a no-giving-a-fuck-about-Lee-boys zone, I thought morosely.

Ben was brooding at our table in Professor Belvin’s classroom. It was the first time he’d shown up to Chemistry since that day Joe met me on the beach at La Push, since the place I’d once occupied in his universe had closed like a wound. I took my seat beside Ben. The window was shut today, the downpour outside torrential. Ben recoiled, just enough for me to notice; he was wearing his oversized black hoodie and practicing his Welsh, his handwriting messy and unbalanced.

“You could have warned me,” I said.

Ben didn’t glance up from his notebook. “Would that have made it any easier?”

“No,” I realized in defeat. I guess it wouldn’t have. I pulled my own notebook, my favorite pen, and a can of Diet Coke out of my backpack.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ben said. “You really need to know that. It had nothing to do with you. And none of us are happy with the current situation. None of us.”

None of them. That included Joe. “Interestingly, that didn’t stop him from creating it.”

Ben was thoughtful, debating his next words. “We’re probably going to be moving soon.”

“What?” I startled; my turquoise blue pen dropped out of my grasp and rolled across the table. Ben snatched it up and returned it to me. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“And what, just redo this whole college thing?”

Ben shrugged. “We’ll probably start our junior years over again. Gwil will say there was some horrible family tragedy and we needed a few semesters off. I could use the extra time to figure out Calc anyway. Parametric equations make me want to kill myself.”

I just stared at him. It didn’t make any sense. “But...why would the whole family leave Forks? Because of me? One pathetic, aggrieved human? Do you all pack up and relocate every time Joe fucks and dumps someone? That must be exhausting.”

“It’s better for everyone if we get some distance. Put more space between our world and yours.”

“But...” I tried to imagine never seeing any of them again: no Mercy humming merrily as she tossed handfuls of homegrown carrots to the alpacas, no Dr. Lee dabbing away my blood with an ageless sort of patience, no Scarlett or Lucy or Rami, no brief glimpses of Joe as he avoided me in the campus library. It’s exactly what I wanted; and yet it wasn’t. It so, so, so, so wasn’t. It keeps getting worse. How is that possible? My voice was flimsy and quivering, absolutely pitiful. Disgustingly pitiful. “Who will be my lab partner?”

Ben peered over at me with wide, confused green eyes. And then—gingerly, awkwardly, like holding an acquaintance’s baby for the first time—he laid his hand over mine. “I’ll miss you too.”

Professor Belvin lectured about coordinate covalent bonds. I didn’t absorb a word. I conjugated Italian verbs with my turquoise blue pen, sketched disordered whirlpools of ink, tried not to think about whether this was my last-ever Chemistry class with Ben, whether it was my last-ever weekend sharing Forks with the Lees. Those rageful, frantic thoughts were back. What did I do wrong? What didn’t I do right? Why did he have to leave?

My nomadic gaze caught on a flier on the wall next to our misted window. I had assumed it was a leaflet for some club or protest or seasonal dance that I would definitely not attend, but it wasn’t. It was a missing poster.

Have you seen this student? the flier asked in bold, businesslike black font. It was urgent, but not quite despairing; not yet, anyway. I could hear a Dean of Student Affairs cajoling some affluent, strings-of-pearls-adorned mother over the phone: Yes ma’am, you have my full attention and I can assure you that we’re very concerned, but I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding...he’s probably gone backpacking or sailing with some friends and forgotten to call home. You know how college students can be. Beneath a large photo of a grinning blond kid—pink polo, flushed cheeks, clever crop job to nix a can of Natty Light clutched in one fist—was a name: Ellsworth Jonathan Griffin.

Ellsworth, I thought, my stomach plummeting. The guy from Jessica’s Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class. He hadn’t failed out. He was missing. Missing like a 20/20 episode or a true crime podcast, missing like the pregnant stillness before a murder is confessed in some glaringly florescent-lit interrogation room, before a distended and bloodless corpse washes up on shore.

I turned to Ben. He noticed me eventually, crinkled his brow, shrugged in that way that seemed so petulant if you didn’t know him well enough to not be offended.

I pointed to the flier and raised my eyebrows. Ben twisted around in his chair to look. Then he sighed, scribbled a sentence in the corner of a piece of notebook paper, tore it free, and slid it across the table.

Ben’s note read, in atrocious penmanship: Are you seriously asking me if I ate that guy?

Maybe, I wrote back after a moment’s hesitation. Maybe that wasn’t exactly what I was asking; maybe I just wondered if he knew anything about it.

In either case, Ben’s reply was swift and resounding, and underlined three times: No.

Sorry, I wrote, abruptly remorseful. I am a jerk. And I added a frowny face for good measure. Ben chuckled when he saw it, shook his head, gave me a drawn little smirk. His words tiptoed around in my skull, leaving searing imprints like footprints in the sand. I’ll miss you too.

I have to forget about them. I drummed my turquoise blue pen against my notebook as Professor Belvin drew families of molecules on the whiteboard with squealing dry erase markers. I have to find a way to make myself forget.

Jessica was waiting for me in the hallway after class. It was part of her convince-Baby-Swan-not-to-jump-off-a-cliff initiative. “Hey.”

“Okay,” I told her with steely resolve. “I’m ready for you to set me up with one of those guys from your church or temple or whatever. I’m ready to be a nice wholesome wife, pop out like six kids, learn how to scrapbook, give up caffeine and horror movies, do the whole white picket fence thing. Sign me up.”

Jessica blinked at me. There were flecks of fallen mascara on her cheekbones like ashes. “What?”

“You’re a Mormon, right?”

“Girl, I’m not a Mormon,” Jessica said, puzzled. “I’m a witch.”

Lucille

I found Joe where he usually was these days: sprawled on the sofa, engulfed in the same blue Snuggie he’d been wearing for thirty-six uninterrupted hours, gazing catatonically at the big-screen tv. A 90 Day Fiancé marathon was on. Some rodentish guy named Colt was apologizing to his gorgeous, aspiring-green-card-holding Brazilian love interest for calling the cops on her during their last screaming match. He was also apologizing for the fact that they lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his mother. I didn’t need clairvoyance to see where their future was headed.

“Hey,” Ben said when he spotted me. He was sitting next to Joe and occasionally tried to shove pieces of popcorn into his mouth, which Joe accepted passively like coins plinked into a gumball machine. Ben had been his shadow for the past week; he was perhaps the best equipped of us to understand this degree of melancholy, of hopelessness.

“Ciao.” And then, to Joe: “How are you?”

“Terrible,” he replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv.

“I figured.” I squeezed between them on the couch, curled up next to Joe, rested my chin on his shoulder. He ignored me completely. I could hear Mercy tapping at her laptop keyboard out in the dining room; she was browsing through Zillow listings in Portland, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Cleveland. Dear god, please don’t let us end up in fucking Cleveland. “Guess what.”

Joe stared at the tv for a long time before he answered. “What.”

“I had a vision of you. Just now, as I was doing laundry. Crystal clear and very scenic too, I might add.”

“Fascinating,” Joe said flatly.

“What happened in this vision?” Ben asked, far more invested, which I was thankful for.

“It was pretty far away, maybe a year from now. I saw you in the desert at night, under a full moon. There were cacti everywhere. The shadow of the Milky Way was threaded through the sky, and the stars were very bright. I could make out the constellations Pegasus and Cassiopeia. You were filling up a tiny glass bottle with dirt.”

“That’s remarkably helpful,” Joe said.

“It is, a little bit,” I insisted. “It means you get through this. That you have a future. I get nervous when I go too long without a vision of someone in the family. But now I know you’re going to be okay.”

The reflections of the feuding 90 Day Fiancé couples danced in his glassy eyes. “Being alive doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

“That’s dark,” Ben said. “Even I think that’s too dark.” He pushed a handful of popcorn into Joe’s mouth. “Are you gonna hunt at some point or what?”

“No.”

“You’re just gonna sit on this couch and waste away?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to bring you anything? Grizzly bear? Brown bear? Fuck it, I’ll get you a polar bear if that’s what you want. There’s probably some on the black market. Rami would know.”

“He what?” Mercy called from the kitchen. Her typing had stopped.

“Nothing, Mom!” I shot back.

“I don’t want anything,” Joe said. That was a lie, of course. We all knew what he wanted. Rami couldn’t stand to be around him; the thoughts were relentless, smothering.

I linked my arms around Joe’s neck, laid my head against his chest, sighed deeply and mournfully. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. But I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll help however I can. We all will.”

And I had accepted that Joe wasn’t going to respond at all when he finally whispered: “I just wish I could forget.”

Cato

My rolling suitcase snagged on the cobblestone driveway. The tiny spinning wheels bashed against concrete as I scaled the front steps. As the taxi pulled away, I dug around in my suit pocket for my keys, found them, unlocked the enormous front door, stepped inside the palace as my suitcase trolled along the marble floor.

“Cato’s back!” Charity announced as she breezed down the nearest staircase, beaming and embracing me. She was a lovely, innately warm woman from Pointe-Noire, Congo; she still wore the silver cross necklace her mother had once given her around her neck. “Did you have a nice flight? Wait, let me check.” She pressed the fingertips of her right hand to my cheek. I felt the memories rush up like blood to a flushed face: the bite of sipped champagne against my tongue, the thin semi-transparent newspaper pages gliding between my fingers, the husky voice of the bearded, bearish naval officer who sat in the seat beside me, the misted silhouette of Vladivostok as it rose up out of the Pacific Ocean. “Uneventful, but pleasant enough. You flew commercial?”

“The jets were otherwise occupied, apparently.” Charity could see things with the predictability and precision that Lucy so often lacked, but only the past. I pushed her hand away. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re not mad,” Charity declared, confident, impish, helping me shed my suit jacket and draping it over her arm. “You’re never mad.”

She was very nearly correct. “Where are the rest of the kids?”

“In the kitchen. Go say hello, they’ve missed you dreadfully.”

“I know the feeling.” I kicked off my Berlutis, ran a palm over the wiry fur of the Irish Wolfhounds that appeared to greet me before they resumed padding watchfully around the palace, and went to the kitchen, my black socks slipping a bit on the marble floors.

I could hear their voices before I reached the door: laughter, teasing, complaints, requests. The scents of pancakes and cold butter and maple syrup were thick in the air. Charity was one of our four newest recruits, and they all still had that energetic lightness of being human, a youthful enthusiasm, a relative normalness. I spent quite a lot of time with them. It was my job—to help with the transition, to keep them happy, to facilitate the welding of their individual parts into the beastly machine that was the Draghi—but oftentimes it felt more like a reprieve. Some would stay close to me as they matured, others would grow in different directions, like ambitious vines climbing the skeleton of a garden trellis. I usually missed them when they ‘grew up,’ so to speak...although there were exceptions. I had never liked Liesl. I had always liked Ben. I opened the door.

“Ah, you are home!” Ksenia cried from where she stood over the stove, a spatula in her right hand, bouncing excitedly in place on her small bare feet.

“Hey!” Max and Austin called together. They were both sitting with their shoes propped up on the unglamorous kitchen table. There was a massive formal dining room that could accommodate up to twenty-five guests, but we rarely used it.

“Good morning,” I said, aware that I was smiling for the first time in days.

Max groaned as he scrolled through his Google search results on a burner phone. “What the fuck. My name is one of the top five dog names again. I think I’m gonna have to change it.”

I ruffled his long blond hair, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate. Max had grown up a trust fund kid in Perth, Australia. His mother was old money; his father was a professional surfer. “Your name is fine.”

“Really, Kato Kaelin? Is it really? How am I supposed to intimidate people when I have a fucking dog name?”

“So make them call you Maximilian,” offered Ksenia in a heavy Ukrainian accent. She’d only been with us for eight months, but her English was coming along swimmingly. She flipped a massive A-shaped pancake on the sizzling griddle. That one was for Austin.

“Seriously?” Max said. “That is just way too many syllables. They’ll be halfway down the block by the time I’m done introducing myself. ‘Hey, come back mate, I haven’t killed ya yet.’”

“At least you aren’t stuck with a basic-white-boy-circa-1992 name for all of eternity,” said Austin Tyler McInerny, originally of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. He was chomping on a multicolored Fruit Roll-Up, which swung from his mouth like a lizard’s tongue. He’d been working at an ailing skatepark when Larkin found him. He still enjoyed showing off his kickflips, and kept insisting that he was going to teach me how to ollie. I didn’t have the faintest idea what an ollie was.

“Do you want a pancake, Cato?” Ksenia asked, passing Austin his plate and wiping her hands on her pink apron. Her black hair was tied in a high ponytail with a matching rose-colored ribbon. She looked so young. She was so young, actually. Nineteen. And she would be forever.

“No, thank you dear. I’m alright.”

“I like Alaric,” Max decided. “First king of the Visigoths. Alaric is a name fit for a vampire. Creepy, yet dignified. Or maybe Silas. Or Draco.”

Austin shook his head as he swirled a river of viscous maple syrup over his A-shaped pancake. “Definitely not Draco.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the Harry Potter connection is unfortunate. People will hear Draco and think of that obnoxious white-haired kid from the evil snake-people house or whatever.”

“Oh, right,” Max sighed. “Like I said. Alaric would work.”

“So many A-shaped pancakes!” Ksenia poured a K on the griddle for herself.

“It’s good for you,” Austin replied, pointing at her with his fork. “We’re practicing English.”

“Alaric Luther,” Max mused, scrolling through his phone. I didn’t think he’d find that on any list of trendy dog names. “Alaric Lothaire...Alaric Lucian...”

“I like your name, Max,” Larkin said from the doorway. None of us had heard him arrive. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing a deep maroon suit and a ring on every finger, grinning hugely. He was exactly as I remembered him: stunning, captivating, terrifying. The kitchen fell quiet. I could smell Ksenia’s pancake beginning to burn.

At last Max chuckled nervously, pushing soggy pancake hunks around on his plate with his fork, averting his gaze. “Guess I’ll keep it then.”

“I thought I heard you come in,” Larkin told me.

“It’s always a pleasure to be home.”

He nodded out towards the hallway. “Come. Regale me with the stories of your travels.” Then his eyes flicked down to my socks, and he grimaced—slightly, briefly—before turning away. “And find your shoes.”

I followed him through the hallway, the living room, the grand front foyer with the crystal chandelier, into the elevator. Larkin did not speak, but he hummed as we ascended: House Of The Rising Sun.

It hadn’t always been like this. It was difficult for me to pick out the details of what had changed—the tone of his voice, the proportion of wonder and gratitude I associated with him versus fear, the way this palace (or the one in Reykjavik, or Juneau, or Ivalo, or Murmansk, or any of the others) felt when I stepped inside it—but I knew something had. It had begun before Ben left. It was much worse now. Older vampires, in my fairly learned opinion, are something like the stars. They mellow as they age, temper their character flaws, grow wise and patient like Nikolai or Honora or Gwilym Lee; or they rage until they burn away every last atom of humanity, until they destroy themselves and take entire solar systems down with them. Increasingly, I harbored fears that Larkin was a vampire of the latter variety. And we were all his planets.

In his study, Larkin dropped into the chair behind his desk, brought a hand to his forehead, surveyed a disarrayed flurry of papers: letters, notices, deeds and titles, meticulously managed accounts of finances and disciplinary actions. Larkin had a laptop and burner phone, of course, as we all did; but he liked to work in paper as much as possible. That’s how he’d done things for centuries, since long before the name of the inventor of the internet (or harnessed electricity, for that matter) was a whisper on his parents’ lips. The sky outside was clouded and seeping soft rain.

“Things have been busy?” I ventured.

He frowned, gesturing to the cluttered desk. “I’m in purgatory.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Can I help?”

“The Lancaster coven says they’ll need an extension for their dues. That’s the second year in a row, now it’s not just an exception, it’s a precedent. If you let one coven bend the rules, others will follow. So something will have to be done. Then there’s Stockholm. Anders’ coven has eaten a few too many locals—including the mayor’s favorite niece—and now the city is launching an investigation. Fucking idiots. They’ll probably all have to relocate. There’s some new territory dispute in Lima between Alejandro’s coven and a group of strangers that just came out of the Andes. We’ll have to make their acquaintance, of course. And as if all that weren’t enough, Rigel accidentally fed on a heroin addict and he’s currently detoxing in a cell in the basement. Would you check on him for me? I’m sure your presence will be a...” He waved his hand distractedly, almost dismissively, searching for the words. “A comfort to him.”

“Of course.”

“How are the Lees?”

“Fine. Typical. Gwil’s putting in a lot of hours at the hospital. Rami’s planning to get another law degree. Ben is, uh, adjusting. Slowly, very slowly. He’s not particularly content. But he hasn’t murdered anyone that I’m aware of.”

“How nice.” Now his eyes darted up to catch mine: focused, luminous, unreadable. “Nothing new at all?”

And instantly, I wanted to tell him everything. I forgot why I had ever planned to blunt the girl’s existence, to conceal her talent entirely; I felt her name rising in my throat. And then I remembered again. I’m doing this for Gwil, for Ben.

I pretended to ponder Larkin’s question, as if it was so difficult to remember, as if there was nothing left to sift through but a trunkful of mundane details from the trip like a grandfather’s tattered correspondence and tarnished war relics. That was something an average family might have squirreled away in their attic, I assumed; I’d never met my own grandfather, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have had anything to leave me if I had. “Joe’s got some new girlfriend, but I don’t think it’s serious. I doubt she’ll be around long. You know how Joe is. Scarlett’s seeing someone too, actually. A Quileute kid.”

“Poor boy.” And Larkin grinned like a shark beneath burning eyes. “He’s in for a lifetime of disappointment. Who will ever be able to hold a candle to those memories?”

Larkin had a moderate preoccupation with Scarlett’s beauty, her...tenacity. Her lack of talent was a great disappointment to him, a somehow more egregious fault than Joe or Gwil or Mercy’s. What a shame, Larkin often said. And I believed I knew what came after in his mind, although never aloud: What a partner she could have been.

He was still grinning at me. His expression was hollow, vacuous. A shiver clawed down my spine. He was waiting for something. No, he was searching. I stared back, and I willed for that intangible, contagious harmony I carried around like a wedding ring to hit him like carbon monoxide or bromine: undetected and yet inexorable, knocking him off his path of inquisition.

What does he suspect? What does he already know?

“Anyway,” Larkin continued abruptly, turning his attention back to his paperwork. “I’m glad there’s nothing to worry about in Forks. Liesl will be back in the next few days, Rigel will be ready to work again, I’ll come up with a plan to handle all this and my mood will improve tremendously.”

And where has Liesl been? I almost asked; and then I didn’t. It was a good sign that she was coming home. I had looked for her once while I was in Forks. When I made up my mind to find someone—when that switch flipped in my skull or in the tangle of nerves of my solar plexus or wherever it lived—it wasn’t like poking around on Google Earth: zooming in here, scrolling over there. A goldish trail lit up on the floor, a ‘Yellow Brick Road’ Honora and I sometimes joked, and I followed it. And I had no way of knowing how far that trail might lead. A route heading dead east from the palace might stop in the next town over or continue across the Pacific Ocean; my search might last one day or a hundred. In Forks—as I perched in a soaring western hemlock tree in the forest outside the Lee residence on a cool October evening—Liesl’s trail had led north. North to Vancouver, to Victoria, to Dawson, to Alaska? Who the fuck knew. I was just relieved it hadn’t led to the tree next to mine.

“Well, as always, I’m happy to assist however I can,” I told Larkin. “Just let me know and I’ll be on the next flight out of Vladivostok.”

“I appreciate that, Cato.” He smiled, paternally this time. And then he spun his chair around to peer out the window into the episodic flares of lightning that illuminated great dark clouds like neurons in a celestial brain. I hate thunderstorms. They remind me of South Carolina. “But I think you’ve earned a rest.”

After checking in on Rigel—irritable, frenetic, pacing, and yet predictably pacified somewhat by my visit—I trotted up the main staircase to the second floor of the palace. I found her in our bedroom: sitting at her easel, a paintbrush held in one graceful hand, an image like a photograph on the canvas. I promptly pried off my Berlutis for the second time today and tossed them into the closet.

“Ciao, amore,” I said.

“Ciao!” Honora replied, beaming. Her curly brunette hair was pinned up and away from her face; wayward tendrils spiraled down to brush her bare shoulder blades, the back of her neck. “Just give me five minutes...I have to finish the shadow of this tree...”

There weren’t many in the Draghi who survived the transition from Nikolai’s leadership to Larkin’s, but Honora had. She was gentle to a fault, a hopeless warrior, turned into an immortal on her forty-fourth birthday when Rome was still an empire; and she was without any talents whatsoever, except for one which was useless in combat. Her paintings, drawings, and sculptures adorned every palace the Draghi owned. Each year, Larkin would ask her to paint all of us together, incorporating any new faces, erasing the memories of those who had proven themselves unworthy. One such portrait, I knew, hung in Gwilym Lee’s home office.

I went to the woman I called my wife, laid my palms on her shoulders, leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Take your time, love.”

“Everything’s alright?” Honora asked, looking hopefully up at me with large, wide-set jade eyes. No, not just hopefully. Trustingly.

“Everything’s alright,” I agreed, not knowing if I believed it.

Shadows And Spells

“He just...just...disappeared?!” Jessica sputtered, scandalized, gaping at me as she held a Styrofoam cup of spiked apple cider in her clasped hands.

We were on a quilt near the outskirts of the sea of beach towels and blankets that circled the bonfire. Women—wearing flowing dresses or robes or tunics or not very much at all—flounced around the flames banging tambourines and reciting chants that I didn’t know the words to. Some carried torches, beacons of heat and light in the darkness. Jessica was wearing a short black shirt, fishnet tights, and a black crop-top turtleneck sweater; I had opted for a bohemian blue dress patterned with stars, an old thrift shop find and the closest thing I owned to Wiccan festivities apparel. I had a cup of hot apple cider as well, enhanced with a generous splash of Captain Morgan, but hadn’t quite conjured up the rebelliousness to drink it yet.

I suddenly recalled Mercy bringing me an endless supply of virgin autumnal sangrias as Joe and I swam in the hot tub on the Lees’ back porch. As soon as you turn twenty-one, you can have the real thing. I frowned, shuddered, took a bitter and burning sip.

“Yeah,” I replied. “He told his roommate he was going to a frat party or something and never showed up and never made it back home either. The parents are blaming the university, the university is insisting he must be off with a girlfriend or on some hipster soul-searching nature adventure or whatever, it’s a mess.”

“Jesus,” she murmured. “What does your dad say?”

“He’s been helping the state police with the investigation. There’s really no evidence of anything. No witnesses, no footprints, no surveillance footage, no handy anonymous tips...”

“No body,” Jessica finished.

“That’s morbid.” I downed the rest of my cider. Was the world already beginning to list like a ship on choppy waves, or was that just my imagination? I guess it would be possible. I’d barely eaten all day.

“You were thinking it.”

“Well, one’s mind does tend to wander towards homicide under such circumstances.”

“It is the season of the dead.” She grinned wickedly, then took my empty cup. “He’s probably fine. I bet he wants to drop out to become a weed farmer and hasn’t worked up the guts to tell his parents yet. You want another?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” Jess rose to balance on black boots with five-inch heels and staggered off to the foldable table piled high with cans and bottles and snacks. I was getting the impression that her Wiccanism was more of a novelty than a spiritual commitment.

The season of the dead. Now that’s VERY morbid.

There were some guys laughing, smoking home-rolled cigarettes, and toasting glasses of red wine on a nearby mandala blanket, bespectacled intellectual types who were probably getting PhDs in Anthropology or Medieval Studies at the University of Washington. One of them—curly-haired, pale-eyed, wearing a sweater vest and a cautious smile—raised his wine glass in my direction. I waved back without much enthusiasm.

“He’s cute, right?” Jessica asked, plopping back down onto our quilt and shoving a full cup of spiked cider into my grasp. She motioned for me to drink. I did. “That’s Sebastian, but he likes to be called Bash. He’s twenty-three and speaks fluent German.”

“Charming.”

“He’s very...uh...gifted. I’m not saying I know from personal experience, but I’ve heard it from a very reliable source. And his parents own a beach house in Monterey. You could go skinny-dipping.”

“In the ocean?” The world was definitely wobbling now. I was warm all over, numbed, fuzzy; it was becoming difficult to picture Joe’s face, to hear his voice. This was good. I kept drinking. “No thanks. Too many sharks. They have great whites down there.”

Jess tossed her long, loose hair and sighed impatiently. “I’m just saying that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. So you should pursue that.”

“I’ll totally consider it.” I lied. I would not consider it.

She smiled, sympathetically, fondly. “I can’t believe you thought I was a Mormon.”

“I can’t believe I’m out in the Washington wilderness commemorating the Gaelic festival of Samhain, but here we all are.”

Jess glanced over my shoulder. “Oh my god. He’s coming over here.”

“Ugh.” I craned my neck to see. Sebastian—whoops, my mistake, Bash—was approaching. “Please distract him. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Also I’m pretty sure I’m getting drunk and I don’t want to do anything humiliating, like sob uncontrollably about how much I miss my ex-boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry. I gotchu, Baby Swan.”

“Hey Jess,” Bash said, but he was looking at me. He pitched his cigarette off into the trees. What the fuck, who does that?

“Only you can prevent forest fires,” I told him in a woozy, mock-Smokey Bear voice.

“What?” he asked, baffled.

“Ignore her, she’s drunk,” Jess said quickly. “So what’s up? Come on, sit with me. Keep me toasty. Teach me some German...”

As they chatted and giggled and snuggled closer together—I’m starting to think that Jessica might have been her own reliable source—I studied the forest, watching to make sure the cigarette didn’t begin to smolder in the damp brush. The voices and crackling of the bonfire and sharp ringing of the tambourines faded into one muted, uniform drone. The trees reeled in the haze of the spiked cider; the cool wind moaned through them. And then, for only a second: a glimpse of something impossibly quick, something silvery and reedy and sunless.

What was that?

I blinked. It was gone. I blinked again, staring penetratingly. The swarming heat from the cider evaporated from my skin, my blood. There were goosebumps rising all over me.

What the hell was that?

I remembered how Calawah University students sometimes reacted to Ben: flinching, withdrawing, autonomically fearing him on some primal, evolutionary level. They knew he was a predator. They knew they were prey. It was chillingly similar to what I was feeling now.

I have to get out of here. I have to go home.

I shot to my feet. Oh, wrong move, that was too quick. I swayed, and Jessica reached up to steady me. “Are you—?!”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I gotta go home now.”

“What?! We just got here! Look, chill out, let me get you some vegan samosas or something—”

“No, seriously, I have to go.”

“Okay, okay,” Jessica conceded. “I’ll finish my drink and we’ll call an Uber, alright?”

“Really?” Bash asked, crestfallen.

“I’ll call an Uber,” I told Jess. “You stay, I’ll go.” Maybe she shouldn’t stay, I thought foggily, irrationally. Maybe it’s not safe.

“I can’t let you go alone. I got you drunk and now you’re a mess and if you end up murdered it would be my fault. There are unsolved mysteries going around, you know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Girl, there’s no way I’m gonna—”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get in the Uber and I’ll stay on until I’m physically inside my house, okay?”

Jessica considered this. Bash leaned in to nibble her ear. I could smell the red wine and nicotine and animalistic lust sweating out of his pores. And unexpectedly, agonizingly: a biting flare, a muscle memory, Joe’s fingertips skimming down the small of my back and his scent like winter nights saturating the capillary beds of my lungs. Stop, stop, stop. “Okay,” Jess agreed at last.

“Awesome.” I was already opening the Uber app on my iPhone.

My driver was a Pacific Northwestern version of Santa Claus: wild grey beard, red flannel, L.L.Bean boots, rambling about his upcoming trip to hunt caribou in British Columbia. I honored my promise to Jessica and kept her on speakerphone for the duration of the twenty-minute drive. I rested my whirling head against the seat, let my eyes dip closed, watched the intermittent streetlights appear and disappear through my eyelids. I let myself into Charlie’s house when I arrived, wished Jessica goodnight (and reminded her not to get pregnant), and meandered clumsily into the kitchen for a glass of water and a cookie dough Pop-Tart to ward off a possible hangover. Charlie was snoring quietly on the living room couch. I watched him for a while, smiling and achingly grateful, before heading upstairs to my bedroom.

My window was wide open; that’s the first thing I noticed. I didn’t remember leaving it that way. I was always neglecting to lock the window, sure—I kept forgetting that there was no one to leave it unlocked for anymore—but I hadn’t left it open when I went to meet Jessica this evening. Icy night air flooded in. The stars were bright and furious in an uncommonly clear sky.

“You trying to give me pneumonia, old man?” I muttered, thinking of Charlie. I tossed my iPhone down onto my bed and crossed the room to close the window. And as it creaked and collided with the sill, I heard my closet door open behind me.

Someone’s here. Someone’s in this room with me.

I turned, very slowly; it felt like it took a lifetime. She was standing in the doorway of my closet, sinuous and white-haired, wearing black leather pants and stiletto heels and a long-sleeved lace blouse the color of blood, the color of her eyes. And she was harrowingly beautiful; not like Lucy or Mercy, not like Scarlett. She was beautiful like a prehistoric jawbone, like a serrated crescent moon, like a blade.

The owl. The goddamn albino owl.

I recognized her immediately. I heard Joe’s words as he introduced each vampire in the immense painting hanging in Dr. Lee’s upstairs office to me, though I desperately didn’t want to: She’s literally Satan, only blonder.

Her name tumbled from my trembling lips. “Liesl.”

“Wonderful, we can skip the introductions.” Her voice was like windchimes, cutting and brisk, with a hint of an Austrian accent like a shadow. Now she was at my bedside and picking up my phone, scrolling through it with lightning-quick and dexterous thumbs. “Hm. No texts from any of the Lees in the past week. So we don’t have to worry about them dropping by, I suppose. Joe got bored with you already, huh?”

“Evidently.” My own voice was brittle, anemic, weak; just like my ineffectual human body.

“That’s quick, even for him. How sad.” She sighed, tucking my iPhone into her red Chanel purse. “There’s a private jet waiting at the Forks Airport. Pack a bag. You have five minutes.”

“Please don’t hurt my dad,” I whispered, scalding tears brimming in my eyes.

“Of course not,” Liesl replied with a savage, saccharine smile. “Not yet, anyway.”

51 notes · View notes

dindjarindiaries · 4 years

Text

Thunder - Chapter 5: Wind

gif via @pascalplease

summary: With graduation and summer right around the corner, Frankie and Luciana find it harder than ever to keep their feelings for each other repressed.

warnings: mentions of parental death, so much pining, light angst, light fluff

rating: R

word count:

masterlist

chapter 5: wind

Today isn’t an easy day for Frankie. But he rarely has easy days, anyway. Today is just especially hard.

It’s been seven years to the day since Frankie’s mom passed away, and while it does get a little bit easier with each passing year, the wound still feels fresh. There’s a ring his mom always used to wear with his birthstone on it, and today, he finds himself taking it out of the small box of personal knick-knacks he keeps on his dresser. It’s attached to a chain that he can wear around his neck. He clips it in place, his fingers gliding down the silver chain until they reach the ring that hangs there. Frankie closes his eyes and lifts it to his lips. As if in a silent prayer, Frankie remembers the last time he saw his mom, promising her that he wouldn’t let her down and would accomplish his dream of learning how to fly.

Frankie sits down at his small desk meant for work and instead reaches into the lock-drawer, taking out a black leather journal that sits inside. He flips open the first page like he always does to see his mom’s handwriting, addressed directly to him. Francisco Morales, it reads, to write to me while I’m away. You’ll always have me, lovebug. Frankie smiles in a bittersweet way as he reads his mom’s endearment for him. He used to be so embarrassed by it back then, and now, it would mean the world to hear it again.

There’s a black silk marker that tells Frankie where he’ll be writing next. He picks up his pen and opens it to that page, seeing his last entry that’s dated a few weeks back—just before the semi-formal had happened. So much has gone on inside his head and heart since then, and he wonders how he’ll get it all on paper to his mom before his hand gives out. Frankie begins to write.

Mom,

I miss you a lot today. Well, I’ve been missing you a lot lately. Truth is, there’s been a lot happening since last time I wrote, and I really wish you were here to help me through it.

Frankie pauses to sigh, thinking about how he wants to word the rest. He presses the end of the pen against his pursed lips, staring blankly at the wall ahead before he decides on how to continue.

I think I might be in love, Mom. I’m not sure. Santi told me it’s complicated. I believe him. But that’s the problem. I told him I wouldn’t do anything with Luci, but you see Mom, that’s exactly it. I think I love her.

Seeing the words written on paper makes Frankie panic for a moment, and he stops to catch his breath as he reads them over and over. Does he really? Maybe he’s just being dramatic. Luciana’s been there a lot for him in the past few months, and that’s probably why he thinks he’s in love with her. She’s just been nice and a lot of people aren’t. But then his mind always go back to the night at the bar and the semi-formal and he remembers how damn beautiful she is and how her gaze glittered at him so affectionately and Frankie’s sure that he’s in deep for her.

I don’t know if she feels the same way, but I think she might. Maybe. There’s something weighing so heavy when we’re together and I think that’s it. But I’m not sure. I wish you were here to tell me if it is.

Frankie sighs, taking a second to put down the pen and run his hands down his face. He folds them together and rests his chin on top of them. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He’d been so sure when Santiago talked to him that he wasn’t going to reach this point with Luciana, but here is he, feeling as if he can’t breathe whenever she’s not around. The thought of never telling her and losing her once college ends freaks him out so badly that there’s a change to his breathing pattern. He forces himself to relax and picks the pen back up.

I don’t know what to do, Mom, because I don’t want to break my word to Santi but I can’t let Luci go. She’s an amazing woman, Mom. You’d love her. I wish you guys met. Her and Santi were always there for me when you left. She knows me almost better than I know myself, a lot like you always did. I can’t lose her like I lost you, and I won’t. Somehow, I’ll figure it out. But enough of my crises.

Frankie takes a deep breath and tries to look to the positives for once.

I graduate in a few weeks. Then, I’m off to finally do it: I’m gonna get my piloting license. I hope you’d be proud of me. Luci always says you would.

He pauses to smile at that.

I can’t wait to start flying, Mom. I’ll be so close to you when I do. Will you tell me which star’s yours, so I can try to take it? Or when you’re near a cloud, so I can wave at you? I’m 22 now, I know I can’t actually take a star, especially when I’m just flying a little plane or a helicopter, but I’d try for you.

Frankie swallows hard, willing himself not to get emotional as he writes his closing words.

I miss you so much, Mom. I hope you’ve had a good seven years of rest. I hated seeing you suffer. I’ll see you again someday. I love you so much.

Love, Francisco (your lovebug)

Frankie puts a kiss to the paper before he marks and closes it, setting it back inside his lock drawer. He moves from his desk chair to his bed, sitting on top of it as he holds the ring between his fingers again. His gaze is empty as it stares at the wall across from him. Just like he does every year since her passing, Frankie waits to see if he’ll somehow hear her voice talk to him again. It hasn’t happened yet, but maybe seven’s a lucky number.

Instead of a voice, though, he hears a gentle knock against his door. Frankie blinks a few times and looks over, dropping the ring and letting it knock against his t-shirt covered chest as he calls for his unexpected guest to come in. His heart flutters when he meets Luciana’s concerned gaze, her brown eyes sparkling with a sadder look than usual as she leans against his doorway.

“Hey,” Luciana greets softly, her voice as soft as the blanket at the foot of Frankie’s bed as she speaks. “I just wanted to come and see how you were doing.”

Frankie shrugs. “I wrote,” he answers simply. He’d told her about the journal a long time ago.

Luciana offers a small smile in response. “That’s good. I bet she’s already read it.”

“I hope so.” Frankie lets out a deep breath and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, watching as his sock-covered feet meet the floor. “I just wish I could get a response.”

“Remember what I said.” Luciana walks over to him, pointing towards the left part of his chest. “Her response is in there.”

Frankie gives her a weak smile, the best one he can manage right now. He doesn’t tell her that he needs more than just a feeling to guide him this time around, that the advice he’s seeking is more complicated than that. There’s no use—and he’s not looking to embarrass himself. “I know.”

Luciana’s smile widens a bit as she takes a soft breath, looking into Frankie’s eyes with a tenderness that almost has him weak in the knees. “Listen… you don’t have to say yes, because I know that it’s hard to do anything today, but if you wanted to get out for a little bit, I’d love to treat us to some ‘shakes to get your mind off things.”

Frankie tries to bite back another smile at her proposition. It’s… adorable. Sweet. There’s no better words for it and it makes Frankie’s chest ache in a good way. “You know, I’d really like that, Luce.”

When Luciana’s gaze begins to glitter up at Frankie, he swears he loses his breath for a moment. “Great! I’ll go get my wallet—the guys aren’t here, they wanted to let you have some privacy in the house, but I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

Frankie knows his expression is nothing short of grateful. “Thank you, Luce. That means a lot.”

Luciana gives her hand a nonchalant wave, though Frankie can see the deeper truth within her dark eyes. She turns and heads downstairs, and Frankie releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as he reaches for his boots. There’s a warmth that’s replaced the emptiness in his chest, and for a moment, he wonders if Luciana’s words are right. Maybe he’s getting his response from his mom—and she��s telling him that this is the way to go.

Frankie makes quick work of his getting-ready routine and soon joins Luciana downstairs. She holds her wallet out with a cheesy smile, causing Frankie to chuckle as she leads them out of the house, locking it behind them.

“I hope you didn’t dare bringing your wallet, Francisco,” Luciana says, and Frankie snorts as he digs one of his hands into his pocket and lets the other swing alongside him. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you pay for a single cent of these frozen bitches.”

“Did you just call milkshakes ‘frozen bitches?’” Frankie laughs, his smile widening when he hears Luciana’s laughter beside him. “You’re crazy.”

“I know. Learned it from some of the best.” Luciana gives Frankie a warm look and a smile as they head off for the dive, her gaze trailing down to Frankie’s swinging arm. His follows hers, and he watches as she slowly inches her hand closer to his. “So…” Luciana pauses, threading her fingers through his until their hands are entwined. Frankie feels a lump in his throat—but not a bad one. “… if your mom was coming with us, what kind of milkshake do you think she’d order? I think she’d have taste and order the Luci special.”

Frankie’s still trying to adjust to the feeling of her hand in his—something he’s only felt once before, that night on the roof after the semi-formal—as he thinks of a response. “Sorry to tell you, but she was a vanilla person. Probably would’ve gone apeshit for a good cookies ‘n cream milkshake.”

Luciana shrugs. “Can’t blame her. That’s a classic—and they make it real fuckin’ good over here.”

Frankie gasps overdramatically as he looks over at her with a dropped jaw. “You’ve had something other than your Luci special? How’s that possible?”

“It’s called the road to experimenting before the creation of the Luci special,” Luciana answers with a playful roll of her eyes. “How was I supposed to strike gold on my first try?”

“Dunno. At least you have it now—and got to try something else before that.”

“Yeah, at least I don’t just go plain chocolate and call it a day.”

Frankie lightly tugs at Luciana’s hand so that she stumbles a few steps towards him, making her laugh as he chuckles himself. “You have no room to come at me, García. They know both our orders like the back of their hands here. That should be equally embarrassing for both of us.”

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Morales.”

The two remain in comfortable silence for the final stretch of the way to the dive, only dropping each other’s hands when they step inside. They head for their usual table in the corner, sitting down just as Marlena approaches with her usual friendly smile. “Shakes?” she asks, gesturing with a finger between the two of them. Frankie and Luciana nod, and Marlena gives a knowing nod as she heads back to the kitchen.

Luciana sighs and parts her lips as if to speak but stops when she catches the ring hanging around Frankie’s neck. Her gaze looks back into Frankie’s. “Is that your mom’s?”

Frankie looks down at the ring and then back up to Luciana. “Yeah. Has my birthstone on it. She gave it to me the last time I saw her.”

Luciana smiles in a bittersweet manner, hesitating before she goes on. “Is it alright if I…?” she trails off, gesturing with her hand to pick it up. Frankie nods, watching as she reaches across the table to take it in her hands. It’s still on the chain around Frankie’s neck, causing her face to be closer to his than usual. Frankie hears his heart thump a bit faster in his chest at the proximity. Luciana’s dark gaze warms up at the sight of it, admiring the silver band and still-shining stone. “Wow. It’s beautiful.”

“That’s fitting for her.”

Luciana looks up at Frankie to widen her smile, her gaze falling back to the ring soon after. “Can I try it on?”

Frankie’s taken aback a bit by her question, but nevertheless, he nods. He watches with awe as she slips it on her finger—and it fits her as if it was made specifically for her. Luciana looks up at Frankie again with an excited expression.

“Your mom and I must have the same ring size.”

If Frankie’s been waiting on a clear sign from the universe about Luciana, that was it. Frankie’s in such shock of the blatant sign of his mom’s presence—the most obvious one he’s had ever since she passed—that he can feel himself starting to tear up just a bit. He attempts to blink them back, refusing to be so shamelessly emotional in a public place, but Luciana knows him well and she’s close enough to tell. She frowns.

“You okay, Frankie?” Luciana’s eyes then widen a bit as she quickly reaches to take the ring off. “Did I go too far?”

“No, no, no, Luce, I’m alright,” Frankie reassures her, taking a deep breath as he feels the tears melting away. Thankfully.

“Do you want to get them to go?” Luciana questions, gesturing with her thumb to the kitchen.

“No, don’t worry—I swear, I’m okay. I just…” Frankie sighs, trying to decide how to word his thoughts without spilling his entire heart to her, “… I thought I felt my mom for a second.”

Luciana’s gaze flickers with joy. “Here?”

Frankie nods. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s never happened before.”

Luciana grins. “She must really want that cookies ‘n cream shake, huh?”

Frankie laughs, shaking his head as Marlena brings their shakes. They keep the topic off his mom while they enjoy their desserts, solely laughing and joking about other topics ranging from Benny’s latest crazy party to the prospect of graduation being so close. Frankie tries to ignore the ache in his heart at thought of them all going their separate ways. He knows Luciana isn’t going with them into the next phase of life—and the thought of that separation pains him so greatly that he almost feels his milkshake coming back up.

They walk back to the house—hand-in-hand again, but separating when the house comes into view, just in case the boys are back—and the rest of the day is spent watching Magnum P.I. reruns and eating pizza, the boys joining them once they return. The whole group heads to bed earlier than usual thanks to an early morning venture to their favorite mountain peak, the last time they’ll be able to hike it together.

The drive isn’t bad, and they only need two cars as they head there the next day. Frankie’s only concern is making sure that he keeps his feelings for Luciana under control with Santiago being nearby. The incident with the ring is all he’s been able to think about, and he knows it could lead to him doing some things that he shouldn’t in front of his friend. It’s just not the time yet.

The group parks in the dirt lot at the foot of the trail and gets together. They check in to make sure they have everything they need—emergency survival tools with Will, food and snacks with Benny, first-aid equipment with Frankie, and extra water bottles split between Santiago, Tom, and Luciana—and start to head up. Frankie always takes up the rear, wanting to have a clear look at his friends in case of emergency, and the rest of the group clears the way. Though they practically have this trail memorized by now, Frankie’s always on the look for something dangerous, wanting to keep his friends safe in the event that something happens.

Being surrounded by nature lets Frankie’s thoughts expand and become freer than usual. His overthinking about Luciana is given room to breathe, as if he can stretch every worry throughout the entire surrounding forest and not have to feel so suffocated by it. The sound of his boots making satisfying crunches over leaves, twigs, and other debris works in a therapeutic way to relax him. Frankie likes to look around and see if he can spy any nearby animals—but his favorite thing to do is look at the sky. Sometimes, the trees surrounding them block it from him, but at other times he can get a clear view of it. It makes Frankie feel more connected to it when he’s out here.

They’re about three quarters of the way to the top when Frankie suddenly hears a squeal of shock coming from Luciana’s direction. Instantly, he snaps his gaze towards her, watching as her foot gets caught in a dip of the forest floor. She falls to the side, letting her lower half take the weight rather than trying to catch herself with her hands. She lets out a loud curse.

“Luci!” Santiago exclaims as he turns around and stretches his hands out to his sister, as if to help her up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” Luciana answers, accepting his hands and letting him help her up. As she goes to take a step forward, however, her ankle gives out, and she practically collapses onto Santiago. “Shit—never mind. I think I wrenched my ankle.”

Frankie hurries over to her, already taking off his backpack as he reaches for the first-aid kit. Santiago continues to hold Luciana up. “Do you need to go back? Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“No, it’s fine, Santi,” Luciana assures her brother. “I’m being a little bitch about it. You guys keep going, we’ll catch up.” She gestures to Frankie, who’s already taking out whatever creams, ice packs, and wraps he needs to work with.

Frankie looks up to give Santiago a reassuring nod, and he sighs as he helps Luciana to a nearby boulder where she can sit. “Alright. But be careful, Luci.”

“I know, I know. You know me—so clumsy.”

Santiago chuckles a bit, nodding as he turns back to the rest of the group. They continue up while Frankie starts to tend to Luciana’s ankle, removing her boot so he can inspect it. “How’s it lookin’, doc?” Luciana asks him. “Am I gonna be able to walk again?”

Frankie snorts, shaking his head as he gently releases her ankle to reach for the tube of arnica bruising cream. “It’s a little swollen, but nothing terrible,” he answers, never looking away from his work. “You probably just have a muscle strain. If you rest it for the remainder of the day, you’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Luciana scoffs, her gaze constantly watching Frankie as he finishes with the cream and cracks an ice pack, placing it against her ankle and securing it there with a cloth wrap. “Leave it to me to fuck up our last hike.”

“Hey, you didn’t fuck it up.” Frankie looks back up to Luciana once he finishes his work, putting the first-aid kit in his backpack and softening his eyes at her. “Look, the show will go on.” He reaches back inside his backpack and takes out his spare granola bar, handing it to Luciana along with two pills for the pain. She accepts them gratefully, swallowing the pills with her water and starting to break into the granola bar.

“I don’t know how when I can’t even walk.” Luciana mumbles the words through a mouthful of the bar, causing Frankie to chuckle.

“You won’t have to walk.” Frankie puts Luciana’s boot in his backpack and hangs it on the front of his body, gesturing to his now-open back as he stands up. “I’ll carry you.”

Luciana raises her brow as she looks at him incredulously. “Frankie, I’m not making you carry me the entire way up and down this mountain.”

“Luci, don’t worry, I can handle it. Plus… I could use the workout.” Frankie slaps a hand over the part of his stomach that isn’t covered by the backpack, causing Luciana to laugh as she shakes her head.

“You’re perfect just the way you are, Flyboy.” Frankie tries not to let the heat rise in his cheeks at her compliment, instead reaching out to help her onto her good foot. He bends down enough for her to be able to get herself onto his back, and his hands grip either sides of her thighs as he helps her slide further onto his back.

“Comfortable?” Frankie questions, waiting for her green light.

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that.” Luciana’s tone is laced with shared gratitude and guilt as Frankie turns his face as much as he can to try to see her. “It’s great, Frankie. Thank you so much.” With a smile, she kisses his cheek, causing Frankie’s heart to stop for a moment as he quickly tries to regather his bearings.

“Uh—yeah, Luce. Of course. It’s the least I could do.” He bits back a smile as he turns his head towards the trail again, feeling Luciana’s arms secure around his neck as he starts to catch back up to the boys.

Before long, they close the distance, and thankfully Santiago isn’t at all suspicious of the way Frankie’s carrying his sister. Instead, he thanks him, grateful that Luciana can somehow still join them on the rest of the hike. They reach the peak in no time, and the sight never fails to take Frankie’s breath away. He looks out in awe, letting Luciana slide off his back for the time being as she stays at his side, leaning on his arm for support.

“I’ve always thought this view was so beautiful.” Luciana’s words are hushed, as if she wants to keep them between herself and Frankie.

Frankie looks from the view to her, watching the way she scans over the landscape ahead with such wonder in her dark eyes. He adores it. He adores her. “Yeah, this is a stunning view.” Luciana finally looks over at Frankie, and upon realizing that he’d been gazing at her when he said the words, he sees the heat rise in her cheeks. She looks out again with a squeeze to his arm, and Frankie does the same.

The group gets together after a few minutes of staring, eating a few snacks to prepare themselves for the trip back down. They crack some jokes and laugh as is routine for them, Will threatening to throw Benny off when he tells an embarrassing childhood story that the group somehow hasn’t heard before. Frankie’s heart feels fuller than ever at the time spent with his family in one of their favorite places, and he refuses to let the haunting thoughts of the future ruin it.

After about an hour on the peak, the group gets their things back together and starts the descent. Luciana’s on Frankie’s back again, and while she continually worries about hurting him or wearing him out, Frankie insists that she feels weightless. It’s true; Frankie doesn’t know if it’s Luciana’s rather petite size or his trips to the gym actually coming in handy for once, but Luciana feels light as a feather. Even lighter than his backpack had been.

By the time they get to the bottom and head home, the group’s yawning from having to be up so early and partaking in so much physical exertion. Frankie never stops helping Luciana even as they get back to the house, taking her on his back yet again as he helps her upstairs and into her room. He sets her on her bed and provides her with more pain medication, ice packs, and the tube of arnica cream.

“You should ice on and off every fifteen minutes,” Frankie instructs her gently, “and keep your foot elevated. That’ll help it to heal fast, hopefully by tomorrow. The bruising doesn’t look too bad, but if you want to get rid of it more, put on some more arnica. And if you need anything, don’t get it yourself. You just yell for help. Okay?”

Luciana laughs. “Alright, doc.” Frankie chuckles and shakes his head, crossing his arms as he looks down at her. She stays silent for a moment, looking up at him through her lashes. Her brown eyes are glittering, and Frankie finds his stomach fluttering again. “Thank you so much, Frankie. Seriously. Everything you did for me today… it means a lot to me.” She pauses, her gaze falling for a moment before it looks into his again. “You mean a lot to me.”

Frankie’s heart soars higher than his airplanes ever could at that. He can’t suppress the smile that grows on his lips. “You mean a lot to me too, Luce. That’s why I did what I did.” He stops for a moment, willing himself to be brave as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Luciana smiles up at him. “Bummer. I like having you take care of me like this.”

Frankie shrugs with a chuckle. “You’ll just have to roll your ankle again, I guess.”

Luciana gives him a shove while she laughs, gesturing to her bedroom door. “Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

Frankie laughs with her, biting back another smile as he heads for the door. He closes it gently behind him, looking to see if any of the boys are around. When he doesn’t spot them, he lets himself lean back against her door, closing his eyes as his smile spreads wide.

Frankie doesn’t know how the hell he’s gonna do it—especially with the opposing pressure of his best friend—but he’s sure that he has to make Luciana his, before he loses her.

next part: chapter 6: thunder

thunder tag list: @youhavereachedtheendofpie @charmantbarnes @theindiealto @fangirl-and-stuff @phoenixhalliwell @maybege @amarvelousmandalorian @seawhisperer @mrsparknuts @saltywintersoldat @softpedropascal @i-hide-inside-my-head @sunshinepascal @domino-oh-damn @thirsty-flygirl

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @javier-djarin

pedro characters tag list: @ezraslittleblondestreak @nettyklecan @b0n-chann

#oH BABIES #PLEASE MY HEART #slkdfjskldjfskfj]#frankie morales #francisco morales #catfish morales #frankie morales fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #thunder fic #dindjarindiaries

80 notes · View notes

ms-rampage · 4 years

Text

Eden’s Gate: Left Behind Chapter 11 - Demons? Of Course!

Warnings: Language, virgin sex, demons.

Word count: 2.9k

Summary: Kate moves on to the next stage of her confession, and atonement which takes a surprising turn. The demons Merihem and Saleos plan their attack on Kate’s friends.

Note: Sorry for the gap between chapters I’m in school. Final exams are coming up. 4 more weeks!!! then I’m on winter break.

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

“You are cleansed. You will now move on” John says, kissing her forehead.

Disoriented, and still seeing two John’s.

“Move-Move on?!” she asks, her head spinning.

“Yes my love. You will move on to confession. Confessing your sins” he says, guiding her out of the water.

“S-Sins?” she questions, her mind going at the pace of a snail.

A cold breeze goes by, and it snaps her out of her delusion, bliss state.

Her body begins to vibrate, shaking uncontrollably. Shivering violently.

Crossing her arms to keep herself warm. “Fuck!!!” she mutters, her voice trembling.

John guides her inside the house. “Come on” he says.

He sits her down on a chair, and goes to get her a towel.

She sits there shivering, and probably gonna catch ammonia later.

He comes back, and puts a warm towel around her.

He sits in front of her, “So darlin’ are you ready?!?” he asks.

“R-ready for w-what?!” she asks.

“For your confession” he says, placing his hands on her knees.

She furrows her eyebrows at him “Confession?!”.

“Yes. Your confession. Confessing your sins!” he says, his eyes locked onto hers.

Unable to break eye contact from him, “Now?!” she asks.

“It can be now. It can be tomorrow. It can be this weekend. But the sooner we do it the sooner it’ll be over with” he says, “So what do you say? Hm?”.

She takes a moment to think about it.

“What do you say” he says, softly almost in a whisper.

“Wh-What is the confession? What h-happens?” she asks hesitantly.

He holds her hand in his, and says in the softest voice ever,

“You will confess your sins of course. You will confess every little bad thing you have ever done. No matter how big, small. No matter how petty”.

She stares at him, trying to keep her jaw from dropping open. She looks down at their hands entwined with each other, and closes her eyes for a moment.

“Castiel please hear me. Any angels up there in cloud city please hear my voice. Help me!!!” she prays in her head.

“Darlin’ what do you say?” he asks, caressing her hands.

“I’m okay with this weekend” she says, looking him in the eyes.

He smiles at her, “Excellent” he stands up and goes over to his mantle.

Grabbing a book off of it. A white book with gold around its edges.

He hands it to her, “Here, take this”.

She takes it from him, “Is this a bible?!”, looking up at him.

“It’s my brother's book. Joseph. You met him at the church” he tells her as she flips through the pages.

She nods her head, “Oh right, right. Yeah”.

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

A few days later, getting out of class, and driving home.

Kate walks through the front door.

“Hello honey” she greets Morgan.

“Hello sweetie” she says back.

Their way of greeting each other as if they were a married couple.

“Any demons follow you home?!” Morgan asks.

Shaking her head, “Nope, I have my hex bag, so I was off of demon radar”.

She sits down on the couch next to her.

“So how was work?!” she asks Morgan.

She groans, “Suuuper slow!!!, and Holly came by as well”.

Kate groans in annoyance, “What did she have to say?!”.

“She was with a couple of her friends, I think they’re in the Cult. Anyway Alissa said that she heard Holly say a few bad things about you”.

Kate rolls her eyes, “What did she say?!”.

“Uhhh, she said that you were a “Snake in the grass”, a “boring Wyominian girl” and that “you should’ve stayed in Wyoming, or Arizona, or wherever that little freak is from”, and that you stole John from her. Shit like that, and I was gonna confront her about but she was long gone before I could even get into her face”.

Kate scoffs, “She’s a little bitch, I can probably take her ass in a fight.”

Morgan laughs, “I believe you, and she also said that your dog is an ugly bitch”.

Haley lifts her head up as she says this, tilting her head, and barks loudly.

“Holly said that, don't shoot the messenger!!!” Morgan says to the 70Ibs dog.

“I’ll fucking kill her, and also I didn’t steal John from her cunt ass!!” Kate says.

“Speaking of John, how was your date the other night?!?.I forgot to ask you about it” Morgan asks.

“It went really good, sorta. Am I planning on breaking up with him?” she groans in an unsure kind of way. “Yes, I am”.

Morgan’s eyes widened, “Oh shit what happened?!?!”.

“Well he wanted me to be “cleansed”.” she says with air quotes.

“What the fuck does that mean?!?” she asks, confused.

“Like a baptism” Kate answers.

“What the fuck?!?. What did you do?!?” she asks.

“I said yes, and I was cleansed” she replies.

“You said yes?!?” Morgan exclaims.

Kate flinches at her outburst, “Yeah?”.

Morgan sighs, “That is how he gets his followers!!!!!. You have to confess and atone!!”

They say in unison.

“I know the confession part, I just have to tell him my sins” she says.

“Yeah then you atone. He tattoos your sins onto your skin!!!” Morgan says, loudly.

Kate stands up from the couch, her palms start to sweat. Anxiety through the roof.

“Oh fuck!!!. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!!!!!” she yells from the top of her lungs, “And I’m seeing him later!!”.

“Shit” Morgan mutters under her breath.”Okay we can pretend we’re not home, or we can go out somewhere!!”.

“That’s a good idea. But where?!?” Kate asks.

“We’ll figure it out” she says.

“I even prayed to the angels, Castiel, Gabe, Raphael, it was an open invite. Nothing!!!” she says.

“Yeah same. Hell I even prayed to Lucifer. Nothing” Morgan replies.

“Well that’s normal for Luci not to reply to prayers, because no one prays to him!!” Kate says.

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

Somewhere in the Whitetail Mountains.

Alissa, Sarah, Becky, Layla, Dylan, Kevin and Ryan are setting up their campsite.

“So is it just us?!” Sarah asks.

“Yep just the seven of us” Dylan answers.

“So are Kate, Morgan, Ashley, Ivan, Isaiah, and Wheaty gonna come?!” Layla asks.

“Kate, Morgan I haven’t seen, and plus they don’t respond to messages for some reason. Ashley is working at the jail since she’s still a full on rookie. Wheaty is working with the Militia, and the twins are going to Missoula to visit their family” Becky says.

As they're talking, standing 50 feet away from them, hiding behind the trees.

The demon Kate and Morgan had encountered a few days earlier. Saleos is watching them.

“So Kate Winchester has non hunter friends?!” he says to himself, a grin on his face.

“How interesting” another male demon says.

Appearing next to him with a huge grin on his face.

“So should we make a bonfire?!” Becky asks.

Ryan looks up at the sky, “Not yet. It’s still too early to make it”.

“Well some of us gotta eat, and we have to cook our food!!” Dylan says, sarcastically.

They all turn to Ryan, “He’s got a point ya know” Layla says, shrugging.

Becky, Sarah and Kevin stay back, continuing to set up the tents, while Dylan, Layla, Alissa and Ryan go look for stuff to burn for the bonfire.

“So, we hurt, not kill, the non hunters, and we go after Kate’s little boy toy. On behalf of our king Crowley” Saleos says, “So Merihem do you accept?!”.

Merihem turns to Saleos, “I accept” he says.

“Good, we wait until nightfall. Then Winchester will feel pain. She will learn that you can never leave this life behind”.

“What about John Seed?” Merihem asks.

“I’ll take care of him” he responds, “For now we go after the non hunter humans”.

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

Back in Holland Valley

“So what are we gonna do?!?” Kate asks, pacing back and forth.

“We’re gonna leave. Go out somewhere. What time is he gonna pick you up?!?” Morgan asks.

“That’s the problem!!!. He didn’t say!!” she exclaims.

“Fuck!!’ she mutters.

“Can’t we just hide out inside, and not leave. Just close all the windows and curtains. Pretend we’re not home” Kate says.

“We can, we can!! How about we” Morgan trails off, and Kate gets a message on her phone from I wonder who.

“Fuck!!!!!!!!” she yells.

“What, what is it?!?!” Morgan asks.

“John is coming over in a few minutes to pick me up” she says.

“Text him saying that you’re not home!!” she advises her.

As she’s able to text him back, she gets a message from him saying.

“I know you’re home. My men saw you pull into your driveway” - John

“Shit!!!. Fucking shit” she says, “He knows I’m home because some of his men saw me pull in!!”.

“Stalker!!!!!” Morgan yells out.

A few minutes go by, a black SUV pulls up in front of the house, and John walks up the driveway.

Kate shushes Morgan, and the dog.

-knock knock knock-

They stay in silence for a few minutes.

-knock knock knock-

Kate slowly tip-toes to the window, opening the curtain less than an inch.

Sees John, and a few of his men standing a few feet behind him.

She mouths to Morgan, who is sitting on the couch.

“He brought backup”.

Another knock at the door, but this time a lot more aggressive.

-bang bang bang-

“Katie!?! Darlin’ I know you’re home!!” he says, in a singy tone.

“What do we do?!” Kate mouths to Morgan.

Morgan shrugs, “Let's go out the back” she says pointing to the back door.

They grab their stuff, Haley and quietly go out the back gate.

They try their best to be stealthy, but fail to see one of the peggies standing on the far end of her property.

He sees them, whistles loudly, getting John to look back.

Seeing Kate and Morgan trying to sneak off.

“Katella!!” he says, in a teasing voice.

Their backs to him, can’t see their annoyed and angry facial expressions.

“Fuck!!’ she murmurs to herself, and Morgan.

“Oh hey John!!” she says trying not to sound suspicious, “Didn’t hear you pull up”.

“It’s time for your confession” he says, approaching them.

“Ooh right. That was today. Huh, I guess it slipped my mind” she says, totally not in a suspicious way.

“Alright darlin’. Lets go” he says to her, his hand extended out.

“Actually John. Kate and I have things to do. So she’ll have to do her confession another day” Morgan says, pushing Kate behind her.

John chuckles, “You’re a terrible liar Megan”.

“It’s Morgan!!” she snaps.

“Whatever” he responds, “Katie lets go”.

“But I. I can’t g- Okay” Kate stutters in defeat.

She takes John’s hand, but is pulled back by Morgan.

“She’s not going with you John” she says, in her tough voice.

He looks back at her, “Excuse me?!”.

“Kate is not going with you. She’s not confessing or atoning for shit!!” she raises her voice.

His men hold up their weapons, but he immediately calms them down.

“Now, now. No need to get trigger happy” he says, “I can do whatever I want Costello, and if I want to take her. I will, unless you want a problem which you’ll get, if you don’t let her go!!” his voice, so sadistic, and so filled with rage in such a short span of time.

“Morgan. It’s fine. I’ll make it through” she tells her friend.

She hesitates but lets go of her hand.

“She better not having a fucking scratch on her when she comes home” Morgan threatens him.

John smirks, “No promises” and escorts Kate to the SUV parked on the side of the road.

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

At the John’s Gate.

They pull into a giant warehouse on top of a mountain.

“Where are we?!?!” Kate asks.

“Paradise” he says before kissing her hand. “Follow me”.

They get out of the SUV, and walk to the warehouse.

His men open the giant doors which make a loud rumbling sound.

John takes Kate’s hand, and he walks her through the dark warehouse.

“It’s dark in here” she jokes.

“Just how I like it” he says, with a lustful undertone.

He walks her into some room, dimly lit and also dark.

It reminds her of the time when she was in Hell a few years back.

“A torture room?!” she questions him.

He chuckles, “This is where the magic happens”.

He grabs a metal tool box, placing it on a wooden table.

She breaks the silence, “So. Are you gonna ask me what are my sins?!”.

“In a bit. No need to rush” he responds.

Kate nods, “Alrighty then”, and looks around the dark room.

When she turns to face John, he’s already looking back at her.

“Sin must be exposed so it may be absolved. We must wash away our past” he says, as he slowly approaches her.

“I know your sin” he says, cupping her chin.

She tilts her head to the side, “Do you?!”.

“Yes. Your sin is” he leans in closer to her right ear, and whispers “Lust”.

She laughs softy, and looks down at the floor.

“No need to deny it. I know. Because I also suffer, and carry the burden of Lust. I can see it burning in your eyes” he holds her closer to him, their bodies pressing together.

“It burns into your blood. Almost like an itch” he says, “I can help you set that burden free”.

Kate looks into his eyes, can see the feral lust in them, and it’s begging to come out.

His blue eyes black, dilated and filled with lust.

“Are you- are you being serious?!” she asks, not believing this is real.

“Yes. I want to set you free, and I know you have other sins. I can see them you” he says.

“I can see. Pride. Greed, and Wrath” he sneers.

She looks at him in disbelief, her eyebrows furrowed at him.

He clicks his tongue as a sign of tease.

“I can set you free of them. One. Sin. At. A. Time” he whispers while tracing her lips with his thumb before pulling her in for a deep kiss.

John lifts her up, grabbing her ass, and presses her against a wall.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck.

Kissing, and sucking at her neck. Marking her as his.

He undoes her pants with one hand, and then his.

“John! Wait. Wait John!!!” she exclaims, making him stop.

He looks at her concern.

“I’ve never had-. I’m. A virgin” she mutters.

He chuckles softly, “Well that makes it even more exciting. Let me do all the work”.

He moves her panties out of the way, and slowly shoves himself inside her tight wet walls.

Her scream turns into loud moaning as his hard cock brushes her tight walls.

“Relax” he whispers, “Let me do everything”.

He thrusts in, and out of her.

Her nails digging into his shoulders with every movement.

He moves her away from the wall, and lays her down on a metal table.

Giving himself better access to pleasure her.

Gripping her thighs as he continues to shove himself inside her tight cunt.

His tongue wrestling with hers, biting, tugging on her lower lip.

His moaning echoing throughout the building.

The sound of skin rubbing together echoing off the walls.

John pins Kate’s hands above her head, pulling her closer to him, and continues to fuck the shit out of her tight pussy.

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

The group of friends have their tents all set up, and are all ready to eat dinner.

Laughing, enjoying the night. The stars gleaming, and the moon in its crescent form.

Cooking fish, meat and making smores.

“I wish the others were here” Alissa says, looking up at the night sky.

“Yeah same” Ryan replies.

“We can bring them next time. So all of us can be here” Kevin says.

Several feet away from them, hiding in the dark forest.

The demons wait for them to go to sleep to attack, getting the attention of Kate Winchester.

“Let’s get them” Meriham says, taking a step forward.

“No” Saleos says, putting his arm out to stop him, “We wait until they go to sleep”.

“They’re all right there, we can hurt them now!” he sneers at him.

“No!. We wait until they go to sleep. It’ll be easier” Saleos says to him.

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

John’s head buried between Kate’s legs, licking and tasting her wetness.

He loves the sound of her whimpering and soft moans.

Knowing that he’s making her do that.

Making her beg for him. Pinning her down.

His head between her once virgin legs. Taking her purity, virginity and making it his.

“John” she moans softly.

Gripping her thighs tightly, her fingers running through his hair.

His right hand moves up her body, going under her shirt, cupping her breast.

Playing with her erect nipple

He hums between her legs, sending vibrations throughout her body.

“John” she moans again.

He crawls back up her body, crashing his lips with her.

Marking her neck, chest and collarbones. Marking her as his, and no one else's.

“You’re mine now” he says into the crook of her neck.

11 notes · View notes

chilling-seavey · 4 years

Text

There Goes My Life - Chapter Eleven

A/N In celebration of my first day back at school...let’s publish another chapter!

Sunday, December 19, 2038

Penelope didn’t know what the hell Clementine was doing but she did know that her older sister locked herself in their shared bedroom without dinner or anything the first night home and then spent up to the wee hours of the morning locked in their ensuite bathroom. She basically pulled an all-nighter which meant she slept most of the following day – or at least just stayed in her bed the entire time. Penelope didn’t want to be anywhere near her sister in fear of saying something she wasn’t supposed to say or simply due to the fact that Clementine had this edge about her that didn’t seem to wash away once they left campus like Penelope had expected.

Daniel and Florence figured their eldest was just getting used to being back home again – Daniel remembered well the feeling of slight suffocation while staying back at home over breaks after being so used to the independence of living away at school. So they let Clementine cool herself down and didn’t bother her at all during the following day after arriving home. It honestly just made Penelope nervous.

The smell of dinner lured Clementine out of her room (after not eating for nearly a full day other than the few snacks from her backpack) just as the table was being set. Florence glanced up at her first, nearly dropping the plate in her hand when she saw her daughter’s usual dark blonde hair dyed a deep brown and her gasp made the rest of the family look up.

“Oh my.” Penelope breathed. “Clem, what did you do?”

“Wanted a change.” Clementine shrugged coolly as she plopped herself down in her usual seat at the dining room table.

Daniel and Florence exchanged wide eyed stares but just continued on setting the filled plates on the table. When everyone was sat, they said a quick prayer as usual – Clementine only taking that opportunity to stare at her parents…or who she thought were her parents – before turning blankly to her plate when they opened their eyes again. The family began eating in near silence, Clementine’s sudden hair colour change sort of stunning them all.

“What prompted you to suddenly dye your hair?” Florence finally asked casually.

“And where did you even get hair dye?” Lucy added.

“My friend had some extra in her room she let me swipe.” Clementine said through a mouthful of food, “Figure this suits me better so…”

Penelope stared at her sister’s dark hair before turning to her father’s matching brown roots and then back to her sister. Penelope may have been quiet but she certainly wasn’t dumb and it was obvious what Clementine was trying to do. But, as promised, she kept her mouth shut and focussed on her dinner.

Lucy broke the silence next, “So on our last day of school last week my friends and I-“

“You know what we haven’t ever really talked about in this family?” Clementine cut her off.

“Your sister was talking.” Daniel said shortly.

“Sister.” Clementine scoffed under her breath. “Okay. Whatever.”

Lucy stared almost frightened at her older sister who she barely recognised from the moment she was picked up from campus the previous day, and, not wanting to step on toes or get on her bad side mumbled a, “You can go ahead, Clemmy.”

“We haven’t talked about how you two met.” Clementine finished, barely acknowledging her youngest sister’s pass of conversation as she looked towards her parents with narrowed eyes.

“Sure, we have.” Florence chuckled lightly.

“They met at school.” Lucy added. “Love at first sight.”

“That’s right.” Daniel broke into a small smile and gave his wife’s hand a small squeeze.

“University, right?” Clementine asked. “First year?”

“Yeah, I-I think so.” Florence said, her hesitation seeming to only add fuel to Clementine’s fire.

“You don’t know for sure?”

“I mean, yeah, it was some time in 2018.” Daniel added. “First year was kind of a blur.”

“Right.” Clementine nodded. “Expecting a baby at eighteen and all.”

“That, yeah, and new routines and friendships and everything.” Florence finished casually.

“A baby due in late December.”

“Yes.”

“And you met in what month? First year university so…September?”

“Well…” Daniel chuckled humourlessly, sensing Florence’s anxiety spike just from the way she tightened her grip on his hand and he kept his eyes on his wife. “Probably earlier than that to make sense.”

“But you lived in Vancouver so…then how did you meet earlier?” Clementine pressed.

“When I came in for a campus tour actually.” Daniel caught himself.

“Aunt Anna said you never came for a campus tour.” Clementine retorted.

Daniel and Florence finally looked at their eldest, her face filled with nothing but a smug smirk and yet her eyes seemed to be brimming tears.

“Why were you asking my sister about my campus tours from twenty years ago?” Daniel tried to make light of the situation but the tension was suffocating.

Penelope kept her head down to her plate and ate quickly to try and avoid even being present at the table. Lucy was looking between her sister and her parents like it was a tennis match.

“No reason.” Clementine shrugged, taking another bite of her dinner. “Just kind of funny you don’t remember when you got pregnant. Kinda looks bad on you, Ma.”

“Watch how you speak about your mother.” Daniel scolded softly.

“Oh, you’re no better here either.” Clementine scoffed in his direction.

“Clem. Come on.” Florence said gently to try and ease the situation. “We don’t remember getting pregnant with Penelope either.”

Penelope looked up at the mention of her name but hid herself behind a long sip from her water glass.

“I don’t wanna talk about Mum getting pregnant anymore, that’s gross.” Lucy held her hands over her ears.

“So you often got drunk and got knocked up then or…?”

“Clementine, that’s enough.” Daniel said sternly.

“I just want a definitive answer!” Clementine said loudly. “I don’t know why that’s so hard for you!”

“We don’t have to tell you everything about our private lives.” Florence replied. “You are our child, not our friend, so therefore you are not entitled to know everything that goes on with us.”

“I do when it involves me!”

“It doesn’t involve you at all!” Florence said loudly.

“Yes, it does! It was the beginning of my life, wasn’t it? Something pretty important to know about!” Clementine came back louder.

“Stop talking and eat your dinner.” Florence snapped.

“You’re such a selfish bitch all the time!” Clementine shouted angrily.

“Clementine Ophelia Seavey! That’s enough out of you! Go to your room!” Daniel yelled.

Clementine slammed her napkin back on the table with enough force to rattle the cutlery and she stood up aggressively and stomped back to her room, muttering under her breath, “If that’s even my name.”

The sound of the door slamming had the table letting out frustrated sighs and Daniel rested his face in his hands tiredly. Penelope and Lucy looked at each other silently. Lucy figured her sister was just as confused as she was, but Penelope was more anxious than anything, trying her best to hold down her supper. Florence got up from the table and rushed down the hallway herself, closing her own bedroom door quietly behind her.

The two girls left at the table turned to their father, unsure what to do next or what to even say next.

Daniel took a small breath and sat up straighter, “You two keep eating. I’ll be right back.”

Penelope watched him walk off and she dropped her gaze to her half-finished plate when he disappeared down the hallway. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

Florence was sitting on the side of the bed facing the far window, her face in her hands, and Daniel slunk over to join her after closing the door again. He sat at her side and tucked an arm around her shoulders to pull her against him, pressing a kiss to her head before leaning his cheek against the same spot.

“What is wrong with her?” Florence sniffled.

“I don’t know.” Daniel mumbled, staring out the window over the city below.

“It’s like she knows about…” Florence couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“Matt.” Daniel finished it for her.

“I don’t want her to know about him.” Florence whimpered. “I wish he was never a part of this. Of her. I wish it was just always you and me.”

“I know, baby.” Daniel sighed, leaving a few more kisses to her head. “But she’s mine as much as she is yours. I’ve always told you that.”

“Yeah.” Florence breathed, leaning her head back to look up at him as she was still cuddled up against his side.

He pressed a kiss to her lips. Then two. Then three.

“She knows she can talk to us about anything. If there was even the slightest incitation in her mind I’m sure she would ask us.”

“Yeah.”

“And you agreed with Matt long ago that if she somehow reached out, he was to check with us first. Before even talking to her.”

“Yeah.”

“And he hasn’t so…we’re not there yet.” Daniel said, tucking her hair behind her ear before falling to her lap to hold her hand. He watched his thumb rub gently over her knuckles as he chewed lightly on his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed in concern and his breathing already shallow with anxiety.

“She’s fucking brunette, Dani.” Florence breathed as if she had only just processed it.

“Looks more like me now.” Daniel chuckled, earning a small smack on the chest from his wife.

Tag List: @hopeinglimelight ~ @kizakat26 ~ @badbunnypr ~ @sothisisathingforsomereason ~ @calumhoodiskindahot ~ @jocelyntheduckie

#daniel seavey fanfic #🍊#why dont we fanfic #writing

18 notes · View notes

propsandmayhems · 4 years

Note

96 with Matthew and James maybe?

Thank you for the request, here you go! I hope you enjoy :-)

“Please get me away from him. He hasn’t left me alone all night and I am this close to committing a murder.”

Matthew Fairchild & James Herondale

Matthew Fairchild was stretched out on one of the long, wooden tables in the library of the London Institute, wearing a deep purple waistcoat that brought out the dark green of his eyes. His jacket had been disregarded a few hours before, when he had attempted to backflip off the ladder that gives access to the higher bookshelves. He was semi-successful, only requiring an iratze to mend a twisted ankle. Now, he had one foot propped up on the toe of the other and his left arm thrown behind his head while his free hand was twirling a silver throwing knife he had stolen from Jamie’s belt. James sent a silent prayer to the Angel that his mother did not come into the library and see Matthew with his shoes on the table, as that was one battle James would have to let Math face alone.

All evening, Matthew had been blabbering on about the difference between ties and ascots and attempting to convince James to get a new haircut, but all James wanted to do was read his copy of The Call of the Wild, which Jamie had just picked up on his bi-weekly trip to Hatchards with his father. The author was American, and Jamie felt he should make an effort to learn more about American culture as it is where his mother came from. Suddenly, the throwing knife thunked into the thick, wooden window frame, just barely missing catching any of his inky curls on its way by. “Jamie, are you even listening to me?”

Looking up from his book, he saw his parabatai sitting up with his legs dangling over the edge of the table, wearing an irritated expression. Well, at least his shoes are off the table, James thought to himself, before closing his book with a huff. “No, Math, I wasn’t listening. I was attempting to read.” Despite his blunt words, his tone was lighthearted.

Matthew shot Jamie an exasperated look, “Oh, you and your books; it’s always Bram Butler this and Samuel Stoker that.”

“Actually, it’s Samuel Bu-”

“My point exactly!” Matthew hopped up from the table and sauntered over to the window James was nestled in. “I was trying to ask you about your fiance - how is the wedding planning going?”

Before James could answer, the doors to the library rattled open and Lucie swept into the room, chattering away to what seemed like herself. Upon noticing she was not alone in the library, she stopped short. “Oh… hello,” she glanced around, a strange look of concern on her face. “Are you two the only ones in here?”

Now that she was closer, Jamie could see that the edges of her skirts were caked in mud and her hair was beginning to come free from its plait. “Yes, we are - but, Lucie, where have you been?” He asked, unable to hide his brotherly worry.

“Nevermind that,” she waved a hand, moving to take up residence on the table to her left. Crossing her legs, she continued, “What are you two up to this evening?”

Pushing himself off the wall, Matthew began to reminisce on his antics of the evening, “-I was just trying to have a bit of fun, but Jamie here was intent on being a stick in the mud!”

With a groan, James dropped his head into his hands. “Lucie, by the Angel, please get me away from him.” Ripping the throwing knife from the window frame, he brandished it in Matthew’s direction, “He hasn’t left me alone all night and I am this close to committing a murder.”

With a giggle and a swish of her skirts, Lucie moved from the table to Matthew’s side, and took him by the elbow. “Well, both you boys are in luck tonight! I heard Papa singing in the drawing room on my way in and I’m sure he would love your company, Matthew.”

Matthew looked to his parabatai in horror, “Oh no, Jamie, please don’t let her do this to me! I promise you I will sit and be quiet.”

James simply lifted his book back into his hands and cracked it open. “Take him away, Lucie.”

With that, his sister dragged his parabatai from the library; James could hear Matthew struggling and protesting even after the doors banged shut behind them. Standing up and shoving the blade back through his belt, he made for the door to join his family in the drawing room.

#tlh #the last hours #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #james herondale #matthew fairchild #lucie herondale #sparkofsummer #carley writes

17 notes · View notes

nalufever · 4 years

Note

Would it be to much to ask to continue the Evening the Score but with lucy finding her camisole in natsu house?

Nope! Not too much to ask ~ just needed a bit of time to get my ideas down and written. ^^ Thanks for sending an ask and I hope you enjoy this!

Evening the Score, part 2

Lucy knocked on Natsu’s door with vigour and more than a little desperation, regretting the last cup of coffee she’d thought would be a good idea. She shifted the bag she carried to her other shoulder and hammered it louder. They’d agreed to meet at his house so where was he? Oh, there was no way she’d make it back to Magnolia to find a public restroom. And even if Natsu didn’t care about such things, Lucy did not want to empty her bladder outside. Nope.

Cold sweat on her forehead, Lucy gulped and looked heavenward for salvation. She found it, the edge of a key glinted on the top of the door frame. Mumbling heartfelt thanks she rushed inside, dropped her purse and bag, bolting for the bathroom.

Now much more relaxed, Lucy walked back to where she’d dumped her bag of groceries. Their plans were to make food together but she could get a head start, yeah? May as well. It was unusual for Natsu to be late - especially when it’d been his idea to cook - and at his own house! Figuring there had to be a reason, (and she gave it a fifty percent chance it was ridiculous) Lucy shook her head. As much fun as doing things with Natsu was, cooking went smoother when he wasn’t begging for taste tests.

In the kitchen Lucy found a miracle. The counters were clean and each piece of cookware needed tonight were waiting. A certain dragon slayer had to be gunning for boyfriend of the year. Lucy was inclined to reward his thoughtfulness in the only way she could imagine.

Brownies! Thick and chewy. Homemade; with hot sauce spiced icing.

In that moment, Lucy knew she had to hurry. You obviously had to make dessert first in order for it to cool enough to enjoy at the end of a meal. She looked down at her clothes. She wasn’t wearing anything fancy but she hadn’t counted on making brownies. Every foray into baking had given her the knowledge she’d be covered from head to toe in ingredients.

Shit.

Checking her watch, Lucy discovered she was actually early. Oh. No wonder Natsu wasn’t home. Now she needed to make the brownies as an apology for letting herself into his home. The desire to keep clean, or at least as clean as possible directed Lucy to Natsu’s bedroom. There had to be something there she could use as a makeshift apron.

It was suspiciously clean. No dirty clothes on the floor, no discarded food or magazines. It was neat and orderly. Lucy felt even more uneasy to be trespassing Natsu’s personal space. But she needed something to protect her clothes, so she lifted her chin and yanked open her boyfriend’s closet.

Sigh. Sleeveless jackets and off-white baggy trousers weren’t going to protect her clothes. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Shit. She’d have to search his drawers for a long-sleeved shirt. Fine.

Keeping her ears cocked in case Natsu came home early, Lucy slowly pulled open the first drawer and looked inside; nothing but socks, underwear and handkerchiefs. How weird was that? Had she ever seen him wearing socks? Or using a handkerchief? She wasn’t touching the issue of his underwear. No sir.

On to the next drawer. Ah, a semblance of normalcy! T-shirts and belts - things she could touch without feeling like a sexual deviant. But a t-shirt wasn’t going to be enough. Nope. Mumbling a brief and impassioned prayer, Lucy opened the third and last drawer. Salvation! A bundle of plaid and long-sleeved shirts. All she had to do was pick something long enough to keep her from wearing flour and gritty sugar on her own clothes. Hmm. And something that wasn’t Natsu’s favourite, something that would clean easy - something she wouldn’t swim in either.

Lucy shoved aside the lighter coloured choices and lifted out the only real contender. Constructed of sturdy denim and not so big as to dwarf her frame, this shirt was the best option. Lucy smiled and shook the wrinkles out - gasping as something unexpected flew out of the folds.

No! It couldn’t be! Was that her missing blue camisole? Oh my. It was. The blue camisole she’d assumed her laundry had eaten. It was safely here - in Natsu’s house. So very odd… Not as odd as her holding Natsu’s t-shirt hostage. Or was it exactly the same level of odd? Yup. And suddenly Lucy was inspired.

Natsu sniffed the air outside his cottage. Chocolate and …? Spice! He grinned. Lucy had been unable to wait and started their cooking date without him, must be already half done if his nose wasn’t lying. The savoury scents of chicken intermingled with tangy tomato - and Natsu salivated.

He ran into the kitchen and hardly paused before lifting Lucy into his arms and hugging her tight. “Hi!”

More than a little breathless, Lucy squeezed Natsu back and let herself cling, relishing his heat. “Hi yourself!” Suddenly shy, she pushed out of Natsu’s arms. “I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed this to keep my clothes clean.” Lucy pointed to the shirt she wore. “You know how I get when I bake.”

“Does this mean what I think it does? Yosh!” Natsu pumped his arm in celebration. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Hey!” Lucy admonished Natsu but her tone was teasing and lacked any real heat. “I told you I’m the lucky one. I’m hungry for chocolate is all.”

“Whatever you say, Luce.” Natsu was unable to stop grinning. “Whatever you say.” He finally noticed what Lucy was wearing. A very familiar denim long-sleeved shirt - exactly the same as the one he’d hidden Lucy’s camisole in, way inside the third drawer of his dresser. “Um…” Unable to ask outright about the camisole, Natsu decided to divert attention. “How much of dinner did you leave us to finish together?”

Lucy smiled. “Not much. I’d rather spend time with you talking as we eat rather than struggling to talk and cook at the same time.”

Her smile didn’t give Natsu much relief but he needed to respond. “Well, everything smells great!”

“It should! I worked hard!” Lucy blinked at her date. “Help me take off my make-shift apron?”

“Of, of course!” Natsu lifted his hands to the buttons at Lucy’s neck and willed his tremors to subside. This was nothing in the grand scheme of things - who hadn’t unbuttoned a shirt before? But this was Lucy and while they’d kissed passionately more than once, never had they ever removed clothing. Urk. “I can do that.”

Lucy nodded and kept her eyes glued to Natsu’s eyes as he fumbled with the buttons of the denim shirt she wore. She did her best to keep from smirking as Natsu’s obvious uneasiness grew and grew the more buttons he released. She inhaled at just the right moment as he exposed her blue camisole. Game over. Fufufufu.

“I’m so hungry!” Lucy wiggled out of Natsu’s shirt and pretended she wasn’t wearing the very item she’d complained about losing all last week. “Hope you brought your appetite!”

“Yeah…” Natsu was oddly subdued. Seeing Lucy wearing skimpy clothes was both titillating and wrong. Did that make sense? He sure as hell liked what he saw but it made him feel odd. But not in the way Gildarts had gone to such extreme measures to explain to him (with grossly inappropriate real-life examples). “You cold?”

Lucy could have given in to Natsu right then and there. But this was bigger than right or wrong - bigger than anything she’d ever imagined. Time to pretend. “Don’t be silly! How could I be cold with a fire dragon slayer? You’re all the heat I need.”

“Um, okay.” Natsu gave Lucy a weak grin. She was working on something and he should just let her play. “Let’s eat.”

All through dinner Natsu waited for Lucy to drop her pleasant act. His partner was playful. She served him and kept the conversation light and easy. Lucy was acting like the very definition of a perfect hostess. It was annoying.

“I’m stuffed.” Natsu covered his mouth and belched. No sense in denying who he was - he didn’t need to lie about his rough edges. Lucy had been witness to worse. “Thank you for the meal!”

“Glad you enjoyed.” Lucy smiled.

Her smile creeped Natsu out more than anything. He could sense a few of the underlying tensions in Lucy but he was confused too. She smelt receptive and angry. Not a good combination. “But I’ve got room for dessert.”

“I did happen to make a batch of brownies.” Lucy rose out of her chair and sashayed past Natsu - her hips were screaming illicit promises that Natsu had only ever dreamed about. “Want some?”

Torn between wanting to answer, ‘fuck yeah!’ and 'anytime you wanna give it up,’ Natsu settled for a meek 'yes, please.’

“I hope you enjoy.” Lucy slid a plate of delectable brownie slathered with her own creation - icing containing hot sauce - to Natsu. “You deserve all this and more.”

Pushed to the edge, Natsu gulped and cracked. “You got it all wrong! I don’t deserve you being nice! At all! I’m sorry!”

“Sorry for what?”

“I stole your camisole because you kept my shirt! Sorry!”

“But I’m wearing my camisole. How can you say you took it, Natsu?” Lucy dipped her pinky into the decadent icing as she pushed the brownie towards her partner, then slowly licked away the evidence. “I’m wearing it.”

Natsu squinted at Lucy. Part of him wanted to throw Lucy over his shoulder and act like a caveman. It would be good until she punched his lights out.

Lucy sauntered back to her seat and sat, never breaking eye contact with Natsu. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“I really admire and respect you?” Abruptly Natsu shook his head and squared his shoulders. “I mean, um, no?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes and pinched her lips into a straight line. “Fine.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. He heaved a sigh. “Um, maybe?”

Lucy curled her lips into the most menacing smile Natsu had ever seen. “Fine.”

Oh god. “Wait…” He nervously licked his lips. “Can I throw myself on your mercy right now?”

“Why would you need to do that?” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”

“Because I want to live?” Natsu pleaded with his eyes. “I dunno! I’m just horny and scared and did I mention turned on?”

Lucy opened and closed her mouth, unable to articulate any words. Natsu’s honesty was refreshing even if unnerving. She had to admire that about him.

“I know I’m not making any sense right now, but how can I when you’re wearing that and smelling so good?” Natsu gestured to Lucy’s upper body. “I can’t. I just can’t!”

“Enjoy your dessert.” Lucy lost her urge for vengeance. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“The dessert that’s mine?”

“What else?”

Natsu stood up, knocking over his chair and marched over to Lucy. “The brownie can wait.”

“Huh?” Not her most eloquent moment, but Lucy was still thinking about Natsu admitting he was horny and turned on.

“I want to enjoy some dessert.”

Lucy pointed to the ignored brownie. “It’s over there.”

“Yeah, the brownie is there, but don’t you think I don’t know what’s sweeter?” Natsu lightly glided a hand down Lucy’s bare arm, smiling as she gasped. “You’re all the dessert I could ever want.”

“Yeah?”

Natsu nodded. “Only ever you, Luce.”

Lucy smiled. “Only ever you, Natsu.”

#fairy tail #fan fic #nalu #asks #answered #Evening the Score Part 2

56 notes · View notes

dustlnds · 4 years

Text

part three of rylan’s many idiots, meet your resident manic pixie dream girl natalie cassadaga! + more info, wanted connections. / @redridgeimp

name: natalie jennifer valentine cassadaga nicknames: nat, nati, tiger (mostly reserved for damien) age: 29 ethnicity: white gender/pronouns: cis female, she/her sexual/romantic orientation: pansexual/panromantic been in red ridge for: seven years occupation: tattoo artist (at home), waitress (blue hill diner) affiliation: valencia, despite her unwillingness to admit it. as they helped her get a life in red ridge after fleeing las vegas through the person of damien kingsley, they’ve been holding this unspoken contract over her head for quite a while, demanding her help in the form of tattoos (she’s responsible for most of the v’s tattooed on the bodies of valencia members), nursing care (often dropping people who need to be stitched up / nursed at her place, since it’s so off the map), or carrying merch/goods across town. (might be, also, that the day after damien told her hey, you’re clean now, she felt the shadow self in her latch onto her vices, her filth, and when she asked someone in valencia for a dose she knew they’d hold it over her head, but she did it anyway. now a small brown bag containing her shame is hidden in a box beneath her bed: and that, like the way valencia shows up at her step every other week, is a reminder that perhaps she can’t ever be free). positive traits: spontaneous, empathic, selfless, good spirited, kind, protective, creative, resourceful, spiritual. negative traits: impulsive, naive, resentful, cowardly, self-destructive, insecure, frightened, weak.

BIOGRAPHY —

(WARNINGS for substance abuse, drug abuse, overdosing).

las vegas, nv, 2001. at ten she’s a spark begging to be ignited. a kid with a bright imagination, but her parents aren’t happy. school is hard for the girl who’ll spend hours covering textbooks in flowers — why should two plus two matter, she thinks, when i can make the paper bloom into whole gardens, full of creatures staring back at me, when i can create my own world? her parents have never been the kind to waste their days daydreaming. they look at their youngest daughter and think: where does she take it? all this carefree passion of hers, where does it come from? she lacks her father’s disposition for numbers, how clinically pristine they look when lined up one after the other, and how satisfying they feel when preceded by a plus sign on a bank invoice. she has none of her mother’s backbone, the way she carries herself as if pure, molten gold flew into her veins — staring everyone down, making herself taller. she seems to only have eyes for fleeting things, mundane passions: for her colors, for the music of a guitar, for the way the desert sand blows into her hair at sundown. come a couple years, all she has eyes of is the boy playing his guitar among the wrecks of a car parts graveyard — says his name is elvis and she knows that isn’t true, but in las vegas, somehow, you can make yourself be whoever you want to be. she smiles, and says her name is tiger instead: in another life, perhaps, she was fierce and with a bite.

las vegas, nv, 2008. at seventeen she’s golden spotlights on the vegas strip. atomic bomb waiting to explode, all summer glare and midnight rides into nowhere: it’s her and elvis in his daddy’s car and it feels like they could conquer the world, if they wanted. he sings to her, she dances for him, characters straight out of a ‘50s song, loaded with a naivety that tastes like the american dream. no time for overbearing parents, no attention paid in school: it’s just them, skin on skin, flowers blooming from her fingers in spray paint over abandoned buildings. this could last forever, she thinks, she begs, she prays: a life like this could last forever. (a life like this drains the best of her). elvis was born to be a king like his namesake, and he’s got dreams of fame and glory that don’t contemplate her presence. street artists never become rockstars, and she has time for nothing more than the creatures lunging out of her fingers, onto the paper. she’s skin and bones, ink and notes, like she could live off of music and drawings alone — and him, always him, a golden god, a forbidden hymn. the night he signs his first record deal she grabs her inks and her needles — tattoes a present on his skin, a crown for the king to be. and as she draws, she prays: that their dreams can be true, that this is not a happy chorus in a ballad, but a rock opera, a discography for the ages to come. she prays for him like a beggar at an altar: and maybe there’s magic in that crown she tattoos, there’s truth in the prayer she pours into it. he wins his dreams and leaves her behind: prayers always require sacrifices.

somewhere in nevada, 2013. at twenty-two she’s broken lightbulbs under strangers’ feet. she’s shards of glass she could cut people with, but it’s herself she harms; see, elvis’ gone but there’s tons of friends in his place. there’s mary jane, addy, crystal, lucy and all her diamonds. vegas is a wonderland, a new high hidden ‘round every corner, and kind people willing to hand ‘em out like candy to an hazy, improvised alice — the drawings grow darker now, shadows with caved-in eyes and hollow chests. the colors don’t come the way they used to, and when they do they all look like a shade of nightmares — blood red, nausea green, despair blue. she looks for answers in his songs: on the radio, in her mind, she swears he still sings about her. has to follow him to the middle of the desert, to a festival where he stands on a stage and people swear he looks just like the real thing, the king himself. she doesn’t see him, though, but a hole where all her strength used to be, the us against the world turned into the open jaws of a ravenous monster: us against the world, and then the world collapses. wonderland turns to the land of nightmares, and the needle, it is her salvation — down the rabbit hole, she thinks, and someone must come out on the other side. either her, or the ghost of her. either her, or her evil turned to flesh. there is no rabbit hole but a town called red ridge. there is no white rabbit but a man — a good man, a honest man, with an inclination to fixing broken things. he helps her up to her fit, treats her alike his daughter and his sister, and when he begins asking her to help fix the remains of a broken car, she begins to wonder whether he isn’t trying to fix her, too. sometimes he calls her tiger and she remembers when she fancied herself a wild and untamed thing, escaping cages, just following her instincts. under the heat of the south-west sun, she smiles. maybe all tigers were lost creatures at first.

red ridge, nv, 2020. at twenty-nine she’s neon gas begging to be lit up. there’s a tiger on her forearm, hides the scars of a previous life. there’s always ink under her fingernails, sometimes it seems it shines in the dark. red ridge has become her home; damien, lyla, rowan: her familt. the car she’d begun to fix with the man who helped her now has been colored bright pink and bears the name of flamingo, and she rides it out in the desert letting it add to the spirit in her heart — wild, untamed, free. her family becomes red ridge, becomes the darkenss of it too. she’s made herself a home in the sand: an old garage, turned inside out, now overflowing with flowers and colors, sparkling gems and drawings hanging at every corner — and a canary, otis, that sings her to sleep every night. she’s called it dustland, a sort of mythical place at the edge of red ridge, into the nothing, willing to welcome all the broken, all the wounded and the lost. but she loses herself too, now and then. at times she looks past the profiles of houses and buildings, and knows there’s a den of coyotes hiding among the ranks of valencia, which hold the key to that rabbit hole she once lost herself in. at night, when the desert gets cold and her bones don’t feel anything like a tiger’s — she swears she can hear the coyotes howl, beckoning. one night she caves in, asks them for a dose: she keeps it under her bed, lets it become her shame, and to avoid that secret getting out she helps the coyotes out anytime they ask. sometimes she feels she’s falling apart again. when she does, she turns to the ink to remind herself of how life was drained out of all shades, because of the needles in her arm. sometimes it’s enough to keep her breathing to the night. sometimes.

#devil's water ain't so deep — file.#intro.#redridgeintro

5 notes · View notes

neontigrr · 4 years

Text

damn rylan, back at it again with the loveable idiots — hello everyone & meet natalie, 29, devil’s disciple and sad sack of shit. she’s a recovering addict and an artist, part-time waitress at hale’s diner, part-time gardener at greer’s greenhouse, full time nerd and tiger enthusiast. find her info, facts & wanted connections below!! TW: DRUG ABUSE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, OVERDOSING.

BIO:

at ten she’s a spark begging to be ignited. a kid with a bright imagination, but her parents aren’t happy. school is hard for the girl who’ll spend hours covering textbooks in flowers — why should two plus two matter, she thinks, when i can make the paper bloom into whole gardens, full of creatures staring back at me, when i can create my own world? her parents have never been the kind to waste their days daydreaming. they look at their youngest daughter and think: where does she take it? all this carefree passion of hers, where does it come from? she lacks her father’s disposition for numbers, how clinically pristine they look when lined up one after the other, and how satisfying they feel when preceded by a plus sign on a bank invoice. she has none of her mother’s backbone, the way she carries herself as if pure, molten gold flew into her veins — staring everyone down, making herself taller. she seems to only have eyes for fleeting things, mundane passions: for her colors, for the music of a guitar, for the way the desert sand blows into her hair at sundown. come a couple years, all she has eyes of is the boy playing his guitar among the wrecks of a car parts graveyard — says his name is elvis and she knows that isn’t true, but in las vegas, somehow, you can make yourself be whoever you want to be. she smiles, and says her name is tiger instead: in another life, perhaps, she was fierce and with a bite.

at seventeen she’s golden spotlights on the vegas strip. atomic bomb waiting to explode, all summer glare and midnight rides into nowhere: it’s her and elvis in his daddy’s car and it feels like they could conquer the world, if they wanted. he sings to her, she dances for him, characters straight out of a ‘50s song, loaded with a naivety that tastes like the american dream. no time for overbearing parents, no attention paid in school: it’s just them, skin on skin, flowers blooming from her fingers in spray paint over abandoned buildings. this could last forever, she thinks, she begs, she prays: a life like this could last forever. (a life like this drains the best of her). elvis was born to be a king like his namesake, and he’s got dreams of fame and glory that don’t contemplate her presence. street artists never become rockstars, and she has time for nothing more than the creatures lunging out of her fingers, onto the paper. she’s skin and bones, ink and notes, like she could live off of music and drawings alone — and him, always him, a golden god, a forbidden hymn. the night he signs his first record deal she grabs her inks and her pens — draws a present on his skin, a crown for the king to be. and as she draws, she prays: that their dreams can be true, that this is not a happy chorus in a ballad, but a rock opera, a discography for the ages to come. she prays for him like a beggar at an altar: and maybe there’s magic in that crown she draws, there’s truth in the prayer she pours into it. he wins his dreams and leaves her behind: prayers always require sacrifices.

at twenty-two she’s broken lightbulbs under strangers’ feet. she’s shards of glass she could cut people with, but it’s herself she harms; see, elvis’ gone but there’s tons of friends in his place. there’s mary jane, addy, crystal, lucy and all her diamonds. vegas is a wonderland, a new high hidden ‘round every corner, and kind people willing to hand ‘em out like candy to an hazy, improvised alice — the drawings grow darker now, shadows with caved-in eyes and hollow chests. the colors don’t come the way they used to, and when they do they all look like a shade of nightmares — blood red, nausea green, despair blue. she looks for answers in his songs: on the radio, in her mind, she swears he still sings about her. has to follow him to the middle of the desert, to a festival where he stands on a stage and people swear he looks just like the real thing, the king himself. she doesn’t see him, though, but a hole where all her strength used to be, the us against the world turned into the open jaws of a ravenous monster: us against the world, and then the world collapses. wonderland turns to the land of nightmares, and the needle, it is her salvation — down the rabbit hole, she thinks, and someone must come out on the other side. either her, or the ghost of her. either her, or her evil turned to flesh. there is no white rabbit but a man — a good man, a honest man, with an inclination to fixing broken things. he helps her up to her fit, treats her alike his daughter and his sister, and when he begins asking her to help fix the remains of a broken bike, she begins to wonder whether he isn’t trying to fix her, too. sometimes he calls her tiger and she remembers when she fancied herself a wild and untamed thing, escaping cages, just following her instincts. under the heat of the south-west sun, she smiles. maybe all tigers were lost creatures at first.

at twenty-nine she’s neon gas begging to be lit up. there’s a tiger on her forearm, hides the scars of a previous life. there’s always ink under her fingernails, sometimes it seems it shines in the dark. charming has become her home: the devil’s disciples, her family. the bike she’d begun to fix with the man who helped her now bears the name of tempest, and she rides it out with the devils letting it add to the spirit in her heart — wild, untamed, free. her family becomes charming, becomes the devils, becomes rett, lani and rowan. she’s made herself a home in the sand: an old garage, turned inside out, now overflowing with flowers and colors, sparkling gems and drawings hanging at every corner — and a canary, otis, that sings her to sleep every night. she’s called it dustland, a sort of mythical place at the edge of charming, willing to welcome all the broken, all the wounded and the lost. but she loses herself too, now and then. at times she looks past the profiles of houses and buildings, and knows there’s a den of wolves in there, which hold the key to that rabbit hole she once lost herself in. at night, when the desert gets cold and her bones don’t feel anything like a tiger’s — she swears she can hear the wolves howl, beckoning. when she does, she turns to the ink to remind herself of how life was drained out of all shades, because of the needles in her arm. sometimes it’s enough to keep her breathing to the night. sometimes.

ABOUT:

• ‘heart over matter’, because she barely ever acts on anything other than pure instinct. • she lives in a refurnished garage on the edge of town, and she’s given it the name of ‘dustland’. it’s full of trinkets and good luck charms, colors and drawings hanging on every corner, flowers, healing gems and her bird, a pet canary named otis. it’s a big enough place to hide people who need to lie low for a while, people who need to get patched up or goods that need to be out of the radar of unwanted visitors. • the above mentioned ways the dustland has been used before are also some of the biggest ways in which nat contributes to the mc. she’s not much use in a fight, but is resourceful enough to always find ways to help and prove her belonging in the club, be it by smuggling goods, helping the wounded, whatever it’s required that doesn’t imply bloodshed. • when she isn’t working, you will find her drawing on virtually any available surface. she tends to create beautiful, meaningful portraits for the people she loves the most too — they’re all some sort of surreal, odd watercolor portrait. • she has several tattoos other than the devils’ one, the most prominent one on her right arm: a big, colorful tiger she got about a year since her arrival in charming. it was a drawing she made channeling the nickname rett had given her, and it was inked by none other than the original nat, natalia ballard. • she’s a vegan, and a creative cook — she loves creating elaborate salad mixes and cakes with unexpected ingredients (flowers, herbs, peculiar fruits she seeks out at farmer’s markets, etc). • her bike, tempest, is a bike she and rett fixed back up while he was helping her get clean. it’s a little old and rusty, but still fights to this day (and nat finds the symbolism in it lovely).

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

coworkers/superiors at either of her two jobs (hale's diner/greer's greenhouse). someone from the gang who knows her / elvis / any of her friends, since they were all pretty involved in the drug dealing business. someone from the gang who might tempt her with substances again. fwbs (none of these will become actual relationships because she's taken, in that sense, but it might be a fun, or even relatively toxic, dynamic until then). people within the mc she's closest to — sibling figures, people who have a special connection with her, people who can't stand her, people who will often ask for favors such as hiding someone at her place or smuggle something somewhere. neighbors of sorts (she lives on the edge of town, in a garage basically in the desert, but there could be someone in the neighborhood who occasionally drops by for a coffee or something). friends from the auto shop! her bike, tempest, is an old thing she put back together with the help of rett, but it still needs constant care. i'd love for someone from charming auto to be telling her this bike needs to move on to its next life, ngl. enemies (it's rare for nat not to be well-inclined towards someone, but sometimes she gets a bad vibe from people and will turn stone-cold to them, and that's a dynamic i'd very much like to explore). some sort of trainer who might help her grow at least some fight in the physical sense. + literally anything, i'm down for whatever dynamic so just hit me up!!

#charming.intro #FILE / mister cut me some slack.#drug abuse /#overdose /#when will i chill it with the idiots w good hair? never !#anyway nat's an old muse of mine #and means a lot to me #so i'm excited to bring her around <3

2 notes · View notes

xadoheandterra · 4 years

Text

Series: The Burning of Solheim Title: Brother, Oh Brother, What Fools May We Be Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV Characters: Somnus Lucis Caelum | The Mystic, Etras | Lady Tenebrae | Original Female Character Tags: Fantasy Racism, differing ideologies, before Ardyn and Somnus great breakup, dehumanization, different ideologies, Lucis Caelum Oaths and Bullshittery Summary: Somnus is left to handle Civitas Lucii without Ardyn, and no one is telling him anything about his brother. This, predictably, is a problem.

Somnus woke to the sound of his door being opened. He groaned at the thought of facing the day and rolled himself deeper into the sheets and goose down pillows—all the decadence that House Caelum of Civitas Lucii were afforded. He could feel the tell-tale absence of the warmth that often permeated his bed in these moments, and for a second mourned the loss of his bed partner. Bastard could be as silent as the grave when he wanted, so Somnus doubted it was Gil at his door even as he mumbled words into the pillow tiredly.

“’M not gettin’ up,” Somnus said, although whether whomever entered his room could understand him remained debatable.

A sigh, and then soft tones greeted Somnus’ ear enough to coax him to turn his head to glance at the speaker, surprised at the intrusion into his room. “Lord Somnus my sorrow to bring you forth, but the one I seek I cannot find. Where has my Brother gone if not to your bed?”

“Etras?” Somnus mumbled, surprised. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sat up abruptly, sheets dropped to pool around his waist. “Shit.” Etras stared at him from beneath the dark hood of her head wrapping, equally dark eyes seeking answers to the questions she asked. “Shit.” Somnus blinked and tried to get his brain to return to some form of functionality, enough that he stumbled through a stuttered, “Uh, Gil’s not—not here. Why would he be here?”

Etras looked at him long, and with a blank expression she said a short, “Indeed, why would I aim to seek out my Brother within your bed?”

“Y-Yeah. Ridiculous idea, right?” Somnus laughed, a fake and stuttered thing that fooled no one, least of all Etras who had the same uncanny ability to see right through him that Gilgamesh did.

“Foolish, more like,” Etras spoke plainly. “One who aims to cover their Truth in Lies is not one whom can be trusted, is that not so?”

“I—” Somnus faltered, and then looked away with the faintest flush to his cheeks. “Gil’s not here, Etras.”

“I can see this plainly,” Etras replied. “Perchance you know to where my Brother has traversed?”

Somnus rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “You know how quiet a bastard he can be,” Somnus said, somewhat bitterly. At Etras still blank look Somnus gestured to the bed with a tired, “The sheets are cold, Etras. He left hours ago.”

Etras pressed her lips together; her dark skin seemed to grow even darker with the growing shadows in the room. Somnus shivered, and darted his gaze about before he glanced to Etras and then stood to his feet sharply. Etras turned away and immediately the room lightened.

“Dress yourself, Lord Somnus,” Etras said sharply and started for the door. “Captain Aegaeus has returned with news of Lord Ardyn.”

“What, wait—they found him?” Somnus said, and the sluggishness vanished with word that they found his brother. He couldn’t wait to remind the asshole just how much he hated being left in charge with no warning—the impending need to find a marriage gift or not Somnus didn’t care. He also didn’t care for being bribed with Gilgamesh’s favor, either—although he didn’t mind Gilgamesh’s favor at the same time, he hated to think it was at his own brother’s behest.

“Not found,” Etras uttered, “but traced.” She left the room without further word, and left Somnus to scramble for clothes to chase after her.

Somnus hopped out of the door in a struggle with his pants as he shouted, “Traced where!?” after Etras. “He’s been missing for weeks, already—the check in was practically a month ago—what trace has been found?” Somnus caught up to Etras with a bit of difficulty—she had long legs and towered over him easily with a stride that practically doubled his and a part of him hated it—and with a hand he reached out to grab her and force her to still from the motion.

Half-a-second later Somnus jerked his hand back with a hiss at the cold that permeated from her skin quite suddenly. He tugged at a bit of elemental fire to burn away the bite of hoarfrost and glared up at Etras who stared down coldly at him.

“Do not touch so familiarly, Lord Somnus,” Etras warned, and Somnus scoffed.

“I will do as I please,” he spat back, then sighed and looked away. Somnus refused to apologize—Ardyn would have made him apologize by this point and he hated that thought—and instead focused on his questions. “Tell me what you know. Gil’s been worried—and he won’t even tell me why which is utter nonsense. This is Ardyn.”

Etras started once more down the hall and Somnus followed her; thankfully she kept a slower pace so he could talk and gesture to his leisure. “More than likely he’s gotten caught up in healing some plague-ridden town that won’t do anything in the long run and completely forgotten to check in to things.” Somnus scowled. “No, the fact that Gil’s keeping silent is one thing. He’s Oathbound to my brother and Bonded to keep his secrets. Fine. It is the fact that Aera has gone utterly prayer happy and remains in the Crystal Chamber begging answers from the Gods that spikes my concern.”

The answers Aera sought Somnus doubted would be given as he already knew them as well as she. She dressed her worry up as petty concerns over whom the Gods have Chosen to be King when they both know that it is Ardyn, really. Ardyn who would rather flounder off and play at being Healer than to handle matters at the heart and home, than to protect the borders of Civitas Lucii from destruction by the Plague that threatens the lands surrounding them. Somnus didn’t like it, but he understood it—the people loved Ardyn for his gentle and smiling ways all without knowing how utterly capricious the elder of them really could be.

Somnus clenched his fists tightly and tried to push the thoughts out of mind. Ardyn missed a check in and that wasn’t normal.

“Tell me, did they find a trace of that Solheim construct he insists on treating human?” Somnus asked, tone edged on this side of bitter.

Etras stopped still and turned to look at him. She said a short, “No,” before she began to walk again. “It is why I seek Gilgamesh.”

Somnus muttered a short, “Good riddance,” and ticked off at least one of Aera’s worries from the list. “Means the thing didn’t kill him, at least. Our Oracle will be pleased to know that.” Yet Somnus couldn’t fathom Ardyn being without the thing, either—his brother wouldn’t abandon it. He had a penchant for keeping things close to him even if they were patently poor for his health. “But—wait. That thing is why you are seeking out Gil?”

“Yes,” Etras said plainly and Somnus reached out for her again. This time she didn’t fight the touch, let him spin her around as he stared at her with wide eyes in surprise.

“You—know something,” Somnus said. “Etras—what—what are they not telling me?”

Etras pressed her lips together and ducked her head. “Forgive me, Lord Somnus,” she uttered, “but the truth of it is not certain.” Somnus stared at her, and waited, and Etras continued. “I seek Brother as you know his Gifts are more tuned than mine own. He shall call forth from the Gate, and then we will know.”

Somnus felt his heart go numb at the implication. His breath stalled in his chest. He uttered a short, “You—you think Ardyn—”

“Apologies, Lord Somnus.”

Somnus ripped himself away from Etras. He curled his hands into fists even as his eyes went wide, even as his heart stuttered in his chest as his blood turned cold like ice. “Ardyn wouldn’t! You must be wrong—he wouldn’t!”

“Brother will Call from the Gate, and we will know,” Etras said, and Somnus swallowed tightly and his lips pulled back into a snarl.

Somnus ground out, “Fine,” and tore down the hall to find Aera. If Gilgamesh were to Summon like how Etras wanted, then Aera must be present as Witness, and Somnus would be damned if they kept anything further from him about this entire mess as well. Hang what Ardyn wanted—hang ‘keeping him safe’ from some cock and bull malarkey that they’ve cooked up in their little minds. Ardyn was his brother and while Somnus may not always be happy with that—or happy with the fact that Ardyn would soon be King with his wandering, foolhardy ways—that didn’t stop Ardyn from being HIS.

They Swore to each other, after all, and House Caelum was nothing if not possessive of those to whom they have Bonded.

#fanfic #final fantasy xv #ff15 #somnus lucis caelum #fic: the burning of solheim #fic: brother oh brother

7 notes · View notes

secret-engima · 5 years

Text

Snippet of Deleantur

(Was working on my other FFXV time-travel when this bunny bit me so here we go, a preview of the one-shot that I can already feel spiraling into the 10k+ length without my consent)

The world would forever remember the night of the Wave. The night when the Crystal, the symbol of the Astral’s blessing upon House Caelum and the source of their power, erupted into light and power so great it stretched to the horizons and beyond. The night when the full moon was outshone by the earth itself as magic blazed from the earth to the heavens, set the sky on fire and shook the world with the echo of a voice no one could quite understand —a voice that said No. Not this way. Not this time.—.

Lying in their beds, two brothers woke up screaming as the magic in their veins boiled over under the touch of the Wave as it passed over them. Their minds burned with visions of things that did not exist and had never happened even as the Oracle in her prayers collapsed in tears and every soul on the planet woke up with a feeling of fear and relief both.

For eighteen year old Somnus, the world turned dark with jealousy and red with blood. A throne sat cold beneath his skin and a crown heavy as a mountain on his head while deep voice called him fool and showed him the price of his greed —his line would never know true peace, his brother would suffer for ages and his line would end where it began: a familial sword through the heart—. For Somnus, the world became a grey landscape of duty and desperate regret, an endless attempt at apology that would never be heard by its recipient and that fell from his lips with his very last breath.

For twenty-one year old Ardyn, the world stretched on for a black eternity. His love died in his arms and the world burned around him and his voice laughed with glee as the night turned black and no one seemed to notice his desperate screams —no one could hear them over the laughter of the Thing living in his skin—. Reality broke into meaningless fragments and by the time it had reformed there was nothing left but regret for his continued existence and hate for the man who wore his brother’s face even though that man had done nothing wrong.

Somnus died old and beloved, with many children and grandchildren. Somnus died with tears of shame sliding down his face for all he had betrayed and all that he had sentenced his family to.

Ardyn died ancient and hated, with no line to call his own and only the tiniest fragments of humanity left in his soul to cry out in grief as he ended the last of his own family. Ardyn died with a snarl on his face and a sob of relief in what remained of his heart because finally, finally, he could rest.

The Wave passed on, tearing the knowledge out of their minds before it could break them. It rolled heedlessly across the sky, leaving them with only desperate impressions and echoes that drove them from their chambers and into each other’s arms where Somnus apologized past his tears for betrayals he did not remember —had never done— and Ardyn shook from relief at his release from a soul-deep agony he could not recall —had never suffered—. The rift that had been growing between them as Somnus sided with their father —who spoke of purging the growing plague in the lands by force— and Ardyn —who resisted with pleas for mercy and medicine— burned away under the anguished feeling that they had both lost each other —lost everything— and only just now found each other again.

The castle roiled with chaos as guards staggered under the pressure of the magic rushing by and every animal in the grounds and stables and kennels screamed with something they could sense but the humans had already forgotten.

By the time anyone rushed into the throne room to actually look upon the Crystal, the Wave was over and done, and the lone figure that had shimmered into existence on the throne had already staggered to his feet and fled into the dark of night. Past the panicking guards, past the screaming animals, out into the wilderness where no one could ask questions.

By the time anyone rushed into the throne room, all that was left was a passive Crystal and a throne drenched in blood, its back torn open at chest height like someone had driven a sword into it and then ripped it messily free.

No one understood why Ardyn took one look at the bloodied throne in the morning and fell to his knees sobbing like he was bearing witness to the end of the world, startling his father out of his angry theories about thieves receiving their just punishment for touching the Crystal with immoral hands. No one could explain why Ardyn pressed his forehead into the bottom step leading to the throne and whispered “thank you” over and over past his tears. Not even him.

No one could explain why Somnus for once ignored his father’s bluster about nobility staying dignified and knelt beside his brother, a hand on the elder’s back, tears trickling silently down his face as he mouthed “I’m sorry” to the bloody throne.

It took weeks to piece together the true ramifications of the Wave. It took months to confirm those ramifications.

The Starscourge was gone. The plague that had been warping people and animals into monsters had vanished without a trace. The ill who had been quarantined, covered in purple-black lines and lost to the torments of their mind, were now clear-skinned and sane —if confused, having lost all memory of the time they were sick—. The animals that had wandered the wilderness, spreading their sickness with their dripping fangs and limping about as if in great pain were either gone or seen trotting about in the distance, fur healthy and aggression settled to the levels of any of their respective kind. In every kingdom, every city, town, or village, every class from beggars to nobles, the Starscourge was nowhere to be found.

The Oracle consulted with the Astrals in search of answers about the miracle, but no answer was forthcoming. The Astrals were strangely silent, and their messengers did not come when called. They had nothing to say about the Crystal’s inexplicable surge of magic, or the bloody throne that sat beneath it, the stains refusing to come out no matter how the servants washed and scrubbed and repaired fabric or stone steps.

It was around that time that the other rumors reached their ears. Rumors of a stranger wandering the land, hunting monsters, protecting innocents, healing the sick…

Wielding magic.

Only two houses in the world could wield magic. That of the Lucis Caelums, blessed with a connection to the Crystal, and that of the Oracles, blessed with the ability to speak to the Astrals. For some unnamed stranger to appear from nowhere wielding magic, mere months after the Wave and its bloody throne… It was suspicious at best.

Their father assigned both Somnus and Ardyn to hunt down the stranger and see if he was the source of the Wave, or if he was just a pretender using sleight of hand to make people believe he was magical. If he was neither of those, but some kind of illegitimate half-blood, they were to bring the stranger back into the fold. By force, if necessary —there were to be no loose lineages, no wayward drops of magic escaped their family control—.

The two brothers, practically inseparable in the aftermath of the Wave, set off by themselves into the wilderness. They left their father’s soldiers and Somnus’s Shield, Gilgamesh, behind to watch over the Crystal. Working together, the two brothers were easily a match for some random stranger who might not even have magic. A few days after they started, Aera trotted up on her finest black chocobo. If there was a chance that this mystery person could shed light upon the Wave and the sudden silence of the Astrals, then as Bahamut’s chosen Oracle, she had a duty to question him.

Despite Somnus’s teasing groans about never having a moment’s peace from Ardyn’s and Aera’s affections for each other should she come along, both brothers welcomed her on their journey. They were as curious as she was to learn if the stranger was truly involved with the Wave after all.

They abandoned their fancy robes in favor of simpler, more travel-hardy wear within a week. Their royal clothing attracted too much of the wrong attention, and they would never get anywhere if they had to fend off bandits what felt like every fifteen minutes. They couldn’t hide their noble bearing of course, none of them knew how to act like peasants to save their lives, but dressing simply made bandits less likely to pay attention to them on the road and made the common folk speak more freely in the taverns and villages.

Out here it was easier to get more details on the stranger, though all the details were fuzzy and steeped in a level of awe Ardyn and Somnus thought unhealthy.

The stranger gave no name, no matter who asked or how many he saved. In fact, most rumors did not even recount him speaking —save for the rumors that he shook the skies with the words of the Astrals and could call down Bahamut’s blades at will, but those were nonsense—. Since the man had no name, the common folk had given the wanderer one. Deleantur. Very roughly, it meant the Erased in the old languages. That or Destroyer, and that name did not fill them with much confidence over procuring a friendly meeting. No one could explain why they called him Deleantur, only that it made sense when one looked upon him.

No one could tell them where Deleantur was going next either, and so they trailed him from village to village, always just a few days too late to catch up with the mysterious figure who left dead monsters and stories of miracles in his wake —revived a child torn open by monster claws with a tuft of feather, healed a man’s ruined arm by shattering a tiny glass bottle on it, cured a woman turned to stone with flash of magic—. All impossible tales, all sworn to by those they asked.

Then one day they finally arrived in a village where the people helpfully told them that Deleantur had just left less than an hour ago on chocobo back, if they hurried, they might still catch him before nightfall. They pushed their chocobos to near exhaustion, but found nothing more than dust and waving grasslands. Frustrated, they made camp for the night on a tall, flat rock, Aera carefully warding it with signs of blessing and safety just as she had all their other camps before.

Ardyn had the middle watch just in case —blessings did not stop bandits after all, only wild animals—, and despite being certain that he was awake every moment of his watch, sword balanced on his shoulder as he sat with his back to the fire, he still didn’t sense the stranger until the man kicked a tiny pebble on the rock’s surface.

Ardyn spun in alarm, sword in hand at the sound, raised his blade defensively at the sight of the stranger mere steps away from his sleeping brother and lover, “Who goes?”

His shout jerked Somnus and Aera from their sleep. Aera sat up sluggishly, unused to reacting to danger in the night —no one would dare touch an Oracle, and even before that the Mirus Fleuret line had possessed the fewest political enemies—. Somnus, on the other hand, was very used to assassination or kidnapping attempts happening in his sleep and tumbled out of his bedroll in a moment, sliding to his feet with a sword in hand like he’d been awake the entire time.

Both Ardyn and Somnus pointed their blades at the stranger, but hesitated to attack. The cloaked figure just watched them from beneath his hood, hands hidden beneath the tattered fabric. In the flickering firelight, Ardyn thought the man’s eyes gleamed eerie blue, but he couldn’t be certain. Somnus stepped closer, blue eyes snapping and blade far more ready to swing than Ardyn’s, “Who are you to come into our camp unannounced? Speak, vagrant! What is your purpose here?”

Aera had stumbled to her feet at that point, her trident clutched in sleep-shaky hands, and Ardyn shifted around behind his brother to reach his lover’s side and pull her to safety behind them. Through it all, the stranger didn’t move, just watched them.

Ardyn could almost see his little brother’s impatient twitch, barely resisted the urge to scold Somnus when the younger man gestured his sword at the stranger in threat, “Well? Answer me!”

Ardyn, uneasy at the continued, eerie silence, lowered his sword tip to the ground and tried to placate both his brother and the unmoving figure in their midst, “You startled us. Did you come to share our fire? It is cold tonight. We won’t take offense so long as you mean no harm.” Still nothing. He might as well have been talking to a breathing rock. Off to the side, their chocobos began to wake up, giving out soft “kwehs” of confusion —he really hoped the stranger didn’t scare them off, the next village was almost a week away on foot—.

Somnus opened his mouth, but Ardyn gently laid a hand on his brother’s wrist in a request for silence. More shouting was clearly not going to work, and someone losing their temper was the last thing they needed. Ardyn then pressed his hand to his chest, “I am Ardyn. This is my brother Somnus, and my … my friend, Aera. Do you have a name we might call you by?” A thought occurred to him and he added, as gently as he could, “Can you speak? I know the tongue of hands if that is what you prefer.” He added a few greeting gestures just to prove his point —and in case the stranger was deaf—.

Finally, the stranger reacted. His feet slid a half step away from them, and his head ducked down as if finally aware that he’d been eerily staring. Heedless —or just not afraid— of the sword Somnus still had pointed at his neck, the stranger looked away from them and into the darkness for several seconds before looking back and finally, finally, speaking.

“Why are you … following me.” Ardyn jolted at just how quiet the voice was. So raspy from disuse that the question was robbed of even its tone. Just flat words that had the strangest accent smudging them. It wasn’t a seaport accent, or a peasant’s drawl, or anything from the neighboring kingdoms. Not even the northern dignitaries that Ardyn had met once matched the accent of this rusty voice.

Then the words settled in his head and he exchanged a wide-eyed look with Somnus and Aera, “You are Deleantur?” Somnus blurted, his sword dipped downward a fraction before rising again.

The stranger made a funny little gesture with his shoulders that Ardyn couldn’t interpret, “…That’s what … some of the people call me.”

#Melodies and Manuscripts #Secret-Engima's Writing #ffxv au #ffxv noctis #ardyn #somnus lucis caelum #ffxv aera #ffxv time-travel fic #good guy ardyn #good guy somnus #these two will have a healthy sibling relationship so help me #and then they will adopt Noctis/Deleantur into their sibling dynamic #and it will be glorious #ffxv fixit fic

33 notes · View notes

crazyzaika · 5 years

Text

Love on Detours Chapter 10

Guys. So here we are with Chapter 10.

It took a while, I know. However, a big block had me firmly under control and then there was stress in my private life. Reallife *shrug*

At the request of my german readers, I mix this chapter with two of the four pairings. Actually, I was planning to add Miraxus as well, but the two didn't want to do like I wanted. AND after this chapter I will make a time jump with you ;) Let's see what you think about this.

Greets Z

Chapter 10

She was incredibly sad. Her heart hurt only at the thought of him, of his behaviour towards her. But she simply couldn't change it. And she did not want to change her behaviour. She loved him, and she couldn't and wouldn't change that. Even if it killed her. Because she knew that he could not hate her. Before it came out how her family relations were, he had liked her, even presumably loved her. He had introduced her to his family. And if his father hadn' t told him that she was the daughter of an Oyabun, they would probably still be a couple. Gray had been so angry four years ago. And he had thrown a lot of insults at her head. But only if she really dared to approach him. Otherwise he had always ignored her, punished her with icy cold.

Juvia straightened up. Tiredness hung in her limbs and she lowered her gaze, looking out the window. Outside it was cloudy, rainy. Matching her mood. Everything seemed so much bleaker since he had told her about a month ago that he had a fiancée. She felt so lifeless, impassive. These words had destroyed so much in her, had ruined her. Another tear ran down her sore skin. She didn't even have to look in the mirror to know what she looked like. She knew that too. Her skin would be red from all the crying and irritation from the tears, her eyes swollen and bloated, stuck with tears. Her skin pale and sickly. She seemed ill and for a good month she had barely made it out of bed two days in a row. Juvia felt headaches throbbing behind her forehead and her throat laced up. Her heart was aching, burning and her body began to tremble.

A muffled knock on her door made her flinch violently, but still her gaze hung on the flowers on her windowsill. Back then, about 5 years ago, Gray had given her a flower for her birthday and she had cared for it all the time. The blue blossoms of the gentian never seemed to want to wither properly and never let themselves be withered. At that time it had only been a single flower. For five years a whole flower box had been growing cheerfully. Juvia bent slightly forward and inhaled the scent of the flowers and a sad smile plucked on her lips.

"Juvia-sama?", Acnologia's voice muffled through the door and sighed softly. Should she answer him? She didn't know. However, she also knew exactly how he would react if he saw her. The otherwise quite polite and mostly emotionless, good house spirit of the family would be angry. He would be furious and she wanted to avoid that. Nevertheless, she slowly rose. The soft fabric of the knee-length nightgown gently played around her skin and the white fabric almost adapted to her pale skin. She slowly opened the door and looked up at the servant of her family, blinking slightly. For a moment he stared at her and she saw the rage flashing in his dark eyes as he took a closer look at her appearance. Then he sighed softly.

"Ojou-sama," he said and sadness resonated in his voice as she looked at him wordlessly and waited. She knew what he was thinking, even without him saying it. She knew what everyone was thinking. Her clan thought she should finally forget Gray. That he was not worthy of her love at all. But she didn't think so and she just couldn't let him go.

"Breakfast is ready, do you want to take it with the others at the table, or in your room?", surprise briefly drove through her body as he did not address the subject, as usual, but simply continued. But she didn't go into it. That wasn't necessary in itself. She lowered her eyes slightly and shrugged her shoulders. She had not spoken for almost a month. Did she want to eat with the others? Did she want to eat at all? Dullness lay over her senses and she blinked slightly, then she braced back to her bed, crawled silently back under the blanket and buried herself in the warmth of the soft fabric. Tiredness spread throughout her body and dragged her down into a deaf, bleak sleep.

" Morning," he growled and dropped his bag on the bench next to Ultear. She looked up from the book in her hands and smiled coolly at him. Just like always. His cousin wasn't exactly the warmest person, so this reaction didn't really surprise him. Restlessness filled his senses and aggression surged in him. But he couldn't really put the whole thing together, didn't know why he had been permanently irritated for almost a month.

"Wow, still such a sunshine, mhm?" she asked and sarcasm seemed to drip from her words. Gray snorted and clenched his teeth so tightly that his jaw crunched. Icy rage crept up in him and he didn't even really know why. He hadn't been at peace with himself the whole time, had lost his balance. His inner peace and that worms him animalistically. But he also didn't know why and he didn't want to make a fool of anyone or get into a constant argument. Or in fights, but that was exactly the case. Gray let himself fall next to his cousin and drove with his hands irritated through his hair.

"Again so extremely aggro", his brother Lyon's voice penetrated his ears and he raised his gaze to him. A dark growl rolled up his throat. He knew what Lyon was alluding to, but he refused to believe it. It couldn't be Juvia's absence. Since he treated her so coldly, since he had rejected her, he hadn't been so aggressive after all. Cool yes and he admitted that for the last four years he had laughed less than before. It couldn't be because he had told that lie. Nor was it because Juvia hadn't come to university for a month, had it? He pulled his eyebrows so tightly that they were a single stroke. Thinking of their shattered facial expression, his heart contracted painfully for a moment. But the fact was: she was the daughter of criminals. Of scum. His father had said at the time that such a person was not tolerated in his house. He was a policeman and as such avoided scum like the Dragneels. He let his head hang, rubbed his neck and stared at the patterns of the stone slabs.

"Yes, but he won't believe us that this is connected with his nonsensical dislike of someone very special," Ultear said, shrugging her shoulders. She herself didn't mind in the least spending her time with the social scum. Ultear did her thing and sometimes Gray envied her for it. His aunt Ul's daughter wouldn't let herself be pushed around, not even by her own mother. Even though sometimes he didn't quite understand what she found in such criminal scum. On the one hand, he still loved Juvia. That had never changed over that long time. But Gray didn't want to disgrace his family either. Whereby his father had nothing against Meredy, Lyons girlfriend. Sometimes he just didn't understand his father's reasons.

"He just doesn't want to admit it. I know that he even has a secret picture folder of Juvia on his computer and on his cell phone," Lyon said, and Gray literally froze. His heartbeat speeded up and slowly he raised his gaze, staring angrily at his brother. How did he get his data? Apart from that ... why did he tell it around, please? He felt the strong urge to smash the white-haired man's face in. His muscles tightened, but Lyon simply didn't pay him any attention, otherwise he would have noticed that he was staring at him as if he wanted to kill him. His heartbeat quickened more, rage made his blood boil, and the urge to beat Lyon grew stronger with every second. Gray's hands clenched to fists, he grabbed his bag and rose jerkily.

"I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, I'm going home," he rumbled and marched off with stiff steps. He didn't want to harm his family. Why was he so angry?

Levy sighed as she stared at her cell phone. Juvia's behavior was to tussle hair. Not only was she currently the Dragneel clan's problem child, Lucy also worried and she worried herself. Juvia and Gajeel were friends and each of them watched with growing concern as she sank deeper and deeper into this depression. She barely ate properly, rarely came out of bed for several days in a row, let alone out of her room, and she basically cried all the time. Apart from the fact that she hadn't said a word the whole time. That worried everyone and the only thing that kept the Dragneel clan men from filleting Gray was Juvia's heart that would break even more. She turned to her side and sighed deeply. It was Monday afternoon and she wondered how to make Juvia a little happier again. It was already summer and she had opened the balcony door so some wind could blow through the apartment. The soft ringing of the wind chime that Gajeel had hung up was almost meditative and she closed her eyes for a moment, the smartphone in her hand on her forehead. Maybe they should have a picnic?

For Lucy that would be quite good again. She was mothered by everyone all the time and Levy knew she felt like a glass doll. Because that's how she was treated. Like a raw egg on a battlefield. Levy knew that her best friend was working very hard. She was now in her 13th week of pregnancy and in the meantime you could already see a light belly that wasn't there otherwise. The school did not necessarily react to pregnancies. Makarov was a very tolerant headmaster. However, Levy had encouraged Natsu and Lucy to talk to him on their own. In the end Lucy was allowed to finish the school, but he had taken Natsu to prayer for a long time. Then her cell phone vibrated again and she lifted herself up, stood up and went over to the fridge, took out some cooled Sencha and sat down on the sofa again. She opened Line and scrolled to the end of the group chat, frowning.

Lucy, 14:45: We clearly have to distract her.

Gajeel, 14:50: Yes, we all know that, Bunnygirl.

Lucy, 14:50: DO NOT CALL ME BUNNYGIRL!

Gajeel, 14:52: Stop crying.

Natsu, 1452: Metal face, if you call Lucy that again, I'll sink you in Tokyo Bay!

Gajeel, 14:53: Of course. Calm down again, Salamander.

Lucy, 14:53: Naaaatssuuuuuu *sniff* Cuddling

Natsu, 14:53: Wait a minute, I'll be right there. Give me a second, okay? Won't be long.

Gajeel, 14:55: HAHAHA, you are such a slipper hero.

Levy sighed and snorted slightly. Then she started typing. It couldn't be that they couldn't all get it together to calm Juvia down and bring her to other thoughts.

Levy, 14:57: Guys ... let's please concentrate on the actual topic again. Juvia suffers under Gray and I don't want a friend to break down like she does. Accordingly, I suggest a picnic. This is good for her, then she comes out and Lucy also comes with her. You don't have any right to have a say, Natsu.

Natsu, 14:57: Please what?

Lucy, 14:58: That's a wonderful idea, Levy!

Natsu, 14:59: Honey! I'll be right there, let's discuss it!

Lucy, 14:59: There's nothing to discuss, I'm not a raw egg. I'm just pregnant!

Natsu, 15:00: With ma twins!

Lucy, 15:01: The one I carry, not you. By the way, where are you?

Gajeel, 15:01: As imma say, yer full under the slipper

Natsu, 15:02: Shut up, metal face!

Lucy, 15:03: NATSU DRAGNEEL! IF YOU'RE NOT HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU'RE GONNA GET SOMETHING!

Natsu, 15:04: Almost there, darling. Only a few steps left! Wait, Luuuuceeeee

Levy sighed and shook her head. She laid her head slightly on her neck. Her friends were sometimes really exhausting, but she loved them all. Despite their strange quirks. The bluenette girl rose from the couch with another sigh, went straight into her bedroom and dug out a big cooler bag and a blanket carrier bag from her closet. Then she went into the kitchen and picked out ingredients.

Soft sunlight fell through the dense canopy of leaves, the tree under which the small group had settled. The chirping sound of cicadas filled the hot summer air. Everyone seemed to be looser than usual. Only Juvia was sitting in a simple blue dress that reached down to her knees, not saying a word, not even pulling a face. Levy had the impression that Natsu had forced her to come along. And she wouldn't be surprised. Juvia's otherwise soft, shimmering blue curls seemed dull and lackluster, and her deep blue eyes also had a cool emptiness in them. She would never admit it, but Levy was afraid for Juvia. Could she ever make it out of this depression?

She knew what words could do. Her own father had always kept her small until she met Gajeel. Restlessness surged and sorrow surfaced. Had Juvia eaten anything at all? She had not yet touched the sandwich Levy had given her.

"Juvia?," she asked carefully and looked at her waiting. Her heartbeat accelerated as the other bluenette one slowly turned her gaze, looking at her with that empty gaze. Levy smiled uncertainly.

"I hope you like it," she asked and knew perfectly well that Juvia couldn't really answer that question. After all, she hadn't taken a bite yet. For a moment her eyes wandered over to Lucy and Natsu sitting on the other side of the cloak. Natsu had drawn his girlfriend to him. She sat leaning against him on a soft cushion between his legs while he held her plate and fed her all the time. Something the blonde kept complaining about. And Levy knew that was simply because her best friend felt like she was being fattened. Because not only Natsu fed her constantly. Everyone stuffed food into Lucy's mouth all the time. And even now Lucy had to force Natsu not to put something in her mouth all the time so that she wouldn't fall off his meat. Levy turned her attention from the quietly squabbling couple back to Juvia. She stared at the paper plate on her lap. Then she looked back at Levy and nodded. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, the beginning of a smile. Levy's heart made a jump. That alone was a rare reaction from her. And yet Levy was careful, she didn't want to frighten Juvia, didn't want her to retreat back into her cold, impenetrable shell of sadness and silence.

Because even if it was only the twitching of her mouth corners, it was a fact that it had been the hint of a smile. And that was progress in the right direction, as the bluenette found. Juvia slowly took a tiny bite, and for a few seconds Levy saw the touch of a glimmer in her blue eyes. Since Gray's harsh words, they seemed empty and desolate, like two endlessly deep tunnels of blue. But now a tiny spark of life had shimmered in them. Levy's heartbeat accelerated and she beamed at Juvia as she continued to eat. The others didn't hide it either, but nobody said anything. They secretly kept an eye on Juvia for fear that she would stop immediately when she realized she was being watched. A warm summer breeze came up and plucked her blue hair. She immediately seemed more alive. Then Juvia handed Levy her paper plate and Levy looked at her questioningly. The breath of an invitation was in her eyes and Levy's eyes widened.

"W-would you like some more?" she asked cautiously and to the delight of the others, Juvia nodded after a short hesitation. Levy beamed at her friend and immediately nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course, Juvs. Another sandwich or some sushi?" she looked at her waiting and Juvia pointed at the sandwiches with a lowered gaze and shimmering pink cheeks. Levy immediately put two on her plate and handed it back to her. Then Gajeel leaned forward. He had leaned against the tree all the time behind Levy.

"You see, it's slowly getting better again, Shrimp", he hummed softly into her ear and Levy nodded slightly. Juvia ate little and only in small bites, but slowly a touch of colour seemed to come into her pale cheeks again. And that made her incredibly happy.

"See you tomorrow", Levy beamed a big smile at the others. Gajeel looked as grim as ever while carrying the cooler and the carrier bag with the second blanket. Lucy smiled while Natsu had an arm wrapped around her waist. Juvia stood next to the two, but said nothing. She indicated a slight bow.

"Yes, see you tomorrow, Levy. Come home well and write if you're home okay," concern shimmered in Lucy's chocolate brown eyes and Levy nodded, grinned broadly.

"Don't worry, nothing will happen to us," she replied. Then they got on their socks and left the Dragneels' property. The air was a bit humid, it was still hot and the chirping of the cicadas filled the evening air. Music came muffled from some houses and in the distance you could hear the sounds of trains and cars.

"Do you think she can do it," Levy asked and worry lay in her features, her posture and her voice. Gajeel sighed deeply. Slowly it annoyed him. He knew that Juvia felt like shit, but he knew that she was stronger than that and got back on her feet. Of course it would take time to get over Gray, but she would make it. He knew that.

"Will be, believe me. She'll be fine," he returned and Levy looked up at him as he gave her a smirking grin. Redness spread in her cheeks and she giggled, then she nodded approvingly.

"Yes, I think so, too. And she still has her family," she agreed. Then Gajeel pushed himself in her way, bent down to her and kissed her. She leaned towards him, returned the kiss and heat crept through her body. His scent rose into her nose, filled her senses and both slowly separated again.

"And you have my old man and me, don't forget that," he said and his voice was deeper. The smile on her lips widened and she kissed him again as a consenting hum left her lips.

Juvia knew everyone was worried. And she understood it too. But she still needed some distance. It just couldn't be any other way. She couldn't pretend that she didn't care any more. That didn't work like that. She simply loved Gray too much for that. Natsu and Lucy had already gone inside and she pulled the brows together as she walked through the long corridors. The dark wood and the paneled walls were as always well maintained, shimmering softly in the light of the lamps. She stepped into the entrance area and to the telephone desk, writing down a short note that she was taking a little walk to clear her head. Then she slipped into her wedge heel sandals and left the property. Both Acnologia and his foster son Zeref would notice that she had left a message. Probably the latter rather than Acnologia, because she knew that Zeref was always keeping an eye on her. If she ever left the house. She followed the narrow side streets, listening to the chirping of crickets and cicadas, the muffled music, the laughter of families. Like a hushed shadow she walked almost silently through the poorly lit streets. But she had absolutely no fear. No one here would hurt her. They all knew her too well as a daughter of the Dragneel clan. Even though she had been adopted all these years ago.

She didn't have her phone with her, but she wouldn't have really paid attention to the time and so she just kept wandering around. She stepped into the light of a lantern and her gaze glided over the entrance of a smaller park. She didn't know how long she had been walking around, but she was less familiar with the area. Her gaze glided over a wide square. Moths danced in the lantern light and then grunting noises, dull moaning and the sounds of blows penetrated her ears. Confusion gripped her senses. She knew these kinds of noises and knew there was a fight going on.

A touch of curiosity surged inside her and her heartbeat accelerated slightly. The sand crunched quietly under her soles as she walked further into the park. She saw a modern toilet house, saw park benches and then she saw darkly dressed figures fighting each other.

Her eyes widened as she recognized who was messing with a group of thugs. Her heartbeat speeded up and fear painfully hit the claws in her stomach. She saw him skilfully dodging, handing out and seldom taking a blow. Time on Fairy Tail had made him harder.

She swallowed, felt a thick lump in her throat and again tears came to her eyes. Deep dark anger paired with an intense, concentrated look lay on his face. Blood was stuck on his right cheek because of a laceration and his lip was chapped. She saw in the dim light of the lanterns the blood on his hands, saw his injured ankles. Her heartbeat accelerated as he took a kick in the side. She heard the deep, painful grunt and her vision blurred. Her heart felt like it was made of shattered glass. She could barely breathe so much it hurt.

I shouldn't be here, she thought, swallowed and wanted to turn away when she saw something flashing. Her eyes widened and her body reacted all by itself. She sprinted to the beating adults and threw herself before Gray's unprotected back. The smacking sound of flesh and blood filled the air and pain roared in her body. Her vision blurred and as the attacker pulled out the knife she growled and struck. An animalistic screech came loose from her lips as she moved on to attack. Her instincts ordered her to protect him, defend him and eliminate any enemy who stood in her way. Roaring, hot rage roared through her body, burning with adrenaline through her veins. She jumped on the stranger and beat him up. Then she turned away from the unconscious one and turned to the next enemy. Even as she stood up and turned around, her vision blurred for a few seconds and Gray's horrified cry reached her ears. Everything began to spin and she blinked slightly.

Someone grabbed her by her upper arms and as she felt pain and warm wetness, she blinked violently, looking down. Blood colored the long blue dress continuously red and slowly she felt the pain through the adrenaline. Gray held her upright on her arms and for a moment stared only at the wound on her stomach. Then she slumped down.

Gray whirled around, one of those stupid idiots in the mangle, saw blue hair, a long blue dress. His eyes widened and he simply beat the guy unconscious, dropped him. The others started the retreat and he didn't quite know why, perceived it only marginally. He saw her go at one of the guys angrily like a fury, beating him into unconsciousness. His heartbeat speeded up and as she swirled around looking for her next opponent, his eyes widened in shock. Not because of her murderous facial expression, but because his gaze was magically drawn to the ever-increasing bloodstain.

"JUVIA", her name left his lips without him being able to prevent it and he passed the few meters. He saw her wobble slightly and grabbed her by the arms, holding her as she realized she had a wound. His heart pounded painfully loudly against his ribs and icy anxiety surged inside him as she collapsed. She had acted in adrenaline.

"No ... Ju ... oh fuck," he cursed, bringing out only vague words while his thoughts rested. Where was the nearest hospital? He went down on his knees slightly, shoved one hand under her knees and lifted her up skilfully. She weighed almost nothing. He swallowed and his panicked gaze flew across the side streets that bordered the park entrance. He didn't have a mobile phone with him and didn't take any money either. So he couldn't call a taxi, let alone call an ambulance. Gray gritted his teeth firmly together, tightened his grip around Juvias narrow figure and set himself in motion. He had been an asshole, he knew that, but he wouldn't let her die like that. And with this thought, he started running.

His body hurt, sweat stuck to his skin, his breathing was panting and although Juvia clearly weighed too little, it seemed to him that she was getting heavier with every step. Sweat was burning in his eyes as he came half jogging half stumbling through the automatic sliding doors of the hospital. He looked around hectically. His clothes were soaked with her blood and the panic crushed him. The roar of his heart drowned out the bustle of some nurses and a few doctors and other patients in the entrance area. But even if he had noticed these other people, he would not have really paid attention to them.

"HELP! FAST! SHE NEEDS A DOCTOR NOW," he roared like a madman. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He felt the eyes of the strangers on him, felt the immediate silence, but his behavior and appearance, desperate, sweaty and bloody, set some of the nurses in motion immediately. A few seconds later, two emergency doctors came running up with a couch and helped him to gently place Juvia on it. He was pushed aside while Juvia was taken away and a doctor examined him, asked him questions, but he didn't listened to any of them. His gaze was fixed on the door behind which the doctors and nurses with Juvia had disappeared. Everything around him turned slightly, but he ignored the swindle. Dull, he heard someone talking to him, but his gaze was fixed on the door. Then a violent pain struck his cheek and his head flew to the side. He stared with big eyes at a doctor.

"I'm sorry, but you were too fixed and barely responsive. What is your name, how do you feel?", the doctor was smaller than him, but scrutinized him with a firm gaze, examining and conscientious. He blinked violently and swallowed, felt the burning in his throat.

"I ... Gray Fullbuster," he then said, "my name is Gray Fullbuster."

"Mr. Fullbuster, please sit down."

"No," he shook his head slightly and swayed slightly, but looked back at the door.

"It wasn't a request," the sound in her voice pulled his eyes back on her, and Gray saw the slender doctor's hard, stern gaze in front of him and swallowing lightly. Cold shivers crept up his back and he let her push him to a seating group. He examined her a little more closely. She had cyan hair, deep blue eyes and her skin was quite pale. The wide white gown and the sky blue doctor's clothes did not hide her female figure, though. His eyes briefly scurried to the name tag on her clothes. Dr. Aquarius Star. Then his eyes turned back to hers.

"So ... ", she began and pulled out a pen, made a note, " You' re Gray Fullbuster. Age?

"19," he said and rubbed his chest. He felt an unpleasant pulling in his heart and knew it was because Juvia was hurt. It was all his fault. His lips pressed into a tight line.

"And the young woman you brought us?"

"Juv-Juvia Dragneel, 18 years old," he said and his voice seemed shakier than it should. His hands clenched into fists and his gaze fell on the linoleum floor.

"Mhm ...," she grumbled and when he raised his gaze, he saw her eagerly writing down what he said.

"You wouldn't happen to know the phone number of her family?"

"I-I ...," he began and swallowed. Dr. Star looked at him with a waiting, cool look. Gray drove his trembling fingers through his hair, spreading some slowly dried blood on his face. He felt the exhaustion in his bones.

"I do ..." he said and did not dare to look at her. His gaze fell on his shoes and he gave her the number and address of Juvia's family. They would kill him. He somehow hoped so. He didn't deserve anything else. Feelings of guilt literally crushed him and pain pervaded his heart with every beat that it did. He was to blame for this accident. The doctor said she would send him a nurse to treat his wounds, but he didn't hear it. Then she rose to inform the family. She already felt sorry for Gray because she had also asked how it had happened and he had said it was his fault. She didn't necessarily believe that, but she recognized feelings of guilt when she saw them and he seemed to be literally crushed by his. Still, she clearly had more important things to do than look after a young adult. Sighing, she leaned against the reception desk and grabbed the phone without even looking at the sister in charge. Her eyebrows shrunk slightly as she typed in the number. It only rang twice when her call was answered.

"Dragneel."

"Good evening, this is Dr Star from Komazawa Hospital. Does a Juvia Dragneel live with you?" she asked, and there was a moment of silence.

"BOSS!", Aquarius held the phone a bit away from her ear as the stranger who had taken the call yelled for someone. And then it wasn't long before she heard the rustle of cloth at the other end and someone called again. Apparently the stranger had passed on the phone.

"Yes?"

"Good evening, this is Dr. Star from Komazawa Hospital. Does a Juvia Dragneel live with you?" she asked again and felt impatience rising inside her. She wasn't exactly the most patient person.

"Yes, she is my daughter."

"Ah, all right. I'm sorry to have to tell you, but she was brought in a few minutes ago. My colleagues have already started treatment. When can-"

"We're coming," Mr. Dragneel interrupted her with a deep growl and hung up. The only thing she could hear from the receiver was the sound of a broken connection and her eyes narrowed. She growled quietly and hung up. The nurse behind the reception area moved back a little.

"Rude pack," she growled and started to move again to take care of Juvia as well.

Hours seemed to have passed while Gray was sitting here. He had refused any treatment and could not be forced. His senses were numb, and when he had agreed to wash his hands and face, he had been allowed to wait in front of the room where Juvia had been placed. She was connected to machines that controlled her heartbeat and breathing. Gray didn't even notice that his hands were still shaking and whenever he stared at his now clean hands, he could still see her blood on them.

Steps resounded, reverberating quietly on the linoleum floor. He swallowed lightly and cautiously raised his gaze, staring at the angry face of Natsu Dragneel, her brother. A thick lump formed in his throat and his hands began to tremble even more. Pain burned through his chest and he barely managed to breathe properly.

"What.happened?" his voice was full of suppressed anger as Natsu choked those words out. Gray took a trembling breath. She seemed so fragile as she lay in that big bed and his heart seemed to break. He had never wanted to hurt her so badly. He had only wanted her to stay away from him. Gray had tried to protect her from his father's hatred, had lied about his feelings and had pretended something to everyone. He had also wanted to fulfill his father's expectations, but something like that happened that he hadn't wanted.

"I-I-I ...J-Juv- ...s-she ..." he stuttered and his voice broke away. Uncryed tears were burning in his eyes and his whole body was tense as his hands dug into his dark hair and clung to it. He should have prevented this.

"I-I... I'm sorry," hot tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped to the floor, his body began to tremble. He didn't know what to say to make it better. Everything he did was wrong. Then someone grabbed him by the collar, he was pulled to his feet and pain raced through his chin. Someone then rammed him against the wall in his back. Natsu's normally dark green eyes looked deep black with rage as he pressed Gray against the wall.

"Yes, it's your fault because all you're doing is hurting her. It would be better if you didn't exist at all. And believe me, the only reason you're still alive is that Juvia loves you too much, asshole," he growled.

"Natsu", a soft voice reached both their ears and when Gray slowly released the gaze and looked in that direction, there was a girl standing there. She was incredibly beautiful. She had hip-length, golden blonde hair, chocolate brown big eyes over high, majestic cheekbones, framed by a dense fine eyelash wreath, a pale, honey-gold skin, a female figure others only dreamed of. Even the simple, pink strap dress didn't change anything and didn't like to hide her beauty. But in his eyes she could hardly take on Juvia. Not even now. She seemed to be radiant while standing in the electric ceiling light. Natsu let Gray go immediately and hurried to her side. His knees gave way and he let himself slide down the wall, his hands still trembled and then further steps sounded. Without looking up, he knew the Dragneel clan had arrived. Gray looked up and a doctor came down the aisle, holding a clipboard and a coffee in the other. He looked tired, but most doctors looked tired in that department. While sipping the coffee, he read the papers he had in his hand. He stopped at Juvia's room, looked up, blinked and stared at the many people for a moment. And then Igneel Dragneel stormed towards the poor doctor.

"WHAT IS WITH MY DAUGHTER?" he yelled and before the frightened doctor could escape, the Oyabun of the Dragneel clan grabbed him by the collar. He stood well over the man's head and it was easy for him to lift him up and shake him. Gray stared stunned at the scene. Anger seemed to come out of him in waves. Anger and concern for his daughter lying in that room. Unconscious and connected to machines. Gray again lowered his guilty gaze to the ground, pulling his legs to his upper body. He wanted to sit here until she woke up so he could ask her forgiveness. No matter whether it killed him or not.

32 notes · View notes

fantasyandromancelover · 5 years

Text

The Tale of Tales Chapter 41

Gray had gone out to gather firewood so they could start a fire and boil water which Reverend Makarov needed to wash his hands and clean wounds. He had just picked up the first log when suddenly a voice screeched.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Startled he dropped the log on his foot.

"Ow!" He shouted clutching his foot. Looking behind himself he saw Minerva's raven perched on a tree branch.

"Why is Juvia still alive?" She asked. "I thought that you were going to kill her."

"Get yourself another assassin lady because I'm through!" Gray replied angrily.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me! I want out!"

"May I remind you of how much gold you're throwing away over this? I could make you richer than you've ever dreamed of!"

"Keep your bloody gold! I don't want it anymore! Not if it means that I have to kill her to get it!"

"You said that you would kill her!"

"Well I changed my mind!"

"You will not disobey me huntsman! I must have her heart! I must eat it!"

"Eat it?! Oh God! Lady you're more sick and depraved than I thought!"

"You don't understand! I need her heart! If I eat her heart then I shall acquire her loveliness and be beautiful forever!"

"I don't care why you want to eat it! It's still cannibalism and I don't want any part of it!"

"I see then I guess you'll have to suffer the same tragic outcome that be fell Rogue."

"What are you talking about?"

"Rogue was a former servant of mine and I thought that he was my most loyal servant but I was proven wrong because when I ordered him to kill Juvia he defyed me and let her escape! So I turned him to stone and now he's spending the rest of his miserable life as a lawn ornament!"

"So you're gonna turn me to stone?"

"Well I was but now that I think about it I think that's too good for the likes of you! If you don't kill her and bring me her heart then I'll hunt you down and subject you to the same torture you suffered ten years ago! Now what was it you endured again? Oh yes you were strapped down and beaten! But I will make that ten times worse! I'll have you strapped down and beaten daily until you drop dead!"

Gray shuddered at her words and horrible memories of when he was a little boy and Reverend Hades tortured him. The painful and seemingly neverending stings and burns of the whips and torches as they lashed his back repeatedly. The hard and cold shackles that bound his arms and legs leaving them sore and aching. He still had nightmares about that day and he couldn't bear to go through it again for one day let alone everyday for the rest of his life. He couldn't imagine anything more frightening.

"Now do we understand each other?" She said seeing his face turn pale with fear.

Gray only nodded.

"Good. Now I expect you to return the castle tomorrow with Juvia's heart in that box I gave you! If you're not there or if you don't have her heart then you will suffer your greatest pain ever! And I'll know if you did as I said or not! So don't try to be sneaky and play any tricks!"

With that said the raven flew away. For the rest of the day Gray didn't say a word to anyone and at night he couldn't sleep a wink. For the first time in ten years he was afraid. He was very, very afraid. Afraid of what he was going to do. Afraid of what would happen if he didn't do it. It made his skin lose all color and his body tremble. He felt sick, he felt like he was going to throw up. He almost did a couple of times.

The next morning he told Juvia that he knew of a special orchard in the woods where apples would be ripe and ready for picking then said that he would take her there to pick some. Recently Juvia had been wanting to make an apple pie to cheer up those recovering from the chimera attack so she agreed to go with him. Little did she know that there was no orchard and he was taking her to a place in the forest where no one in the village could hear her.

"You know we had apple trees in the castle gardens." Juvia said as they walked together through the forest. "My father and I would pick barrels of them and then we would watch the baker turn them into delicious treats."

"That's... That's nice."

"That's how I learned how to make apple pie. You think all of Reverend Makarov's patients like apple pie?"

"I...I wouldn't know."

"You know I think after we get the apples we should get some milk and sugar then I can make sweet cream to serve with the pie. What do you think?"

"I...I... I don't have much of a sweet tooth so I'm the wrong person to ask about this."

"Are you alright? You look awfully pale and you're shaking a little too. Are you getting sick?"

"No. No I just...I guess it's the weather. It's pretty chilly out here."

"Yes it is. Good thing I brought this." She pulled the scarf she had knitted for him from her satchel, wrapped it around his neck, and tucked the ends into his shirt. "There we go nice and warm."

"Uh...Thanks but I don't need this."

"Nonsense you're not wearing a coat or a shawl like me. You need something warm to wear otherwise you might catch a cold or worse."

He felt guilty wearing that warm, soft scarf that she had made. He didn't deserve to wear it. He deserved to freeze to death or suffer some other kind of cruel punishment for being a cowardly murder.

"How much further til we reach the orchard?" She asked.

"Just a little more ways."

"Oh good then we should make it back by lunch time."

"Could we stop and rest for a minute. My foot is starting to act up a bit."

"Of course. Hey there are some snow drops growing over there. You rest here while I pick a few to take back to the cottage. They would look lovely in the kitchen."

She walked over to the patch of land where the snow drops grew and she started to pick some. While her back was turned Gray unsheathed his dagger and approached her from behind quietly. He raised the dagger up and just before he could bring it down to strike she turned around. When she saw the dagger and where it was positioned she dropped the flowers, let out a small scream, and stepped back in fear.

"What are you doing?" She asked him.

After a moment of silence he answered.

"I'm sorry Juvia but I have to kill you."

"Kill me? But why?"

"I guess you deserve to hear the truth. The queen paid me gold to hunt you down and kill you."

"What? How could you?! I thought that you were my friend! I thought that you cared about me!"

"I don't have a choice!"

"Yes you do! Just say no! Is gold really worth taking my life!"

"It's not just about gold anymore! Look at first I was going to do it but then I changed my mind because you were so nice to me and you helped me but now she's threatening to torture me just like those men did to me when I was a kid! She said that she would strap and beat me everyday until I die! I'm really sorry Juvia! I don't want to do this but I can't go through that again! I just can't!"

Juvia didn't talk or move for the longest time. Then she got down on her knees, closed her eyes, clasped her hands together, and began to pray.

"Dear God please hear me, I'm going to die now so I shall say my last prayer to you though I don't know why I'm going to die now I know that I cannot leave this world without praying to you. I pray that you forgive all the sins I committed in life, I pray that you bless the people of my kingdom and that you bless my friends the dwarfs, the fairies, Erza, Natsu, Lucy, and my father but most of all I pray that you forgive Gray for taking my life and that you forgive my stepmother for ordering him to do so."

"What the hell are you doing?" Gray asked her.

"I'm praying. I don't think that it would be right of me to die without saying my prayers first."

"But aren't you going to run or beg for your life or scream for help?"

"No. I'm not."

"Why? I'm going to stab you to death right now! Aren't you scared?!"

"Yes I am." She said trying so hard not to cry. "But there is something else that I'm much more scared of."

"And what is that?"

"What my stepmother will do to you if you let me live. You said that she would torture you until you die if you didn't kill me and I couldn't bear it if that happened to you. So it's alright if you kill me."

"Are you crazy?! How can you just sit there and let me kill you?! Why would you do that?!" He shouted.

She only smiled with tears streaming down her cheeks then she stood up and hugged him.

"Because I love you Gray." She said. "I love you too much to let you suffer so it doesn't it matter to me if I live or die, just as long as it mean's you'll be okay."

Gray couldn't believe what he was hearing. This woman loved him so much that she was willing to let him kill her to prevent him from suffering. He never heard of such a thing. Juvia then wept warm tears on to Gray's chest and they thawed out his frozen heart completely allowing him to feel how much she loved him.

"I can't!" He gasped dropping his dagger. "I can't do it! I just can't do it!"

He pushed her away from him.

"Juvia you need to run away from me right now! Go back to the village and never come near me again!"

"But I don't understand I thought that you were-"

"I won't do it! I'll never do it! I'd rather suffer whatever torture that witch plans to inflict on me then kill you!"

"But Gray-"

"Go home! Please! Just go home and forget that you ever knew me!"

She tried to stop him but he was a much better runner then she was and all too soon he vanished from her sight completely. Alone in the forest Juvia broke down and started to cry.

#fairy tail #fairy tail au #fairy tales #brothers grimm #snow white #juvia loxar #gray fullbuster #gray x juvia #fanfiction #fanfic #gruvia fairy tail #gruvia

12 notes · View notes