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babbushka · 3 years

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A December To Remember

Lawyer!Kylo Ren x Reader

4.1k, cw: Possessive behavior; name-calling; unwanted advances from another man; NSFW (Rivals/rival relationship/enemy lovers, PIV, fingering, semi-public sex/office sex)

Available on AO3

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When the elevator doors open, Kylo has to physically brace himself. He had heard the music blasting from seven floors away, his discomfort only growing bigger and bigger as the elevator ticked up up up to Gwen’s lobby. His hands clench into fists in his leather gloves, refusing to take them off.

He wasn’t going to be here long, he promises himself as a conga line of santa hats nearly steps on his Allen-Edmonds; he just needed to show his face, have a drink, and get out. The office is all geared up for Christmas, Kylo walks through the winter wonderland of flocked trees decorated in white and gold, garland wrapped around support poles, big faux presents arranged nicely. There’s a live band and although they played well, the music is a bit much, as are the people singing along. Kylo tunes it out to the best of his ability, on a mission, a hunt.

One thing he can at least appreciate, was that this was a cocktail party, which meant everyone was dressed up nicely. Kylo loves an excuse to bring out his expensive suits, Burberry sitting nicely on his broad shoulders. No one could say he didn’t try to be festive – he had put on a black tuxedo made of soft mohair wool, that happened to have a saucy lapel of black satin for some holiday flair.

As he walks through the crowds of attorneys who Kylo has never seen laugh and smile so much in his career, someone hands him a peppermintini. It’s not long before he feels a tap on his shoulder, and he nearly spills the cocktail by whirling around, thinking that at last, he’s found you.

He has half a mind to smile, but whatever he had thought of saying goes out the window when he sees it is not you, but rather it’s his friend Gwen. She’s gorgeous in a silver slinky number that dips down her muscled back very low, and Kylo leans in to press his cheek against hers in greeting.

“Well well well, look who actually decided to show up.” Gwen nearly has to shout to be heard over the volume of the party.

He rolls his eyes at her teasing, takes a sip of the offending holiday cocktail – where the fuck could a guy get some whiskey around here?

“I was invited, wasn’t I?” Kylo replies, even though he’s not really looking at her. Gwen is probably the only person he knows who is as tall as him, and tonight she’s wearing heels which make her actually a few inches taller.

“Yes, but I’ve seen the stack of unopened invitations sitting on your desk.” She snaps her fingers in front of his face, drawing his attention back to her for the time being as she raises a platinum blonde brow, “Let’s not you and I pretend that you’re here because you want to enjoy the cheer of the holiday.”

The both of them exchange a little huff of laughter, because really she was right. Kylo is here because he had heard through the grapevine that you had RSVP’d, and there was nothing that could have prevented Kylo coming to see you if that were true.

“I’ve been informed that it is appropriate to make appearances now and again, even brief ones.” He sighs into his drink, nose crinkling at the sheer minty-ness of it.

“You can’t leave you just got here!” Gwen groans, “Stay for a little while, there’s some people who want to talk to you.”

“Whether or not I stay is contingent to one thing.” He shakes his head with a grimace, and at this Gwen’s sharp eyes sparkle with the light of knowing his secret.

“I last saw her over by the buffet.” Gwen sips her own cocktail, speaking lowly enough so that only he can hear, not like anyone is listening.

“I don’t know who you mean.” Kylo’s palms immediately begin to sweat inside his gloves, and he fixes the wall a hard stare to avoid that knowing look in her eye.

“Between you and me, I’m surprised she showed up just as much as I am that you did.” Gwen scoffs, and that at the very least was something Kylo understood.

As difficult as it was trying to pin Kylo down for something as unsavory as a Christmas party, you were notoriously hard to convince to come to anything for the holidays if you didn’t feel like it. It was one of the things that Kylo appreciated about you – not that Kylo liked you, or anything.

He shakes the thought away from his head.

“But you’re sure she’s here?” Kylo asks, an intensity to his question that has Gwen laughing.

“Yes – and do try not to make a scene.” She pats him on the back, before sauntering away to go entertain.

“What’s a Christmas party without a little scandal?” Kylo mutters to himself, trying to figure out which way the food was.

He recognizes people from six or seven different law firms as he tries to cut his way through the party. Gwen hadn’t been joking, about a dozen men in suits shake his hand and introduce themselves, congratulating him on winning his most recent case. Interns have stars in their eyes when he passes, and Kylo tries his best not to be such a grinch to their faces.

At this rate, he’s starting to get frustrated and irritated, he still hasn’t found you. The peppermintini was long finished, and he didn’t ask for a refill when he passed the bar. The entire outing was shaping up to be a waste, and Kylo is about ready to give up when he finally catches a whiff of your perfume.

“…That’s nice.” He hears your disinterested voice pipe up from a spot on the other end of the lobby where he has wandered, and Kylo lets himself be led to you, using his height to search for you in the jovial crowd.

Some schmuck is trying to herd you in the direction of where a big sprig of mistletoe has been tied under a doorframe, and the minute Kylo sees it happening, jealousy and rage simmer up straight up his spine.

“Isn’t it? I got the sonofabitch off a ten-year sentence. He was absolutely guilty but, that’s not my problem anymore.” A handsome pretty boy with perfectly straight teeth that are practically fluorescent from how white they are tries dazzling you.

“Uh huh.” You sound like you could not care less, and that for some reason only makes Kylo angrier – couldn’t this boy see that you weren’t interested?

Kylo tries to say his excuse me and his pardon mes, as he winds through the lobby on his mission to you. It’s difficult, because you won’t stay still for fucks sake, so every time Kylo thinks he’s just about gotten to you, you take a sharp turn to try and lose the boy’s unwanted attention.

“So anyway I was thinking to celebrate, maybe you can come back to mine after this shindig gets wrapped up.” He says, slipping an arm around your waist.

Kylo’s blood boils.

“Excuse me?” Your tone shifts dramatically, from uninterested to offended at his presumptions. Your body stiffens up at once, and that arm drops from your waist like he’s been electrocuted.

“I brought my own car and everything, we don’t even have to take the subway.” The boy tries to impress you, but you’re having none of it.

“I don’t think so, I have no intentions on going anywhere with you.” You shut his advances down, “Tonight, or any night.”

This angers the boy, which in turn makes Kylo see red, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s literally shoving himself in between happy couples and groups of cheerful friends to close that last bit of distance between you and him.

“Well then what the hell have you been doing this entire time, leading me on like this?” The boy reaches out to grasp harshly around your wrist when you try and make your leave, “Hey – !”

“She said no.” Kylo’s voice is dark and dangerous as he appears behind the boy, who drops your wrist at once.

“Kylo?” The sound of his name on your lips is enough to keep him from killing this boy in a blind rage, and his eyes flick to you in a very curt greeting.

“Listen to me -- and listen to me carefully.” Kylo looms over this lesser attorney, casting a shadow over the boy’s face from the sheer breadth of him, “I am going to close my eyes and count to three. If you are still here bothering this woman when I open them again, I will reach down your throat and rip your lungs out through your mouth and I will make it look like an accident. Understand?”

“Y-yes.” The boy stammers out, nearly chokes.

“Yes what?” Kylo sneers, jaw clenched.

“Yes sir!” He squeaks in terror -- Kylo doesn’t even have to close his eyes before the boy is scrambling away, and everyone around you is snickering at how he’s gone bright red in the face as he leaves the party entirely.

Now that that was taken care of, Kylo holds a hand out for you, which you take automatically. He would never admit to it, but the feeling of your palm against his has him calm almost at once.

“You have to stop doing that, you know.” You say, as Kylo leads you away from the crowded party of the lobby, and out towards the big balcony.

It’s cold outside, the past few days bringing a light dusting of snow, but you don’t seem to mind. You’ve got a fur stole wrapped around your shoulders to keep you warm. Even out here has been decorated to match the Christmas spirit, with twinkling lights covering every available surface.

“Oh but it’s so fun to watch them squirm.” He smiles, pulling you close to him as the two of you rest against the railing.

“No, not that,” You shake your head, “I mean rescuing me. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, but again, where would be the fun in that?” Kylo only winks, and you lightly smack his arm.

You’re about to say something, when you notice that dangling above both of your heads is a bit of mistletoe, tied together with a red velvet ribbon. It spins ever so gently in the slight breeze from being so high up, and you nudge Kylo’s hand on the railing with your own.

“Look.” You whisper, and Kylo looks up too.

“Now who put that there…?” He grins smooth as ever, as he ducks his head down and kisses you.

Kissing you was rapidly becoming one of Kylo’s favorite pastimes. It was too bad you were such a fucking pain in his side most of the time, if you weren’t so stubborn and difficult, he’s sure you’d spend a lot more time kissing each other.

But then again, you are stubborn and difficult, and you have no intention of stopping. Kylo hates that about you, hates how upset it makes him. No one gets under his skin the way you do, and so he pays you back by giving you the best kiss of your life – that’ll show you.

Your mouth parts for his, eyes closed. Your breaths come out in little sighs, and Kylo feels his body reacting to it. He hasn’t been able to get a good look at you all evening, but when he does, he loves what he sees. You’re wearing a dress in a color that perfectly compliments your skin, in a shape that fits your body exactly how you like it to.

His hands grasp at your hips a little too tightly, making you nip at his lower lip with a teasing smirk.

Christmas has never been something Kylo cared remotely about, but he’s big enough to admit that the lights really do wonders for making you look like a goddamned movie star. You both pull away enough just in case someone were to look out the window or come onto the balcony and see – neither of you could really have that, it was bad enough that there were bets about you through the different firms, the last thing you needed was to let any one side win.

“It’s criminal, how good you look.” Kylo tugs on the fabric of your neckline, “Someone ought to do something about it.”

“Hmm, like what?” You play along, your hand reaching down down down and grasping a hold of Kylo’s cock, ever so briefly, giving in a squeeze.

“Bend you over and fuck you hard, just the way you deserve.” He presses his mouth against your ear, he can practically hear your heartbeat picking up.

“Too bad you scared off poor Mike,” You say with a tsk of your tongue against the roof of your mouth, “I bet he would’ve loved to do the honors.”

Mike, that was the schmucks name? Kylo had almost forgotten entirely about him, about the way he had put his hands on you without your permission. He would make a couple calls, get the kid fired.

Or demoted, at the very least.

He wasn’t sure yet.

“You want to get me mad, is that it? And here we were having such a nice time.” Kylo looks around again, makes sure no one is seeing anything that’s happening out there on the balcony as he snakes a hand up up up your thigh.

“Maybe I like it when you’re mad, maybe I know you’re going to show me a real good time.” You smirk, and Kylo is reminded why he hates you so much, you’re so spoiled, getting whatever you want whenever you want it.

“Such a fucking brat.” He snaps, hand reaching for your and tugging you back through the doors with a, “Come with me.”

Kylo is faced with the party once again and is trying to find the best way to get the fuck out of there, when you pull him in a different direction.

“No – I know a spot, this way.” You bite back a pleased grin, and Kylo has to roll his eyes, letting you lead the way.

Deep deep deep in the bowels of the office, far away from the lobby and all the festivities, the music sounds a million miles away. You’ve tugged Kylo into a conference room with big glass walls and a glass door, like a little zoo enclosure. It’s nearly pitch black, none of the lights are turned on. The only illumination is from the city outside, the ambient glow of New York beginning their celebration of Christmas. The Rockefeller tree shines brightly a few blocks down the road, a perfect view from this conference room.

Fleetingly, Kylo has half a mind to ask you to go ice skating, but then you’re hopping up on the table and spreading your legs, the skirt of your dress hiked up around your hips. You’re not wearing any panties, a pair of thigh garters holding up your stockings – and Kylo’s mind goes blank.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asks, immediately pushing you farther up the table, wanting a better view of your pussy as your thighs rub together from being so exposed.

“Yes,” You admit licking your lips, “But you’ll warm me up, won’t you?”

Kylo groans, bites off his gloves with his teeth, wastes no time in trailing his fingertips through your folds. You squirm at the touch, wanting to be filled by him, any way you could get it. He dips them deeper between your legs, nothing but the sound of your breathing filling the quiet of the room.

“Slut, god what a fucking slut you are – look at you, pussy already wet for me.” Kylo grits out between his teeth, his cock filling out in his expensive trousers, straining against his briefs.

His fingers seek the wet heat of your cunt, and he pumps them in and out slowly while he tries undoing the buckle of his belt. Your hands help him, your legs falling open farther as his fingers bury themselves in your pussy. The stretch is beautiful, and you moan, leaning back until you’re resting on the table fully.

“Are you going to talk? Or are you going to fuck me?” You challenge from your spot on the table, your hands rubbing up and down your stomach, hips lifting so he can finger you a little faster.

“Both, I can do both, fuck you’re sexy.” He huffs, unbuttons his suit jacket, shucks down his trousers and briefs enough to pull his cock out and give it a good few strokes with the hand that’s not thrusting in and out of your cunt, blunt nails dragging against your walls.

“I know.” You’re full of yourself – full of Kylo – and you moan from the thought, “Hurry up, someone could catch us.”

“No they can’t, I locked the door. It’s just you and me sweetheart – thaaaat’s it.” Kylo replaces his fingers with his cock, your folds swallowing him down, oozing and dripping slick all over your thighs.

He shoves in roughly once he’s got the head in, pushes into you in one fluid motion that has your back arching. Kylo grabs at your legs, is careful of your heels as he pins your ankles together and tucks them against his shoulder, your body pressed together as he begins to thrust in earnest.

“Yes! Fucking finally,” Your palms smear sweat on the polished wood of the conference table, and before he knows it, you’re pulling one hand up to lightly smack at his arm. “You know I’ve been waiting here for you for two fucking hours, you asshole.”

Only you could give him such an icy glare while also pushing your tits up for him to play with. Kylo reaches out to pinch hard at one of your nipples, and you whine, your thighs trembling just a little from being held up like this.

Kylo’s big fat cock stuffs you full, your pussy even tighter from having your legs pressed together like this. Normally he likes to look down and watch his dick disappear into you, but he can barely see your face as it is in the dark of the room, so he doesn’t mind. Besides, he can feel you – can feel the way you throb and pulse around him, how you flutter and clench, and it’s enough.

“If I had known – damn you’re tight – you’d be here – fuck (Y/N) – I would’ve come earlier.” Kylo latches himself to your neck, bending you nearly in half as his hips speed up, his balls smacking against your ass as he pushes you up up up the table.

“I – ah Kylo be careful,” You warn him when one of your shoes falls right off your foot and lands on the wood with a thud. He rips the other one off and throws it to the floor, leaving your legs in nothing but the stockings and garters. Your hand tangles in his hair as you press him back down to your throat, where he sucks and bites at your skin. “I don’t know why you couldn’t just fucking call me back. We – oh yes, yes harder come on – we could’ve avoided all this bullshit.”

“You’re the one who hung up on me last time!” Kylo pulls himself more upright, scowling down at you as he grabs your face, gives your jaw a little shake.

“Oh!!” Your body tenses up unexpectedly, his cock accidentally slipping out and pushing back in wrong.

Kylo fumbles just a little bit in the dark, lets your legs fall as he tries to fix the angle, tries to get himself back inside your pussy as quickly as he can. It just feels wrong to not fuck you, it feels wrong to not be joined with you as completely as possible. Even when you’re scowling at him and he’s glowering right back at you – maybe especially then.

“Relax for me?” Kylo strokes your hip with his thumb, and your body gives way for him once again, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pushes back in and continues fucking you exactly like you like it, “There we go, anyway you wouldn’t have answered me.”

“Could’ve – faster Kylo, you could’ve left a voicemail.” You hiccup, and he hates that you’re right.

He hates it as your body opens up for him, takes him, takes the fucking. You’re such a fucking princess you make him do all the work with a big smug grin on your face before he shifts his hips just right in a way that’s got your eyes rolled back into your head, mouth dropped open. He grabs your jaw again and makes out with you, wants his tongue on yours, wants your teeth scraping against his.

“Sure – fuck you, ugh fuck, I’m – ” Kylo can barely get the words out, kissing you and fucking you in the dark and quiet like this, while everyone enjoys the party just beyond the locked door of the open floor plan of cubicles.

“Me too,” You nod, desperate for him, wanting to come so badly that you twine your fingers into his hair and tug sharply, voice breathy and high and panting as you demand, “Kylo more – !”

He gives it to you, plows his cock into you so hard that he pushes the table askew, makes the chairs on their rolling wheels move all over the place from the effort of it. He bites down hard onto your neck and rubs your clit, rolls it between his fingers while his cock forces itself as deep as it can go, shallow thrusts to fill you up all the way, pushing right up against your cervix, making you yelp out your orgasm.

Feeling your cunt throb and gush for him, Kylo comes soon after, pumping himself in and out mindlessly, the both of you reveling in your pleasure. With a weak shaking hand, you tug down the sleeves of the bodice of your dress, let it fall away from your breasts. Like a moth to flame, Kylo is drawn to your cleavage, and he wastes no time pulling one of your tits out of the pretty lacy bra you’ve got on.

He sucks and kisses at your flesh as his cock pulses and spills more come into you, the both of you trying to catch your breath. He spares a glance up to you, pleased to see you’re fucked out nicely, eyes closed, lips parted and drooling just a little onto your cheek as you’ve got your face turned to one side. Kylo lets his eyes close too, mouths at your nipple until he’s sure he’s emptied himself inside of your wanting cunt.

Then, when he pulls you to sit upright on the table, instead of helping you with your clothes or even cleaning up the mess between your thighs, he stays buried inside of you and fishes his phone out from the inside of his jacket pocket.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a nosy frown, trying to lean around his big hand and see what he’s pulling up on his phone.

Kylo just kisses you quiet, dials the phone and puts it up to his ear while it rings.

“Calling the car to come pick us up and take us back to my place,” He murmurs against the corner of your mouth, before cracking the joints in his neck and grumbling, “Unless you’d rather mingle with a hundred boring nobodies like Mike instead.”

You just scrub a hand down your face with a smile, try to start fixing your hair back to something less mussed.

“I’m starving, can we pick up takeout on the way?” You stretch, wincing when Kylo finally does pull out of you, the feeling of being empty making you grimace just a bit.

He chuckles and kisses you again, lets your arms slip around his neck without any protest.

“Whatever you want.” Kylo kisses your cheek, diverting his attention to the phone call once his driver picks up.

Though the holidays had you at one another’s throats like rabid vicious dogs most days, Kylo wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Because for all the bitching and bickering, there were moments like these. Moments in the dark where you both let yourselves have what it was that you wanted.

And who knew, maybe the new year would bring about a whole new set of opportunities and possibilities, you’d just have to wait and see. One thing was for sure though, Kylo thinks as he helps you off the table and you both search for some tissues or something to wipe up the mess you’ve made, it certainly was a December to remember.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren/you #kylo ren smut #kylo ren fanfiction #adam driver fanfic #adcu #my writing #modern kylo ren #lawyer au #lawyer!kylo ren

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rosyfingereddawnn · 3 years

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heart of gold (chapter three)

pairing: robert plant x florence bennett (oc)

warnings: domestic abuse (god sorry), jimmy bein’ a simp :)

words: 3.4k

summary: trapped in a loveless marriage to a powerful man, florence bennett lives every day in despair. after a chance encounter with a golden-haired actor, florence finds that her life will never be the same again.

author’s note: new oc alert!! this character was based off a little friend of mine... who’s helped me like. immensely. babe ily. also god this one hurt to write i'm sorry guys. hope you enjoy :)

chapters: 1 | 2

masterlist

playlist

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The waning light of the late afternoon sun filters in through the grand windows, stained glass painting the room a myriad of colours. Polished maple shelves line the walls, packed to the brim with dusty tomes. Comfortable armchairs sit around a side table, the gilded siding gleaming. On its surface sits a dainty teacup, still steaming.

Florence strides through the aisles of the library, trailing a finger along the worn spines. The lady of the house divides her time most often between the beautiful music room and the library, as Allen leaves her to her devices, most of the day. Running a city, he always says, takes a lot of work, dear. She’s not complaining at all, if it puts her at a difference from the barbarian she is lucky enough to call a husband.

Stopping, finally, she pulls a book from the shelf, running her fingers across the letters decorating the cover, fingers catching lightly on the grooves. ‘Wuthering Heights’, the cover reads, and Florence nods, content with her choice. Drifting across the room, she settles comfortably into the plush chairs, reaching a hand out to grasp the handle of the teacup beside her. Soft spice settles over her tongue, and her chest fills with warmth, the steaming beverage warding away the slight chill in the room. Cracking open the cover, her eyes drift over the slightly yellowed pages of the novel.

“I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society…”

The woman recites the words on the page, voice drifting high into the rafters as it flutters past her lips. Florence has always enjoyed reading aloud, as it made her feel as though she was not alone. That someone hears her, and cares to listen to the words that flow from her mouth. Allen hated it, in the beginning. When he had given her the time of day, and cared for her. Promises of forever tumbled from his lips then, instead of the insults and hurt that dripped, like a slow poison, from them now.

Shaking her head clear of those thoughts, she continues. An hour passes, then another, and Florence loses herself in the narrative. These characters, brutal and flawed, intrigued her. They enchanted her, and she was unable to put it down.

Until a set of heavy footsteps, thunderous against the polished floors, near the door to the library. She knows exactly who it is, spending as much time as she had training herself to recognize his gait. Shutting her novel with a loud snap, she looks around the room. Everything is in its place; the room is pristine, as always. Smoothing down her dress, a bright yellow with lace at the hem, she waits for the inevitable. The click of the door opening rings through the suffocating silence of the room, and Allen strolls in, perfect image maintained by his coiffed hair and expensive pinstripe suit.

“Florence, my dear. I knew I might find you here.”

“Allen, is there something wrong?” Florence replies, the hands that rest on her lap subtly trembling as she gazes at her husband. He seems to be in a good mood today. Florence only hopes it can stay that way.

“We will be putting on a ball in the coming weeks, to celebrate my proficiency as mayor. Now,” Allen slips closer to his wife, and brings a hand to her chin. Holding her in place, he presses closer, looking directly into her hazel eyes. “I hope I won’t need to reiterate this. Please do try and behave.”

“O-of course, Allen, I will—”

“We wouldn’t want a repeat performance of recent festivities, would we?”

His words make Florence’s blood boil. She sees the world in shades of angry red, and clenches her fists as tight as she can, hiding them from Allen’s view. Her knuckles are painted white with the strain of keeping her composure. A few weeks have passed since Allen rained pain and devastation upon his household, but the wounds both mental and physical are not so easily hidden, swept aside.

Pasting on an agreeable smile, cheeks straining with the effort, she nods her head. Florence knows that if she plays by his rules, she’ll remain unharmed. He’ll finally leave her alone.

“I will be on my best behaviour. Please, do not worry, dear.”

Allen tilts her head up further, to stare right into her eyes. Florence would love nothing more than to deal him the pain that he had dealt to her. To John, and to James. Instead, she raises her hand, laying it across Allen’s, as she gazes earnestly back. Touching him feels horrifyingly wrong, and it's as though fire laps at her palm.

“You will need a gown, no doubt.”

“I was planning to go into town with Ms. Weston. You remember, she—”

“I do not care who accompanies you. I care, darling, that you do not embarrass me,” The man smiles at her, sharp canines glinting dangerously in the fading sunlight, and he presses his lips to her cheek. His scent, sharp and cloying, nauseates her. Allen stands up to his full height, which, admittedly, was not much, and moves for the door. Turning back to look at her once more, he takes her in almost hungrily. “I wonder, Florence, if you still look as lovely unclothed as you do in this dress. Perhaps tonight, we may find out?”

With a sneer and a chuckle, he walks out the door, closing it behind him.

Florence’s hands unclench, finally, as subtle pain rips through her palms. Gazing down at the skin of her hand, she sees deep pink crescents. One of them is streaked lightly with blood. She had broken the skin, it seems.

Trembling hands retrieve the book from the table it had been left on, and Florence opens the cover once more. Eyes drifting down to read, she can’t seem to make sense of the words, anymore. Florence is shaken, and she knows that it is precisely what Allen wants.

It is but a game for him; a battle of control. He’s winning.

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“You mean to tell me that he… Oh, Florence…”

The chime of nails against delicate china rings through the luxuriously decorated sitting room, as Florence passes a teacup, the steam wafting from the top following the scent of rich spices, to the woman sitting on the plush divan. Her dress, a pastel lavender, meets the floor in a stream of tulle. Dark tresses, pulled back in a small, loose braid, curl as they fall across her shoulders.

“Emma, I have no idea what to do.”

Emma Weston had known Florence longer than she could remember. They had met when they were young, and since then, they’ve been almost inseparable. That is, until Allen came along. Slowly, almost inch by inch, he had pushed Emma out of the picture, further isolating his wife. The women seemed to meet less and less over the years, now coming together a few times a month. Emma was unmarried, and rather educated, which almost seemed to scare the man. A favourite quote of his pops into Florence’s head, then: “Educated women, well, they’ll bring the downfall of humanity.” To the women, of course, it served as a nice bit of comedy.

“My dear friend, I… Is there anything I can do?” Emma lays a hand on Florence’s shoulder, earnest eyes locked on those of her friend. Florence meets her gaze then, and the glassy hazel eyes unnerve the woman. They look defeated. “Florence, we will fix this, somehow.”

“If that is possible…”

Emma shakes her head, eyes blazing with a incendiary anger she must keep hidden from the woman sitting next to her. Florence, naive as she might have been upon entering the relationship, has done nothing to warrant this treatment, this violence. Every mention of the horrors; the atrocities, that have been committed in this house makes the woman’s blood burn in her veins. Emma settles her hand over Florence’s, rubbing calming circles into it. She knows how the other woman ticks, after the years they’ve spent together, and she can see the slight tremors that pass through her. She’s scared. Why wouldn't she be, with a husband like that, Emma thinks.

“Florence,” The sentence almost tumbles out, but she catches herself. Florence has always disliked pity, felt that it was counterproductive and useless. It does nothing to help the situation, so there is no need for it. Emma changes the subject swiftly, a bright smile tilting up the corner of her painted lips. “What else have I missed? Surely you’ve gotten up to much, with your lovely husband gone so often.”

A moment of unusual silence passes, as a blush darkens Florence’s cheeks, pink shades dancing with the freckles that linger on her skin. “Well,” Florence starts, hands fidgeting in her lap as she looks anywhere but at her friend. With a fortifying sigh, she releases the words trapped in her throat. “I’ve… I’ve been writing to a man. An actor, from the theatre we frequent.”

“Oh? How long have the two of you been corresponding? Do tell me more!”

“A month, as of next weekend—”

“A month? Florence, it’s been a whole month, and you didn’t think it right to tell me? I thought we were friends… ”

“Emma,” Florence starts, scrambling to reassure her friend, until she glimpses the smirk that dangles from her lips. A relieved sigh fills the silence that had fallen over the two, and Emma’s giggle lights up the room. “You were joking…”

“Of course I was! Now, tell me more about this mysterious actor. What do you know of him?”

“Well, I do not know his name, unfortunately. This… this is my fault. If he knew who I was; if he knew Allen, he would never give me the time of day. Emma, he is beautiful, of mind, body, and soul.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was his appearance, initially, that attracted me. He was simply irresistible,” Florence’s cheeks flush deep scarlet, as an unconscious smile blossoms across her cheeks. Her hands slash through the air as she recounts her first sighting of the elusive actor. “…James and John, thankfully, had the mind to encourage me to contact him. Emma, he is poetic and charming, yet he isn't haughty in the slightest, like some who share these traits. He’s always been perfectly kind, and charisma drips from every pore. Every letter I receive from him… Goodness, Emma, it has the same effect on me that his performance had.”

“Perhaps you should invite him to the ball.”

It was a simple statement, yet those 8 words ring like sirens in Florence’s head. Her blush deepens, and she stammers out a response, nervous hands smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles on her gown. With a deep breath, she recovers, and locks eyes with Emma, who hides a smile behind a dainty hand.

“Have you gone completely mad?”

“Think about it,” Emma starts, revealing the amused smile that she had tried to hide. Taking in the way Florence’s mouth hangs open in shock, her eyes wider than saucers, Emma continues, a giggle fluttering in the air of the expensive room. “You could slip away from the other patrons, somewhere Allen would never find you, and meet the man that stole your heart.”

Florence remains frozen, as though she were a component of a still-life painting. Her blush-pink lips form an O, and her eyebrows creep close to her hairline. Her hands, the only thing in motion, are a flurry of movement as she fidgets under Emma’s watchful gaze.

“Florence, honestly, is it truly that preposterous of an idea?”

“O-of course it is! Emma,” The woman of the house shakes her head emphatically, mind racing to come up with the perfect excuse as to why this idea, although tempting, was utterly absurd. “Look, if Allen ever… I could never subject this… this angel to that.”

“If you think it’s best not to, then I will stand with you. This is, of course, common knowledge. What I will never do, however, is sit idly by and watch you throw away your happiness, again.”

Silence sits heavy over the two women, the only sound being the light slurping of tea gone cold. Emma, chancing a glance over at her long-time friend, takes in the quiver and shake of her hand. Florence sets the fragile china cup, painted a pale sky blue, on the wooden surface of the table that rests in front of them, and relaxes back into the comfortable settee.

“Is… Is James able to attend? The ball, I mean.” The relative quiet is broken by Emma, voice faltering as she curls into herself. For as long as Florence could remember, Emma has only had eyes for James. Whenever she came to the manor, her eyes would roam the chiseled marble hallways for even a short glimpse of him, and a deep blush seemed to dust her cheeks whenever he was in the room.

“I believe he and John are working that particular night, although… perhaps you could steal him away for some time alone?”

“Florence!”

The peals of laughter that fill the room muffle the hurried footsteps fast approaching, a choked gasp and the sound of falling papers finally making the two women look up. James stands by the door, shoulders hunched as he locks eyes with Emma across the room. A collection of envelopes litter the floor, and James, scrambling to his knees with a squeak, rushes to retrieve them.

A wordless glance passes between the two friends, and Florence nods, a subtle smile lighting up her face. Emma stands, flattening down her dress with clammy hands, walks up to the man, and he looks up at her under his eyelashes, hands stilled by her appearance.

“E-Emma! H-hello, I…”

“James, your face… are you alright?”

The man nods emphatically, almost thrumming with nerves as he replies, “it was nothing, Emma. You need not worry for me.”

Her hand, palm up, rests upon his cheek as she takes in the bruising, subtle now after the days that have passed, that mottles his pale skin. Florence can almost hear the rapid beating of his heart as he gazes up at her from his position on the floor.

“I can't help my worry for you, James,” Clearing her throat awkwardly, Emma shifts her gaze to the tiled floor, her eyes widening when she glances at the stationary strewn across the ground.“May I… or rather… Do you need help?”

The servant gulps audibly, and nods, cheeks an angry scarlet to compliment the fading tones of purple. The woman kneels next to him, and retrieves the fallen letters. Glancing at it briefly, her eyes light up excitedly, as she gazes at James.

“Are these invitations for the ball?”

“They are. I was to go around the town handing them out, just now.”

Two hands brush as they reach for the last envelope, and pull back, as if electricity had struck them upon contact. Florence hides a beaming smile beneath her hand as she watches her friends. They simply cannot look away from each other. James coughs, breaking the tension that had settled over the two, and they scramble back, each holding a portion of the letters. Two piles become one, and Emma steps back, the hand rubbing at her arm betraying the picture of calm she was trying to emulate.

“M-Miss Weston, always a pleasure. How are you?”

“I-I am well, James. And you?”

“Very well. May I say, you look… lovely.” The conversation peters out as their gazes flit to the ground, and Florence, from her perch behind them, can’t help but giggle. The sound propels the servant into action, and he thrusts an envelope into Emma’s hand, backing away as if he was burned by the feel of her hand on his.

“I was supposed to stop at your residence, but since you are already here…”

With that, he turns tail and rushes out of the room, leaving Emma standing, slack-jawed. Slowly, she turns around to meet Florence’s eyes, and the disbelief present on her face is almost comical.

“Perhaps you will be the one to slip away for a moonlit dance in the end, Emma.”

With well wishes, and an earnest promise to find dresses for the ball, Emma departs, stepping into her own carriage. The flush on her cheeks was still visible.

---------

“Of all the times to run out… Just my luck.”

Soft footsteps spatter like rain across the staircase, as Florence mutters to herself. Dashing into her bedroom, she searches every nook and cranny, pulling back with a grunt dripping with frustration. The supply that had sat on the desk against the wall was usurped, and there were no traces of any sheets in the rest of the mansion’s many rooms. Except for one.

Rushing across the hall, Florence stops in front of a pinewood door, intricately carved as most things within the manor happen to be.

Allen’s study, as she’s been told time and time again, was never to be entered, by anyone except the man himself. It’s rarely ever locked, though his intimidation serves as enough of a barrier from entering, until today.

All she needs is paper, after all. About to pen yet another letter to her nameless angel, she lacked the most important element: the paper itself. Where better to find a much-needed slip, than in a study, Florence thinks as she turns the gold-gilded knob. She opens the door only to be greeted with beautiful, wide windows of stained glass, which turn the sunlight into vibrant shades of red and green. Against the wall, a bookshelf stands tall, books of every genre imaginable lining it. Against the far wall, a well-polished mahogany desk, complete with winding embellishments around the edge, sits before an elegant leather armchair.

No paper in sight, of course.

A sigh reverberates off of the maroon walls, as Florence pulls open a drawer, careful to leave things as proper as possible so as to not alert Allen. Shuffling through the first, she finds a variety of legal forms and journals, and her frustration simmers inside of her. Moving on to the second drawer, she tugs on the wood-furnished handle, and her heart shatters.

Sitting prim and proper, face up in the drawer, was a letter addressed to Allen. In a curling script that, distinctly, was not hers, reads: “To my beloved, Allen.” This one note, this blasted letter, lays on a bed of dozens of others, all addressed in the same way, in the same sprawling hand. Florence can feel streams of crystalline tears trickle down the flaming apple of her cheeks, and a violent scream catches in her throat. Her insides burn in rage, in fury, in betrayal, and if not for her grip on the desk, she would have crumpled to the floor. There were no dates printed upon the envelopes, though, judging by the sheer amount, it is safe to say that this had been going on for quite a while. Long before she had laid eyes upon her actor.

Under the pile of deceitful notes, almost mocking her, sat the coveted paper. Ripping it out of the drawer, Florence turns, eyes sweeping the room for anything out of the ordinary. Seeing perfection, she tears out of the room, crossing the hall into her chambers. She sits herself down, defeated, on the chair adjacent to the small desk. Her head falls forward into her palms, resting there until, suddenly, she slams a hand down onto the lacquered tabletop.

Allen Bennett has stolen her livelihood. He has stolen her happiness; stolen everything that he saw worth taking. Greed seeps from every pore, and there are no consequences. Allen Bennett is a foul, demonic man, and Florence must play the role of the angel. The perfect wife. She must act as Allen’s toy, only of use to him when he needs a night of pleasure.

Curling her hands into rigid fists, the woman nods resolutely, and lunges across the desk. Trusty fountain pen in a clenched hand, Florence seizes the newfound sheets, and soon enough, a river of ink flows across the page. Teardrops that trickle down the slope of her nose serve as the signature.

------

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

Text

Oktoberfest Effect

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: Town boys (drunk?) dare each other to venture into woods (Halloween night? [Oktoberfest]). Katniss saves Peeta (from peacekeepers? storm?) by pulling him into a cave for the night. (Drunk Peeta talks too much and is cuddly?) [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rating: Teen (for drunkenness)

Author’s Note: Thank you to @mandelion82 for lending me her beta services, and being a generally awesome cheerleader! Thank you @567inpanem for the prompt, I hope it brings you joy! Thank y’all for reading!

Oktoberfest, originally from Munich, Germany, is a two week folkloric festival, celebrated between the third Sunday of September and the first Sunday of October. Copious amounts of beer get served worldwide to celebrate Oktoberfest…👀this fic doesn’t reflected the cultural richness of the festival and or what it represents!👀

Tags: In Panem AU; No Games AU; Not representative of Oktoberfest; Drunken Shenanigans; Thunder storms; Snarky!Everlark; Humor; Blink-and-you-Miss-it fluff. One Shot.

———————

Oktoberfest is one of my least favorite festivals in the small repertory of celebrations my District is allowed.

It’s usually held in the beginning of October, after the first showers of Fall, and tends to last all day long, severely cutting into my hunting time in the woods, which comprises the bulk of my family’s livelihood. My mother is a healer, but people used to struggle to pay for her services back in the day, so she stopped charging anyone; people gave her what they could: rations, produce from their squalid gardens, old clothes and such. You’d think people would pay with coins, now that things have improved for common folks, but some habits die hard.

It’s probably the same reason we keep observing a holiday that’s real meaning has been lost to Panem since before the Dark Days; people just know that at some point, Oktoberfest was celebrated around this time, and people ate and drank ale by the bucketfuls, so that’s what they do today.

By the same token, it’s the most popular festivity in District 12, since it’s the only day of the year in which drinking is sanctioned and even encouraged by the higher-ups of government. Trains come carrying ale, spiked ciders, and even hard liquor for the celebration. People like Ms. Ripper, who sells moonshine and white liquor in our black market, better known as The Hob, have free range to sell their wares openly, without suffering repercussions.

The meek, dull denizens of District 12 drink the spirits by the gallons, just for the one day, and pass out in the most unseemly places around town, like savages. If something had become clear to me with the passing years, it’s that people tend to enjoy drunkenness to soothe their woes away, so it’s natural everyone embraces Oktoberfest.

But, as with everything, things aren’t as bleak as I tend to see them myself.

“Katniss!” My sister, Prim, calls breathlessly from the maypole circle, beckoning me over with one hand, while holding a bright, yellow ribbon in her other, “There still are a few ribbons left!” She shouts excitedly, her meaning plain: she wants me to join in the festivities.

Normally I’d shy away from any and all activities that would have me interacting directly with the townsfolk. It’s nothing personal against them, I’m just not used to being touched by anyone, except for my family, and weaving ribbons around the maypole practically ensures I’d be brushing up against any number of strangers …but, there are worse games to play, and I could never deny my sister anything, not even this.

I make my way to Prim and reluctantly snatch up a pale blue ribbon from the ground. My sister’s smile is so bright I almost relax when the music starts, and the dancers take to moving in and out around the pole.

It isn’t as bad as I was dreading it to be. The music is lively; the fiddler follows the dancers while the rest of the band plays on the makeshift stage a few feet away, and the pole is relatively short and moderately wide, so we make quick work of braiding a pretty pattern in one go. Also, people are at a respectable distance from one another, and most everyone feels as awkward around me as I feel around them, so they just give a wide berth when they pass me by.

Prim and I are laughing when the song comes to an end, and we take a minute to admire the pole’s multicolored design.

There’s a line of smiling people waiting in the fringes to take the ribbons the opposite direction to unravel them and weave them together again.

I pull Prim into a hug and kiss her blonde head, fondly. “Let’s give somebody else a turn, Little Duck.” Prim narrows her eyes just a smidge; she’s almost 16 and doesn’t appreciate the nickname as much anymore. “Let’s put some warm apple cider into you, yes?”

Joy returns to her baby blues immediately. “Yes! We should go find Mother as well!” she says excitedly.

“Let’s go then!”

After finding our mother in the crowd, and haggling over three cups of cider and one bag of boiled peanuts, our mother suggests we go home early, before the party gets rowdy.

An unfortunate byproduct of Oktoberfest with all the unchecked drinking is men get loud, bold and stupid. Better to clear out before that happens, because while crimes aren’t tolerated— under the influence or sober—people tend to get belligerent when alcohol is involved.

President Snow died years ago, when I was Prim’s age. Many things changed drastically, like the abolishment of the Hunger Games, and a slightly better salary for miners, but the seemingly tolerant new government of Panem gives men a strange leave to criticize the Capitol while drunk…which technically, is still a crime in today’s Panem, just not as mortally dangerous anymore. Still, women try to haul their spouses home before they can say something incriminating and land themselves in prison.

Nothing can be done about the youngsters, though.

With women trying to keep a leash and muzzle over the men, the teenagers have unhindered access to alcohol and close to no supervision; although spirits are supposedly only served to people 17 and older, I wouldn’t put it past the vendors to look the other way if a group of merchant kids pass a few extra coins across the table, when nobody is watching.

If grown up men are loud, bold and stupid while drunk, teen and young adult men are even worse, and that’s without a gaggle of equally intoxicated girls egging them on.

This year— as in every Oktoberfest— the electric fence surrounding the district lays dormant and harmless, lest one of the hundreds of inebriated fools roaming the meadow fall into the wires and fry themselves upon accident.

Not that the Capitol cares if a few malnourished— probably discontented— miners fall dead during a district festival; people in 12 used to keel over from starvation all the time back under Snow’s regime, but those deaths were usually chalked up to any number of unrelated causes: pneumonia, heart weakness, black lung disease…anything, except starvation. But dying electrocuted on the very fence that’s supposed to keep us safe in our little district is unthinkable! The fence is there to keep dangerous beasts— and nutritious game alike— away from us.

District 12 remains that enduring jewel of Panem, where you can starve in safety! All we need is to drink the memory of our empty pantries away for another year, and everyone is happy. I sigh. At least they did away with the Hunger Games; now we have singing contests and trivia challenges playing on national television instead of the blood shed of innocent teenagers, which is certainly an improvement. Somehow it’s still not a fair bargain, but district folk will never complain about this particular trade; our children are safe, and we get to watch Capitol people make fools of themselves in front of everyone.

Mother, Prim and I make it home early enough to make a quick supper of roasted potatoes, salted fish and the last of the bakery bread I traded for this week. I make a mental note to bring down a couple squirrels to trade with the baker for more bread. The man is one of the few I can regularly count on to trade fairly with, so I always save him the best of my squirrels.

By the time dinner is being cleared off the table, I can hear the murmur of families returning home from the meadow. A surge of nervous energy takes over me. I start bouncing my leg restlessly, peeking at the old clock hanging on the wall.

“Are you going out again?” asks my mother. Her tone is light and her eyes focused on the heap of plates and forks she’s balancing in her hands. I know better than to believe she’s alright with me leaving again.

“For a while,” I answer.

“You could get stuck out there!” says Prim, clearly displeased.

“I’ve been working on a shelter, just in case. I’ll be back before dawn if I can help it,” I say, brokering no arguments.

“Be careful,” Prim mumbles, her blue eyes pleading.

I stand up from my chair and plant a kiss on the crown of her blonde head. “I promise. Now, go make sure Lady is secured before I leave. I don’t want anyone getting any ideas seeing a goat loose out there.” Not that anyone would cross me knowingly, but people get a lot dumber while drunk.

The sun set on the horizon long ago, but all my years sneaking around urge me to blend instantly with the river of dark-haired children trailing their dark-haired mothers and fathers all over The Seam. It certainly is an entertaining sight; the children are immensely happier than their parents, of course, bouncing and giggling, carrying in their spindly arms their Oktoberfest bounty of apples and freshly picked ears of corn stuffed into old burlap sacks, prizes given to them by the Capitol for every one of those silly games they played at the festival. At least they know supper won’t consist of tesserae bread tonight.

Reaching the fence will be trickier now that the meadow is crawling with blond merchants and peacekeepers patrolling the perimeter of the fence ‘for our safety’. A few miners remain, helping with the cleanup process to earn some extra money, but they are so few I can’t use our physical similarities to hide in plain sight. The merchants, meandering around the meadow, throwing nervous glances at the fence every so often, pretending they don’t care the thing is off, certainly hinders my ability to sneak around.

I wasn’t the only person who ventured outside the fence by any means. Historically, people have snuck under the barbed wire links in the past to steal apples and berries, when the hunger pains were scarier than the bears and wild dogs roaming the woods; necessity is a great incentive, it either makes you very brave or very reckless…but the few merchants still hanging out here only linger ‘cause an alcohol-fueled thrill holds them captive. Tomorrow, when they’re home nursing a head-splitting hangover, they’ll go back to cowering at the sight of the fence.

There’s a group of towheaded youngsters, singing obnoxiously, near the edge of the meadow.

I roll my eyes and try to ignore them for the time being. Meanwhile, I skirt around the maypole, pretending I’m admiring the workers’ effort, pulling the pole out of the ground to haul it into storage until next year. It’s a massive effort, but all I can do is lament how now there’s gonna be a soft spot in the ground for a while there, even after they fill it back with dirt and rocks.

I curse darkly under my breath when I startle at the sight of two peacekeepers passing by the merchant boys.

The singing stops while the townies nod politely at the albino buzzards. The boys stare at the peacekeepers until they disappear at a bend behind a big, tall retention wall where the fence stops into a jagged corner, and then the young merchants do something very peculiar…they start a round of ‘Row Your Boat’, holding up their fingers in some sort of countdown. Their voices are so shrill and out of tune, everyone around covers their ears and looks the opposite way.

I cock my head, studying the boys. They’re clearly intoxicated: red noses and ears, laughing at nonsense, and the biggest telltale, a bottle of white liquor passing around their misshapen circle. I realize, they’re not all teenagers. A few of them I recognize from my days in school, and I know for a fact two of them are married, and at least one of them has a child on the way already.

I roll my eyes at their childish behavior.

The peacekeepers appear again in the distance, and the singers stop their song abruptly. One of the older guys lifts his fingers up, showing all ten digits; he closes his fists quickly and opens them again, now showing seven fingers. They all giggle like lunatics, and I lose interest in them.

I round the cleaning crew closest to the fence, but suddenly, one of the townies stands up and starts calling at the top of his lungs, startling me.

“Hey, you! The girl with the braid!”

I whip around, because I’m 99% sure he’s talking to me! I’ve worn my dark, Seam hair in a single braid down my back for the last 8 years or so; it’s practical, really, to keep it that way. But that’s besides the point.

I wear my fiercest scowl on my face, and I get an uncomfortable jolt to the stomach when I realize I know this guy, the one waving at me while his companions guffaw around him, still intoning their childish ditty.

Peeta Mellark, the baker’s youngest son, a boy I owe the biggest debt of my entire life, and for the first time since I can remember, he’s meeting my gaze without wavering.

Debt or not, I have half a mind to stomp his way, grab him by the collar and shove him into the nearest tree in retaliation. My mouth opens to ask him what his problem is, when out of nowhere a pair of peacekeepers pop up from behind the retention wall, walking in the opposite direction of the previous set of guards.

“Did you know it takes about a minute and a half to sing ‘Row Your Boat’ seventeen times?” Peeta Mellark chuckles, pink cheeks and nose, tilting his head towards the fence, and then his blue, sparkly eyes flit to the peacekeepers passing by; all the boys stop singing and nod at them in greeting. “Then, it takes like five minutes to sing something else, until we go back to Row Your Boat!”

These guards must’ve crossed the other ones at some point while out of sight without me noticing. If I hadn’t been distracted by Peeta calling out to me, I would’ve run right into them on my way to the fence, if not flat out caught red-handed crossing into the woods, and how would I explain myself then?! Everyone in District 12 knows of my poaching proclivities, peacekeepers included, but that doesn’t mean I should go flaunting around my intention to trespass. Panem is still not completely free and whether people should have the right to escape into the woods for sustenance is still a murky topic…I’m not too keen on finding out if hunting is still a punishable crime by today’s parameters.

I turn my eyes back to Peeta, but he’s already singing and joking with his buddies, and although he seems to be invested in whatever shenanigans they’re doing, I’m not too sure he’s oblivious to me. After all, he had to be watching me pretty closely to accurately guess I was close to being discovered.

I huff. My debt to Peeta just increased, and I have no idea how to start paying him back for it.

The peacekeepers are again out of sight; the merchants are singing again, and like before, people look away from their ruckus. There’s one boy with his fingers up…counting.

Peeta’s watching me; he lifts 4 fingers offhandedly and turns to face his friends.

Clever!

It’s a code, I gather.

They’re timing the passing of the peacekeepers into the ‘blind spot’ with one song, then start a different one to predict when the keepers will be back on the retention wall.

I shake my head to clear off the hint of a smile taking over my face. The silly drunks aren’t as stupid as I thought, I guess.

I make sure no one is looking my way; I also check the kid counting how many boats they’ve rowed, and leap closer to the spot I know there’s a loose link. I only have ten rows before the peacekeepers come back, so I make quick work out of the wires and slip to the other side fast.

The drunk boys break into hoots and cheers once I’m in the woods, and despite myself, I look in their direction just to make sure nobody saw me scurrying out. I’m partially hidden by a tree, and should be safe now.

The cheering isn’t because I slipped out of the districteffectively; the boys are either harshly ruffling Peeta’s hair, or slapping him on the back. They’re all laughing and crowing something I can’t make out, but soon I see the glint of white uniforms out of the corner of my eyes, and hide deeper into the woods.

I decide to check on my snares around here and head home right away. This was perhaps the worst entrance I’ve made into the woods, and too many know I’m out here as it is, but, if the townies are gonna act as a siren of sorts, better to use their system to my advantage.

Then…I need to figure out how to finally speak to Peeta Mellark and start getting my ledger even with him.

It’s completely dark by the time I reach my snares. I look at the sky and scowl. The stars are obscured, and the moon has a hazy ring around it. Clouds are rolling in too fast for my liking. Rain is coming, soon. So I make haste and run my fingers along the first wire I find.

My snare wields two rabbits, and I bag them without resetting the traps. I figure one of these will be enough to hold my family over for a couple of days. I can make some coins out of the second rabbit, which should be enough until Oktoberfest has died down and business resumes as normal. It’s a good plan if I say so myself.

A peal of thunder breaks in the distance, and I grunt lowly. This night keeps getting worse by the minute; it’s good that I’m almost back to my entry point. I head back to the fence, where I can still hear the faint howls of laughter of the merchant boys.

I’m 30 yards from the fence when another clap of thunder roars overhead, loud enough to reverberate in my bones; people beyond the fence shriek. I’ve only taken a step forward when lightning strikes, and I know the storm is hot on my heels.

The chanting of the merchants is getting louder. I never thought I’d think this, but it’s a relief, knowing I can count on them to distract the patrols while I sneak back into the district.

They’re egging and heckling each other like a bunch of rowdy hoodlums.

“Go on! Ten coins says you won’t last a second!”

“I say fifteen, if he brings back proof he was there!”

Somebody belches loudly, making the rest giggle like school kids.

I roll my eyes and try to concentrate on finding my loose wire in the distance. I’m only a few feet away from the fence, but it’s dark and windy.

“Seeriouslee, though,” hiccups another, mispronouncing his words. “Gwhat should he…” hiccup, “bring?” Hiccup.

“Don’t know. A berry maybe,”

“Or a bear bite!” cackles another. They all laugh boisterously.

I wonder what they’re up to now. The fools! Don’t they know they should be running home for cover? The first raindrops are already falling.

“Fine! Okay…I’ll do it! But I wanna see all that money now!” slurs a voice I recognize, because I heard it calling me less than twenty minutes ago. “Pay up!”

No! Not him! I think, feeling my stomach drop. Whatever it is they’re doing, doesn’t sound very smart.

“Dis it?!” Peeta Mellark groans, “I’m taking all your money, so I can buy me a hen house! Dis not even ‘nough to buy me chicken feed!”

I hear grumbling nearby, and the clicking of metal, suspiciously similar to how coins sound falling on each other. I assume they’re shedding the rest of their money for Peeta to see.

“‘Kay…‘Kay…better now. Okay. Imma go now. Hold me money, Rye…and don’t spend any of it! I counted it… it’s me money! Don’t steal it, or I tell Lavender you were smooching girls a week before you got married!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t steal me money!”

“Fine!”

“Fine! And don’t tell father ‘bout dis either!”

Somebody yells, “Mellark, stop stalling!”

“Yeah! Get—“ hiccup, “on with it al—“ hiccup, “…ready!”

“Goin’, I’m goin’!” I hear a few murmurs.

I swear, Peeta Mellark! If you set foot in my woods, I’ll shoot you in the toes!

I’m close enough to the fence to see a few lights flicking close by, but then another thunder drums, with a lightning to boot, and the rain droplets fall heavier.

“Wait! White helmets!” hisses someone, and even I drop to the ground to hide.

“Evenin,’ officers!” says Peeta.

I can picture him in my mind’s eye, smiling the same way he used to in school when covering for one of his friends to the teachers.

“Evening? It’s almost nine o’clock, boys!” says a woman. I’m not quite familiar with her voice, but I can surmise she’s one of the peacekeepers on patrol. “Curfew starts in 30 minutes, and a storm’s on its way. I suggest you all head to your houses.”

“Yeah, we will finish pickin’ up our garbage and head right home, officer!” says Peeta, all polite and pleasant like.

“Very well. You better clear out by the time we return, or we’ll have you spend the night in a cozy cell at the Justice Building,” says a gruff male voice, most likely the second peacekeeper. “Now, get on with the cleaning, gentlemen.”

There’s a chorus of voices murmuring stuff like “Right away, sir!” and “Of course, officer.” A lot of movement and hushed conversations go on for a minute or so while I lay on my stomach like an idiot.

I can only assume the peacekeepers are out of earshot when Peeta exclaims happily, “Aight! I’m goin’ in!”

The others start fussing and protesting, talking over each other frantically: “You can’t go in!”, “Are you crazy?! You heard them, there’s a storm coming!”, “Stop being a damned hero, Mellark! You already showed us up, by speaking to Everdeen!”

Peeta calls out, “Guys! Shut up! She’s the reason I wanna go in there! She ain’t back yet!”

I frown.

“Everdeen? Dude, she’s probably stalking a deer or somethin’…she’s fine!” says who I believe is his brother.

“Well…but what if she needs help? Shouldn’t some’ne go get ‘er?” He sounds concerned and strangely hopeful.

My stomach does a strange little flip at Peeta’s words, and then I have to shake my head to stop myself from being grateful for his concern. Outside of my family, Peeta Mellark seems to be the only person in this entire district who cares about me.

“No! That girl’s half feral! All them wild things in the woods are probably more afraid of her than we are!” says Peeta’s brother.

I find myself nodding in agreement, but scowling at the same time, because I’m not feral! I just hunt and enjoy the respect— bordering on fear— people have for me.

It doesn’t matter, though! Right now I feel almost as silly as they sound, and I just want them to take Peeta home, so I can climb back into the district and go home myself.

“I’m still goin’ in!” I realize Peeta is looking for the spot I used to come into the woods, and I hear muttering and hissing trying to dissuade him from coming in, but he’s already pulling the wire the same way I did, and a moment later, he’s wiggling his broad frame under the fence like an inchworm rolling on salt.

“No!” I huff under my breath, scrambling to get up, to push him back in the other direction, but then somebody is whispering harshly.

“White helmets!”

I’m not even surprised to hear Peeta’s so-called friends run away then. Coward merchants the lot of them!

A thunder booms above us, and I see Peeta struggling to pull through under the flash of the lightning that follows. It’s a miracle the peacekeepers haven’t seen him, splashing in the muddy pool forming rapidly under his body.

“Ugh!” I finally find my feet and practically throw myself on top of his arms, to pull him in.

Peeta shrieks, startled by my sudden appearance, so I slap a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

“Hush! Or they’ll find us!”

I pull him further out from under the wire. He seems to realize what I’m trying to do and relaxes his muscles, letting me guide him forward while propelling himself with the toe of his boots.

There’s a bush just two feet away from us. I drag him with me on all fours and crouch behind it until the peacekeepers’ flashlights disappear.

“Hi!” says Peeta.

“Shush!”

“Sorry!” he whispers…loudly.

“Quiet!” I hiss, bringing a finger to my mouth, as if I was dealing with a toddler instead of a 20-year-old man.

“‘Kay,” he responds, this time in an actual whisper.

I still roll my eyes at him.

Thunder and lightning and cold, stabbing rain fall from the sky unrelenting.

“Listen, we can’t stay here too long; we need to crawl back into the district!” I tell him, peeking from behind our hiding spot to make sure we are alone. I can’t see very far ahead, but it’s obvious the meadow is empty now.

“What?!” he calls loudly.

“For goodness sakes!” I mutter in frustration. “We need to crawl back into the district, or we’re gonna drown out here!” I’m having to yell so he can hear me over the rain.

“Oh! O-kay!” he says, smiling beguilingly at me. “I came to get you!” he yells.

I look at him, trying to convey all the annoyance I’m feeling towards him right now with just my facial expression, but I guess the moonlight is so minimal he can’t see me, because all he does is smile back at me.

“You’re welcome!” he yells after a second in a self-satisfied tone.

“For what?” I snap.

“For rescuing you, of course!”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Rescuing— you… what?!” I screech.

More thunder and lighting make it impossible to keep doing this where we are. And thanks to the storm, it’s too risky trying to crawl under the fence, too. Negotiating Peeta’s humongous body back under the railings in these conditions is just calling for trouble; we’ll either get found by the peacekeepers— if they’re still patrolling— or get hit by lightning; after all, the fence is meant to conduct electricity and fry whatever touches it.

I’m lost in my head, thinking about our options at this point, when a bright flash cracks overhead, so strong, it makes everything look like it’s day time, and I fall back on my butt for how close Peeta’s face is to mine.

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

“Wow! Has anyone ever told you, you have freckles over the bridge of your nose?” He asks, placing his two paw-like hands on my shoulders, pulling me back onto my haunches. “From close up, your face is as pretty as the night sky with all its coteslations!”

“Hmm…no—nobody’s ever said…” I huff. “Come on. We can’t stay here.” I tell him, pulling him by the hem of his coat’s sleeve. “I think you meant ‘constellations’ by the way. Alcohol really messes up your speech, you know.”

I think he says something, but I’m not sure, since the storm is swallowing up all the sounds around us.

The going is slow, because we have to wait for lightning to illuminate our way, and once, I realized we were straying onto a different path from the place I have in mind. Plus, I have to keep trying to untangle myself from Peeta’s grasp, so I can feel around the way with my feet. Peeta talks too much…nonstop, and I think it’s mostly the alcohol talking, but ugh! Would it kill him to just be quiet for a second?!

He’s awfully clingy for such a big man. I mean, he’s grown a few inches since we were in school, and he used to be stocky and broad-shouldered, even as a teenager, on account of him being wrestling champion two years in a row, plus having to handle those heavy trays in the bakery and whatnot.

I forgot where I was going with this?

Anyway, I hope the alcohol clears his system soon. He seems like an overgrown puppy at times, the way he trails after me and touches the end of my braid, which I guess he might be using as some kind of leash or rope to tether himself to me. Surprisingly, I don’t find it as annoying as I should. In fact, I find the warmth of his fingers… reassuring.

“Stop!” I tell him, when I hear rustling nearby I know isn’t from the rain.

A wild dog jumps in front of us, and I curse loudly. I should’ve grabbed my bow on our way out here, but I didn’t want Peeta to see my hiding spot; not that he’ll remember how to get to it, but he was able to find my loose chain in the fence, so…

I think the dog is coming after us. But before I can tell Peeta to run, he pulls me flush with his chest and somehow lifts me over his head like I weigh nothing. The dog is momentarily confused, and I take the chance to chuck one of my rabbits past it. The dumb animal looks at us curiously, but after a second, loses interest and goes for the easier, smaller prey.

I just got reminded of how strong Peeta is.

“Thank you!” I call out when he lowers me back to his chest. “You can let go of me now. The dog’s gone, but there might be more around.”

Peeta nods. His blue eyes are wide and alarmed, his cheeks, ruddy with booze just a few minutes ago, are drained of color. “Alright!” he gasps, clearly shaken.

I grab his arm and squeeze, leading him away from the spot.

It’s times like these when I miss my old hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne; for starters, he would’ve had a bow on him…he would’ve shot and killed the dog. He would’ve had my back… but Peeta had my back this time, and he surely is no seasoned hunter, not even an outdoorsman, yet it was his quick thinking and sheer brute strength that saved my hide.

It’s also the reason Gale and I broke our partnership to begin with. Given the chance, he would’ve left Peeta stranded out here, instead of finding him shelter. But that’s his style, not mine, and Peeta has shown his worth twice tonight, inebriated as he is.

I release a sigh of relief when I see the opening of a burrow on the side of a small hill. It’s not truly a cave; it’s much too shallow to be called that, but, I found it about a year ago, and have been carving it out little by little for these kinds of emergencies, when I need shelter on the run, and the concrete little shack by the lake is too far, and I want to stay close to the fence, anyway.

“Oooh! Is this a cave? Is it abandoned? We ain’t gonna walk into some bear den or somethin’?” Peeta asks, bumping into my back when I stop to remove a few branches from the entrance of my little hiding spot.

“Get in!” I command him, and he obeys at once.

I take a few minutes to rearrange the branches at the mouth of the cave, just to keep the water from splashing inside, although we are soaked through our jackets.

“Sit,” I tell him, bumping into him again when I turn to feel round the wall of the cave for my provisions. The little hollow is only 5 ft wide by 6 feet deep, so there isn’t much room to wiggle for two people even if we were both my size.

Peeta has to hunch down as it is.

He’s quiet for the time being. My fingers touch the cool glass of the oil lamp I was feeling for, and right next to it, is a box of matches. I can finally breathe!

I make quick work of the lamp, and we are finally in better shape than we were a moment ago. Peeta blinks owlishly at the lamp, and I can tell he’s surprised, but blinded by the sudden light.

“Where are we?” Peeta asks in awe.

“It’s my emergency shelter,” I tell him, kicking a log from the back of the cave towards him. “Here, you don’t have to sit on the ground.” I tell him, watching him sitting almost directly in front of the entrance with his legs crossed.

“You have a shelter out here? I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know you were a genius!”

My cheeks heat up for some reason. “Nah. It’s just common sense. Too many experiences out there without one. Whatever. Intelligence has nothing to do with this, really.”

“So…do animals come in here?” he asks, turning his head around to study the place, not as nervously as before.

“No. It’s too small for a big animal’s den, and too big for a small critter’s burrow. It’s ‘me’ size because I’ve been digging it out little by little, and putting stuff in it for when I find myself in the same predicament we are in right now.”

Peeta shifts to his knees and slowly stands up, hunching a smidge, ‘cause the cave ceiling is too low for him. He lumbers to the log I offered him earlier and sits on it heavily.

“This place is great!” he states, looking at the crude shelving carved into the dirt where I keep the lamp, matches, a couple of cans of food I’ve agonized about leaving here because it feels like a waste, and things like spare arrowheads and fletchings; things that’d be useful in a pinch.

I have a knife hidden inside the very log Peeta’s sitting on, but I’m not about to divulge that secret. It’s my last line of defense, and since I don’t have my bow on me, I feel safer knowing there’s at least one weapon in the cave I can count on. I need to bring a bow here at some point; I just haven’t found a good way to camouflage…yet.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“Um, you can sit here,” says Peeta after a long moment passes in silence. “Plenty of room!” He motions to the log, scooting to free up some space.

It looks ridiculous, because there truly isn’t any room left on that log for me to sit. Peeta looks like a smushed rag-doll, sitting on a match box, and all the room he’s leaving next to him, is only big enough to accommodate a toothpick.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, with a reluctant smile. “I’ll stand for now.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, biting his lip guiltily.

“Yeah. Let me be a generous host.”

His face falls. “I’m sorry,” he rushes to say. “You wouldn’t have to be playing host in your lovely cave if it wasn’t for me. Sorry I was so stupid,” he says sheepishly, “I should’ve known you had it under control before I tried coming in after you.”

“Oh…it’s alright. It was…touching. All those things you said back there.” My cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he says, sounding almost sober.

Another long minute goes by in silence. “Was that a wolf out there?” he asks suddenly. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought about kicking it, but I was afraid it would mangle up my leg, and then I’d get blood poisoned and since medicine is hard to come by, I probably would’ve lost my leg, and I’m not sure I’d be able to master a fake one…unless it was like a Capitol grade thing with robotic nerve connectors and the such… I read some man in District 3 figured out how to make prosthetics that you can control with a chip implanted in your brain!”

I find myself laughing at his nonsense. And he seems to enjoy my laugh, because he keeps saying outrageous things, I can’t tell if he’s just making them up on the fly, or if he really read about them somewhere.

I slide against the wall after a while, until I’m crouching close to the wet floor. Our clothes cling to our bodies, but most of the water has leaked off of us already, which is good, since I can’t light a fire inside the cave.

“Are you hungry?” I ask him, interrupting his musings about how chewing gum is inherently evil, since we don’t have dentistry accessible in the districts. The boy really talks too much!

Peeta cranes his neck to glare at my game bag, which I recently placed by my feet.

“What do you have there?” He asks, interested.

“A rabbit. But we can’t eat that raw. We’d get sick with fever if we try. I wouldn’t recommend it,” I tell him. “But I have canned fruit we can share,” I offer.

He makes an agreeing noise at the back of his throat. “I could eat.”

“Fine. Um…close your eyes for a second. And don’t peek!” I chide.

As with everything else I’ve commanded today, Peeta obeys without questioning, and soon I’m darting my hand into the end of the log, retrieving my knife.

“Open your eyes,” I say.

“Where did you get that from?!” he screeches, staring open-mouthed at my knife.

“Secret compartment,” I deadpan.

“Well…I hope you’re not planning on stabbing me with that thing. That blade is bound to be dull now that you hacked into that can with it.”

“What does it matter if the blade’s dull?” I ask, exasperated.

“It’ll tear up my skin if you try stabbing me with it!” Peeta answers, arms moving in exaggerated arches, “I much rather get a clean cut through, thank you very much!”

What’s wrong with this boy?! He’s acting like discussing his own potential stabbing is an everyday thing.

“For your information, I’m pretty adept at sharpening things! And…Eww! Gross! Why would I wanna stab you?” I shudder. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do wounds, and I don’t do blood.” I pull a face, shivering.

“You kill things for a living!” He rolls his eyes in disbelief. “Why, the inside of your bag is covered in dried blood from those bunnies right now!”

“Animals! I hunt animals! I don’t do people’s blood and stuff…gross!”

“You’re kinda squeamish for such a lethal thing, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up and eat your pears!” I shove the open can into his hands, and he stares suspiciously at me for a minute before digging in.

Peeta moves over a few more inches, and the toothpick space widens to a Katniss’-rearside-size spot. This time, I take his offer gratefully and sit down next to him. He passes the can to me when he’s done.

“You know…this is the first time we’ve done something normal together,” he says, pensive.

“It’s the first time we’ve done anything together, Peeta, period!”

Peeta gasps, and there’s silence for a second. “You’re amazing!” He says, staring and blinking at me while I chew, as if I truly was some extraordinary sight to behold.

I scowl. “Why? Because I fed you canned food in a torrential storm in the middle of the woods?” I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic.

“Yeah…” he says dreamily, then scowls, then shakes his head. “Nah! You’re just…amazing! Even my mother says that you’re a survivor and the only thing District 12 has of worth…a better version of Haymitch Abernathy!”

Haymitch Abernathy is District 12’s one, and only living, Hunger Games Victor. He’s also a grumpy hermit, and a drunk, and the richest person in the district. Like me, he was born in the miners’ sector, nicknamed the Seam. People say Haymitch used to be smart as a whip, and a looker too, but now he’s just a paunchy, middle aged man, with anger issues.

“Well, that’s not much of a compliment, is it?” I wrinkle my nose.

Peeta laughs, brushing his shoulder against mine…but that’s to be expected, he’s a giant after all, and the cave is practically a tall dresser.

“No, I guess it’s not. But father always gushes about your squirrels. Says you never hit the pelt. You always shoot them right through the eye!”

“Well, anyone can do that with enough practice.” I shrug.

Peeta snorts, and his knee presses against mine. “I wish I could do even half of the stuff you do. You’re an amazing hunter, and smart, and so pretty, and you can bring down deer, and the way you are with your sister…well, my big brothers have never been doting with me as you are with Primrose.” He sighs, looking at the flickering flame of the oil lamp. “You are something else!”

“I— that’s not…” I’m frustrated and embarrassed, so I snap, “I wouldn’t have been able to do, or be, any of those things without your help, so…there!”

He scoots closer to me. His body is strangely warm, even under the layers of wet clothes. There’s bewilderment in his blue eyes, and for some reason, I can’t look away from the way his hair is all matted to his forehead. He looks boyish. Kinda cute.

“What do you mean?” He asks in a small voice.

I chuff. “Well, it was like today,” I start, leaning back, averting my eyes. He smells of spirits, but weirdly enough, I’m not repulsed by the scent. “You called out to me in the meadow, and I was about to rip you a new one, but then I realized you were trying to help me. Then, you save me from a wild dog, by doing something as simple as lifting me over your head, like I weighed nothing.” I feel small, all of eleven years old, and the fact that I’m wet to the bone and cold to the marrow doesn’t help my case. My voice comes out tiny, “You fed me when we were kids. I’ve never been able to even thank you for that!” I purse my lips to keep them from trembling, and blink some 28 times to keep from crying.

Peeta sidles up against me. “Oh, Katniss,” he says low and reverently. I realize with a jolt, that it’s the first time he’s said my name. “You’re talking about the bread when we were kids?” His eyes glass over. “You can let that go now… after saving my ass tonight from the storm and the peacekeepers, I think you can count us even.”

“How can you say that?” I demand, “You keep saving me, and I don’t know why?!”

“Really?” he asks, cocking his head sideways, scrunching his face, and shutting one eye like he can’t quite see me clearly with both eyes open; his tone isn’t malicious, just surprised. “You know why…at least, I think you should,” he says, shrugging and leaning closer. “I thought you’d notice how all of my friends were roasting me because I finally said something to you, and all I said was something lame about Row Your Boat.” He chuckles. “Fifteen years I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to you, and when I finally do, I call you ‘ Hey, girl with the braid’ like an idiot!” He practically leans into me.

“Fifteen years?” I ask, bewildered.

“Yeah…” he trails off, his ears turning cherry red. “I seem to have harbored a crush on you since the first day of school, when we were five.” He slumps back against the wall, and suddenly I wish he was still draped over me, warming me up.

“Really?” I ask, because this story seems far-fetched.

“Oh yes! It’s a whole thing! Me being a goner from the moment I heard you singing that very first day…remind me to tell you all the gory details some day.”

“You betcha,” I say, amused.

“I’m sorry I’m such a dork, but hey! At least imma buy me some chickens to sell eggs, and save, to buy my father’s bakery one day, and then I’m gonna ask you out on a date or somethin’.”

“Uh— what? Really?!” I chuckle.

Peeta yawns. “Yeah, Imma take you somewhere nice for a picnic, like Victor’s Village or something, and I’m gonna bring good bread this time! None of that burnt, soggy crap I threw at you when we were kids, but real, freshly baked bread. With butter. And probably canned pears, ‘cause those are my favorites now!”

“Okay,” I tell him, not completely sure why I’m agreeing to this. After all, I decided a long time ago I was never getting married or having any children, at least, not as long as the Hunger Games loomed over me; I won’t be stringing Peeta along either. Gale accused me of doing just that once, which I don’t think I did? The accusation still stung.

Right now, it feels nice to think I could go on a date with this crazy merchant boy; and who knows?!

“Buttered bread sounds nice,” I say, sinking next to him.

“This is nice!” Says Peeta, sleepily, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah…it is,” I agree, realizing just how steady and warm his arms are, even encased in wet clothing.

“Will you go out on a picnic with me, then?” He asks hopefully, yawning again. His eyes drooping with sleep.

“I think I might,” I tell him. I haven’t felt this safe in anyone’s embrace since my father died when I was 11 and I stopped trusting my mother. “I think I will,”

I’m beginning to think that the alcohol fumes clinging to Peeta have gone to my head, and left me as simple minded as all the intoxicated people back home, maybe I have it wrong, and Oktoberfest does have its charm, because despite myself, it feels right to indulge in that fantasy tonight. After all, Peeta was the only person in the district back then, that cared enough about me and my family dying of hunger, to do anything about it. He gave me bread he purposely burned for me, all he gained was a bruised eye from his mother, and my inability to repay his kindness, for his generous gesture.

“Good! Just a heads up, though, I’ll prolly propose to you at that picnic, ” he says. His eyes are already closed, and I roll mine in response. “What you think my odds are of you saying yes?” He snuggles up to me, his head falls onto my shoulder.

“The odds might be in your favor,” I tell him softly; I’m not so sure I say that to humor him, though. I am really tired, and sleeping in his arms does sound like a luxury right now, so I’m gonna blame it on the ‘Oktoberfest effect’ in the morning. Plead sleep depravation insanity or something. “Night, Peeta,”

He mumbles a response, which turns into a slow snore.

I close my eyes, smiling.

I’ll indulge in the drunken ramblings of Peeta tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, and if the saying is right, the sun shines brightest after a storm…maybe it’s time I bask in the rays.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #autumn #prompt

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hiatus-for-forever · 4 years

Text

Yandere!Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Bakugou takes the opportunity of your kidnapping to make you his

Quirk: Water manipulation. You can control water and can choose to only use H2O or can also carry things is it. If you use it too much you will get dehydrated

Warnings/Genre: yandere themes, unhealty/toxic relationship, kidnapping, manipulation, stockholm syndrome-y (submission to Bakugou), reader without parents, mentions of torture and moletsing

WC: 2,092

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey isn’t that Y/N L/N?” The man whispered. You couldn’t hear a thing as you were wearing headphones. The men shuffled out of the crowd and got out of the train. They made sure you didn’t notice them and continued their conversation, “You know how much they would pay for her, she placed 5th in the Sports Festival!”

“I don’t know man, we could get in serious trouble”

“Her quirk is just water stuffs, let’s just keep her somewhere and make her dehydrated til she either passes out of they pay for her. Think about it, an aspiring hero, helpless and weak. They would pay so much to get her back”

“Ugh fine” The man obliged as they went to prepare for the task.

Meanwhile, you safely got to school. You took off your headphones and stuffed them into you bag as you opened the door. You were met with the happy greetings of your friends. Taking a seat, you chatted the the ‘Bakusquad’ in the time before class started. Bakugou never actually showed interest in you but you were close enough friends for him to be adorably possessive over you. You did notice that you were the only one he’d give advice to. Everyone shipped you two and you would blush every time it was mentioned.

Everyone retreated back to their seats as only a few minutes remained before the teacher came but Bakugou stayed back. You looked up in slight confusion as he handed you a pen. “I have a strong feeling you felt like being an idiot today and left your pencil case” he said grumpily before walking away. You looked in your bag and lo an behold he was right. It was just mere coincidence to you but not to him. He noticed the lump in your backpack front pocket and knew you were listening to music again and knew you wouldn’t put the pencil case back in your bag. He knew you like that, and he loved you like that. It proved to him that you were still a little immature and naive. Still a chance to make you his.

Aizawa entered the classroom, snapping him out of his daydreams about you. About how good of a wife you would be. How much cuddling you guys would do. How much cooking you guys would do. He thought about everything, how he would spend his day around adoring fans and come home to you waiting for him, dinner ready. He would definitely knock you up. A child would forever esablish your relationship, and your love. I mean, he wouldn’t do all this work for nothing. Find out where you live, your favorite foods, colors, movie genre. He wouldn’t make so many mental notes about your habits, what clothes you wear, what perfume you use. He wouldn’t do all that for nothing. He will make you his, he will love you and you will love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were walking home from school. After saying your goodbyes to your friends, you started your walk. Putting on your headphones, you walked down the sidewalk, occasionally walking in a crowd. At one point you went on a route which was usually void of people so you relaxed yourself and turned up the volume of your music. You nodded your head along with the music as the two men behind you noticed your weren’t noticing your surroundings and enacted their plan. Before you knew what was happening, a handkerchief was placed on your mouth, your eyes went wide as you inhaled the chloroform and soon passed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day the class noticed your absence. They were texting and calling you but nothing worked. Aizawa asked as you were not one to get sick and not one to stay home. Suddenly a knock was heard from the door and Present Mic entered, “Yo! I found this phone at my doorstep, I think it’s Y/N’s” the class gasped as Present Mic handed it to their homeroom teacher. Bakugou glared, hiding his worry. What happened to you? Are you hurt? Who did this to you? He’ll kill them, make them pay.

His thought were interrupted by Present Mic leaving. “There’s some disturbing stuff there, yo. I called Nezu so you two can decide which action to take” Present Mic left the room. Aizawa was crowded with student as he looked through the erased phone, the backround was white, the gallery was erased but contained only one video.

It was you. Bakugou’s eyes widened and his blood boiled. You were blindfolded and tied to a chair with a cloth on your mouth to shut you up. The men behind the camera explained that they were to pay a huge sum of money and they would get her back, and if they were to report to the police, you were to be killed. If they were paid and were still told on to the police, they would find you again and they would kill you. You heard this and sobbed, tears running down your cheeks.

Bakugou was pissed, and looked at the background. He knew that place. He used the same warehouse when he killed and tortured you exes and past crushes and bullies. It had many sharp tools left behind. He cleaned the tools of course, but still left them behind.

Aizawa announced that he was going to discuss this with the principal and tey were to send out a search party in a day or two. That wasn’t enough time, they- no, he had to find you now. You were in danger, no one could keep you but him. Then he had a thought. He was gonna find you, and save you, ten you were gonna fall for him and be his. He chuckled under his breath, yes, this was perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After school he at least told Kirishima and some friends that he was going to rescue you. It made him seem less suspicious and as if he cared for you. He only told those who he knew would listen to him when he said not to follow him. Then, he would go home and go look for you. And right on cue, he saw his parents weren’t home yet.

He got dressed in black clothing that looked casual enough. A hoodie, some pants and his signature boots. He walked out and went to the warehouse. He quietly snuck in and saw you in the middle of the warehouse, tied to a chair. The man was touching you in places only he was allowed to. He groped you in unwanted places while you sobbed as the man breathed in your ear. “Your lucky we promised to give you unharmed, otherwise, you’d be a mess on the floor by now” he whispered. Bakugou heard enough, he let out a battle cry, attacking te man who was watching. He threw your captor to the wall as the other went to grab him. He made a big explosion aimed at his chest and he fell to the floor unconscious. Bakugou took some rope and tied them up. He texted Kirishima and told him to tel the police, as well as giving the address.

He walked over to you, mumbling about how the kidnappers were weaklings. He untied you and took off your blindfold. You were still shaken up, and still had tears on your cheeks. “B-Bakugou?” you asked, your voice hoarse as they deprived you of any water.

“Yeah it’s me” his husky voice said quietly. “You see how easy it is for them to nullify your quirk? Damn, you really need someone to protect you.” He smirked to himself as he planted the idea in your mind. You shuddered and realized he was right. You looked at him as he finished untying the ropes on your ankles. His eyes met your teary ones, “w-will you protect me?”

Bingo. He got you. The corner of his lips tugged up, a smirk disguised as a comforting smile, “of course” he said as he wiped the tears from your eyes. You leaned into his touch as he took in the fact that you were now his. He got up and carried you bridal style. You snuggled up to his chest as he carried you to your house. He set you on your living room couch and turned to leave. You grabbed his arm. “I don’t wanna be here by myself” you whimpered.

“What about your parents?” he knew you didn’t have any. Both were divorced and lived in a different country, they sent you money to support yourself. He found this out while going through your laptop when he visited your room at night.

“They aren’t with me. Can I stay with you?” You looked up at him.

“Let me just ask my parents” he stepped away and made a phone call. On the other line his mother was fuming, asking where he was an what he was doing. He admitted to saving you and told them you had a weird mental shock thing and asked for him to take you home with him. His mom sighed and said that at least he took action, being an upcoming hero and all. His father got on the phone and said you could stay as long as you needed. He hung up soon after and went to you.

You were still shaking as he relayed the good news, “they said you can stay as long as you want” he said stroking your arm. You smiled a little, and stood up, “Thanks, Bakugou. I’ll go get some clothes.”

“Katsuki,” he told you, “Call me Katsuki”

You felt giddy as you walked to your bedroom and invited him in. You were picking up some clothes as he layed on your bed. You assume he was tired but he was anything but. He was never able to do this as you were asleep when he visited. He inhaled your pillows and took in your scent, he even slightly ground his hips on the mattress. He sat up when you said that you got your pajamas and uniform for the next day. and he helped you carry them as you walked to his house. You clung onto him on the way there and he couldn’t be happier.

You reached his house and he opened the door. His parents were waiting for them and as soon as you stepped in, his parents went to talk to you.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” his mom asked, concerned

“Yes, Ms. Bakugou” you replied shyly. She thought your were the cutest thing ever.

“Alright then, we have a guest room right over there, Mistuki will help you get settled in” his dad told you

Your body refused to move to the room as you slowly backed up to Bakugou. “Um, if you d-don’t mind I-I’d like to sleep w-with K-Katsuki” you blushed as you asked. They looked to him as he looked at you and you decided he cared enough for you to stay with him. “As long as there’s no funny business” his mom clarified.

You face got redder, “O-Of course!” you squeaked.

They motioned for you to go with him up to his room. You followed him, clinging onto his arm once again. He showed you to his room and to his bathroom. He let you take a shower and get changed as he got changed in his own room. He sighed contently, you may have endured some discomfort but everything’s fine now, now you were with him. You’d be happy with him, live with him, be safe with him.

You opened his door and found him sitting on his bed. He scooted to the side, making space for you. He asked if you wanted dinner but you refused, claiming you were too tired and wanted to sleep. He lied down next to you and you looked away from him, “c-can I hug you?” you asked, blushing

He smirked and pulled you to his chest, resting his head on yours. You clutched onto him, feeling his arms wrap around you in a comforting embrace.

“Katsuki?”

“Hm?”

“I’m thinking of leaving the hero course”

He smirked, “oh?”

“They’ll understand, wont they?”

“Of course they will.”

“And then, can I move in with you?”

He gasped, he didn’t know how easy this was gonna be. You looked up at him and met his eyes, “Katuski?”

“Oh yeah, of course you can. My parents will understand. Then I can protect you”

You smiled at him, “I love you, Katsuki”

#yandere #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #yandere bnha #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #soft yandere #stockholm syndrome

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prideful-sins · 4 years

Text

Diavolo x GN!MC (Angst): Dancing On My Own

https://open.spotify.com/track/6aqNCrRA7vs7v6QvRpI50t?si=OvVVPBePQ_KT-p1SeBiQKg

In the song the pronouns are female but for inclusivity the MC’s pronouns will be They/ Them and the pronouns for the song lyrics are He/ Him for the brothers, thank you.

Ships: Diavolo X Reader/ MC, The Brothers X reader/ MC

Tags: Angst, Unrequited Love, Yearning

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist | Buy Me A Coffee?

Diavolo’s birthday party, once again this time of year came around and every demon in the kingdom wanted an invite to the hottest event of the year. Diavolo stood upon his balcony, hands firmly grasping the banister as he took a deep breath of the Devildoms freshest air. It’s not that he hated this day, it’s more so he hated any party where the brothers’ would turn up with MC, and they were definitely going to turn up with MC and, knowing Lucifer, they would be early.

“My Lord.” Barbatos’ voice piped up from behind Diavolo, its soft and melancholic tone a juxtaposition to the music coming from the party down the hall.

“Yes Barbatos?” Diavolo’s reply was short as he turned to face his loyal friend, a soft untelling smile on his face.

“The brothers, aswell as other guests, have arrived, along with MC” Barbatos gave a small bow as he delivered the news.

- Somebody said you got a new friend Does he love you better than I can? There's a big black sky over my town -

“Thank you Barbatos, I’ll be right down, welcome them for me could you?” Barbatos nodded and bowed once more before leaving Diavolo alone in his chambers.

- I know where you're at, I bet he's around

And yeah, I know it's stupid

But I just gotta see it for myself -

Diavolo took a look at himself in the mirror and smoothed down his jacket before taking in a deep breath and walking towards his door. The hallway echoed with music, a soft waltz playing as he stared upon the portraits lining the walls, soon he cam across his own, an empty spot next to it, a spot he hoped MC would have filled, but alas, a prince cannot get everything he wants, or loves.

The doors swung open and he was announced, a round of applause as demons from all over the realm clapped and cheered for him. Diavolo gave them his best smile, nothing seeming out of place as he waved and cheered, shook hands and laughed with The Devildom’s highest ranking demons and his own acquaintances. Meaningless banter was exchanged as Diavolo made his way around The Hall.

- I'm just gonna dance all night And I'm all messed up, I'm so out of line, yeah Stilettos and broken bottles I'm spinning around in circles -

As Diavolo chatted and laughed around he spotted them all, Lucifer had already said hello of course but there MC was, in all their glory. They looked radiant, the way the clothes complimented MC’s skin tone, the way their hair was done, their laughter echoing from the corner of the hall sending butterflies straight to Diavolos stomach. The brothers were gathered around MC, of course they were, they always were, Mammon was making some excuse to Lucifer about something he’d done, Beel and Belphie were tied to the hip as Beelzebub ate food from the buffet, Asmodeus and Satan were talking to MC and complimenting their outfit, and, finally, Leviathan was livestreaming the event from his D.D.D. talking in some language unknown to Diavolo.

- And I'm in the corner, watching you kiss him, oh I'm right over here, why can't you see me, oh And I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the guy you're taking home, ooh I keep dancing on my own -

“Diavolo!” MC noticed him approaching, their voice was radiant sunshine compared to the dull demons he had talked to before now. Excitedly, MC ran up to Diavolo and gave him a hug, the wind knocked right out of his lungs as he struggled to form a coherent thought that wasn't of their face or voice.

“Hello MC, it’s so good to see you here. I trust you’re having a good time?” Diavolo hoped his voice hadn’t wavered and shown his emotions, to anyone else he’d be perfectly fine having his facade, but for them? MC broke it down in seconds.

“It’s your party Diavolo!” MC chuckled as they pulled away from the hug, “you shouldn’t be asking me if I’m the one having a good time” Their hand rested upon the Prince’s arm as they talked, their smile pulling at Diavolo’s heartstrings with each passing second.

“It’s only natural that the host checks in with his guests,” a blush had crept it’s way onto his face and Diavolo needed to make a very quick exit, he stepped back, away from MC’s arm, and cleared his throat, “I should get back to my other guests, I do hope we can talk more later MC” Diavolo gave them a warm smile, of which they returned, before he turned away and made a beeline for the door to the gardens hoping that none of the other guests would notice his reddening face.

- So far away but still so near The lights come up, the music dies But you don't see me standing here I just came to say goodbye I'm in the corner, watching you kiss him, oh And I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the guy you're taking home, ooh I keep dancing on my own -

As the hours passed Diavolo kept his distance from MC and the brothers, apart from Lucifer who was now sat at a table along with Diavolo and Barbatos, who served them some tea. The other guests were enjoying the festivities, dancing to the music, eating the food, and drinking with hearty content. Diavolo, on the other hand, had spent most of his time looking at MC and the way they moved when they danced, and scowling at whomever MC had been dancing with.

He thought he had seen Asmodeus give MC a kiss on the cheek which had made Diavolo’s blood boil, but he had no right to feel angry, and right after the anger he had only felt envy, a jealous, toxic, envy for Asmodeus, why couldn’t it have been Diavolo to give MC that? What had he done to deserve this unrequited love? Questions no one had the answer to, and if they did, it was an answer Diavolo didn’t want to hear.

The prince had danced with many a demon tonight, his mind on only one person he wished he could dance with. Diavolo would ask them, he really would, but his emotions are a jumbled wreck around MC and so he is cursed to sit, or stand, and stare at them from afar with seething green rage toward himself and the people who had the joy of dancing with them.

- So far away, but still so near The lights come up, the music dies But you don't see me standing here -

The party had come to a close, MC gave Diavolo their present, a gorgeous little box that was wrapped perfectly and topped with a little bejewelled bow, he accepted it graciously and said his goodbye’s, his hand resting upon MC’s shoulder, fingertips digging ever so slightly into their should, and his thumb rubbing small, comforting, circles on their clothing, but as they left Diavolo’s hand lingered just a touch longer, so as their essence won’t be gone so suddenly, and as he watches them, and the brother’s, walk away, he looks down at the gift, and raises his hand to his nose. With a deep breath he smells the last piece of MC that he could grasp as tears well within his eyes, what had he done to deserve this unwanted love?

#diavolo x reader #diavolo x MC #diavolo #obey me #swd #shall we date #obey me!#Lucifer #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #bal writes #bal talks #MC #MC x canon #fanfic #x reader #fanfiction

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cakesunflower · 4 years

Text

Just My Kind [Teacher!Calum AU] Part 4

Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Everything alright, kiddo? You were pretty quiet at dinner.”

Odessa inhaled deeply as Grandpa sat down next to her on the step of the back porch, her blue eyes gazing out to the backyard. Grams’ rose bush was thriving, as was her little vegetable garden with growing tomatoes and red bell peppers. Odessa chewed on her lower lip for a moment, trying to push away some of the weight settled on her chest as she told him, “My dad called earlier today. Said he was in town and he wanted to have lunch tomorrow.”

The phone call hadn’t been one she had been too glad to have received. Her dad had called her right when she’d gotten into her car after school, and the second his name appeared on the screen, Odessa had gaped at it, wondering if she was imagining things. But it was as real as the vibration of her phone in her hand, as real as his voice on the other end when he asked if they could meet up for lunch the next day. Odessa wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed spent with her just sitting in the parking lot after he had hung up, wondering why in the world he wanted to catch up now, basically giving her no choice in the matter.

“Wow,” Grandpa sounded, resting his arms on his brought up knees as he glanced down at her. “Are you going?”

“I talked to Mom about it,” Odessa shrugged, gaze on the way she picked at her burgundy painted nails. “She said at the end of the day it was my choice and she’d be fine with whatever I decide. I still don’t know what that is.” Rolling her lips into her mouth and knitting her eyebrows together, Odessa shook her head. “All I know is that I just—I don’t want any kind of relationship with him.”

She heard Grandpa take in a breath. “Well, if you end up going with an attitude like that, kid, then it’s not going to be very productive, is it?”

“Who says I want it to be?” Odessa retorted, the frustration evident in her tone as she glanced up at her grandfather. The frown felt heavy on her face as she scoffed. “I’m perfectly fine with getting birthday and Christmas cards from him. He made his choice when he left to live with his secret family.”

“I understand, sweetheart,” Grandpa stated, his calm tone contrasting with her sharp, bitter one. Odessa couldn’t help but notice how relaxed her normally straight-backed, sharp eyed grandfather was. That wasn’t surprising—he always had been like that with her, at least. But under the topic of her father, Odessa had figured there’d be some tension in his muscles, a glare in his eyes at the mention of the man who cheated on his daughter and all but abandoned his only granddaughter. “Trust me, I ain’t the biggest fan of your dad’s either, but he’s had time to think over what he’s done. Maybe he’s just trying to make things right. Be your dad again.”

Odessa scoffed once again, running her tongue along the inside of her lower lip as a gentle breeze tickled her skin. “Yeah, nearly ten years later,” she muttered, twisting the bracelet she wore. Her chest felt heavy, the mere topic of her father churning her stomach as she tried not to fall into the pit of hurt and betrayal she had felt when he first left. Her mom had been so angry and Odessa had been so confused, hurt, and with his call, she was left wondering if she’d moved on from it. “I don’t need a dad again,” she added quietly. “I’ve got you.”

She felt Grandpa’s arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “That you do, kid,” he said with a soft chuckle, rubbing at her arm as Odessa wrapped her arms around his waist. He smelled like tobacco and wood, a combination she’d become so used to and loved. “Listen, Odessa, if you want to go and hear what he has to say, that’s alright. If it’s too much and you decide against it, that’s fine, too. At the end of the day, it’s your decision. You’ve got our support.”

The next day, Odessa arrived to the cafe about ten minutes before she was meant to meet up with her dad. Those extra minutes were spent sitting in her car, hoping for the music that played loudly through the radio would be enough to distract her from what she was about to do. She’d spent the night before and this morning considering her options, knowing she needed to make her mind up quickly because she was chaperoning the school’s Fall Festival dance later tonight, but kept wondering if showing up to have lunch with her dad would be worth it. Truth be told, she didn’t think it would be.

She had become an expert in bottling up her feelings, only letting them out in her journal to keep it a secret between the pages. Ten years later and Odessa still hadn’t let her dad know how hurt she was with what he did, how he made both her and her mom feel completely worthless, like they could be so easily replaced—which was what he essentially did. He never even apologized for his actions, not to Odessa at least, and maybe this lunch was his opportunity to do so. But Odessa doubted it would change anything. He did what he did, and there was no going back. Frankly, she couldn’t help but feel she was only going to end up getting hurt by the end of this cursed lunch. She might as well get it over with.

It was easy to spot her dad in the cafe. He’d aged over the past ten years, of course. With his thick dark hair peppered with gray and silver scruff spread along his chin and jaw. But Odessa still recognized him—though not as the man she’d spent the first fifteen years of her life looking up to. He no longer belonged on that pedestal.

“You look well, sweetheart.” Odessa pressed her teeth together once she had settled in the chair across from him, biting her tongue to keep herself from telling him not to call her that. It felt wrong. “All grown up,” he added with a short chuckle.

Yeah, ten years has that effect. “How long are you in town for?” Odessa asked after she’d forced a smile at his statement. The small talk was already starting off awkward, trapped in a bubble of tension amidst the busy cafe.

“I head back tomorrow,” he answered. “Promised Alex I’d make it back in time for her dance recital.”

Right. Alex. Her half-sister who was, what, eleven years old by now? Odessa had never met her—or Georgie, her seven year old half-brother—who all lived in Seattle with her dad and his wife, Louisa—the woman he’d been cheating on her mother with. Frankly, Odessa didn’t want to know them, or have any kind of relationship with any of them. Although she knew she couldn’t blame the kids, Odessa still harbored resentment towards her father and his new family—towards Louisa, who knew fully well that he was a married man with a daughter and yet still stayed with him, had a kid with him.

It wasn’t often Odessa took the time to think about them, but when she did, her blood boiled, threatening to give into a reaction far more explosive than she’d like.

Before Odessa could say anything, a waitress appeared, asking if they were ready to order. She barely glanced at the menu, eyes catching the option of buffalo macaroni and cheese, which was what she decided on. She wasn’t that hungry, the nerves of sitting across from a man she hadn’t seen in so long killing her appetite.

“So, uh,” Odessa spoke up, clearing her throat as she glanced around the cafe. They were sat by a window, giving them a view of the busy Los Angeles foot traffic. “Why’d you want to meet?”

She didn’t miss the way his smile faltered, probably wishing for the small talk to continue some more. But it had been difficult for Odessa to show up to the cafe, to find the courage and pride to accept his offer in the first place. She just kind of wanted to get this over with.

“Well, uh,” her dad cleared his throat, sitting up in his seat. “I was in town for some business and I remembered you’re staying with your grandparents so I just—I wanted to catch up.”

Oh, right. The only reason he knew she was living in Los Angeles was because of their yearly phone calls. That’s what he did. He’d sent her a birthday card with some money and then on her actual birthday gave her a call. They’d talk for a couple of minutes, she’d answer his questions without asking any of her own, and that was it. Last year he’d asked her how teaching back in Ely was going, and she mentioned she had taken a job in Los Angeles and was moving there a few weeks later. The fact that he remembered that—it didn’t do anything for Odessa, honestly. She realized, not for the first time, that she didn’t care if he remembered any details about her or her life. She felt numb to it.

“Right,” Odessa said, not entirely ready to dive into an uncomfortable silence, so she forced herself to ask, “How are Alex and Georgie?”

Odessa couldn’t help the way her fingers curled into fists under the table as her dad started talking about her half siblings. How Alex was really into dance and Georgie was showing a lot of interest in baseball. How they were so smart for their ages, so funny. Odessa noticed the light in his hazel eyes when he spoke of them, the love he had for them, and she was left wondering if he ever spoke of her that way. When he met people back in Seattle, did he only ever mention Alex and Georgie? Had he ever brought up his daughter from his first marriage—the college graduate, the teacher? Was he proud of her accomplishments the way he was theirs?

Did she want him to be?

No, she realized, she didn’t. But the envy still burned her veins—not that her half siblings were receiving the father that had belonged to her first, but that they wouldn’t have had him in the first place had he not stepped out on Odessa’s mom—on her. They apparently weren’t enough for them, so he found something more.

As Odessa ate her food, more so she was distracted momentarily than feeding a lack of hunger, her father asked, “How’s your mother?”

She heard the hesitation in his voice and her grip on her spoon tightened. Keeping her gaze on her bowl, she responded, “She’s good. Fell back in love with being a flight attendant.” With a slight scoff, Odessa added, “I guess everyone needed a change.”

“So she left to fly around the country without anyone to look after you?” Her dad scoffed. “That’s—”

“No, she didn’t,” Odessa snapped, her tone hardening as her gaze narrowed into a glare directed at the silenced man across from her. She wasn’t about to sit there and let her dad scoff at her mom—who gave him the right? “She waited until I left for college because you weren’t there to look after me, were you?”

There had been a lid on her anger, one that instantly burst off the second her dad tried to paint her mother as a villain. Odessa wasn’t going to let that happen, not in a million years. If there was a villain in this story, it was the man sitting across from her.

He put down the sandwich he’d been eating, jaw tightening briefly as he started, “Odessa—”

“No—what gives you the right to look down on Mom for restarting her career?” Odessa questioned sharply. She kept the level of her voice even, not one to cause a scene in a busy Los Angeles restaurant, no matter how pissed off she was getting. It was only a matter of time until she did, anyway. Her dad just casually trying to insult her mother was not going to sit right with Odessa, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to stand for it. “She needed to do something after the shit you pulled.”

Odessa could tell that he was figuring out that he was losing control of the situation, losing whatever little patience she had for him. He inhaled sharply as he leaned forward. “Look, I know what I did was wrong, but—”

“Wrong?” Odessa repeated with an incredulous scoff, shaking her head at him as her eyes narrowed in contempt. “Are you even sorry that you cheated on Mom? That you completely walked out on your family for a newer model?” She put down her spoon, her already wavering appetite completely gone with a churn of her stomach. “Call it a choice or a mistake, whatever makes you feel better, but you—”

“It wasn’t a mistake.” His words silenced Odessa, her voice dying in her throat as she looked at him, eyebrows drawn together as his hazel eyes met her blue. Her throat tightened when he continued, “If I said it was a mistake, then that’d be like saying my kids were mistakes—which they aren’t. I love my family, Odessa, and I’m sorry that their existence came from hurting you and your mother—but I will never say they’re mistakes.”

His words felt like a slap to her face, enough to make her eyes sting with frustrated, hurt tears she refused to let fall. She knew this would end up hurting her. Knew that whatever he had to say would not be what she wanted to hear—which she didn’t even know was what. Logically, Odessa knew it was unfair to get him to admit to his mistakes, his choices, if it meant bad mouthing his kids. But Odessa would be lying if she said she would be satisfied to hear it. Now, to know—to have it be confirmed—that he was happy, content with his new family after destroying the one he had at first, had Odessa realizing that she was so better off without him. She didn’t want him or his damn birthday cards. She didn’t want to know about Louisa or Alex or Georgie—she didn’t care.

Fifteen years with her father was all she was going to get. And Odessa would rather visit those memories, if she ever wanted to, than give another thought to him or his new family now.

She’d gotten an apology. A shitty, backhanded one, and she knew that was all he was capable of.

“Wow,” Odessa finally sounded, the word accompanied by an empty laugh as she leaned back in the chair. Gaze meeting his somewhat apologetic, yet stern, one, she gave a shake of her head and mused dryly, “Aren’t you just father of the fucking year?”

His eyebrows drew together, the situation lost. “Odessa—”

She was already grabbing her bag, uncaring of the food she’d barely eaten as she stood up, successfully holding back the tears that threatened to fall. “You can hold off on the birthday and Christmas cards—they end up in the trash, anyway.”

*****

Something was weighing down on Odessa, and Calum couldn’t ignore the need to help her—not that he’d ignore that instinct in the first place. She looked troubled the moment she arrived into the transformed cafeteria, tables set up in a way to provide a dance floor in the middle, and decorated with pumpkins and leaves and streamers of the orange, red, and yellow variety. String lights had been set up along the ceiling and on the tables with the food, providing a soft glow throughout the room, but it didn’t do much to hide the trouble that danced across her features, which Odessa failed to hide behind the smiles she offered everyone else.

She had greeted him briefly, which was when Calum had noticed something was off, but Odessa had quickly been pulled away by Justine Greggs, gone with a flutter of the long, deep red dress she wore that made her blue eyes pop.

But Calum had realized, amidst chatting with a few of his students, that Odessa wasn’t around, that he hadn’t been able to spot her for a while, and he couldn’t help the furrow of his eyebrows as he glanced around while approaching Justine. “Hey, Justine,” he greeted the AP Lit teacher, offering her a smile as he asked, “D’you know where Odessa is?”

“Oh,” Justine blinked before her gaze wandered around in search for the woman in question before finally looking at Calum and saying, “Well, she told me she was going to the bathroom, but that was a few minutes ago.”

Calum nodded, an absent, “Alright, thanks,” slipping past his lips before he turned to walk in direction of the doors, exiting the cafeteria and heading towards the nearest bathrooms.

But to get there he had to pass the teachers lounge, and he would’ve walked right past it, too, if it weren’t for the single light on inside that caught his attention. He came to a quick stop, eyebrows subtly drawn together as he neared the door that was ajar, finding exactly who he was looking for seated on the couch, gazing out the window into the dark courtyard.

She hadn’t noticed him enter the room, facing the window with her arms folded on top of the back of the couch, legs folded as the skirt of her long dress spread on her lap, the heels of her shoes just barely poking out. For the moments she didn’t notice him, Calum took the opportunity to admire the glow of the lamp against her, mixed with the soft moonlight filtering through the window she was peering out of. Odessa was lost in deep thought, unaware of his presence as he took a tentative step forward, hesitant on disturbing her and the silence she was finding comfort in.

Except it had been difficult for Calum to ignore the troubled look she had worn upon her arrival, itching at him to make sure she was alright because that’s what friends did, right? And they were friends. Just friends. But he wouldn’t focus on that now.

Licking his lips, Calum finally spoke up, gently, “Odessa?” He heard her release a small gasp at the sound of his voice, head instantly turning towards him before her shoulders relaxed upon realizing who was in the room with her. Calum offered her a small, somewhat sheepish smile as he slowly approached her, watching as she let out a breath while he asked, “What’s going on? You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah—crap, sorry,” she said through a nervous chuckle, shifting so her lower back leaned against the arm rest of the couch. She looked up at him, a sheepish smile on her face as she said, “I didn’t mean to disappear.”

When she made a move to get up from the couch, Calum held his hand out to stop her. “Hold on, hold on—I’m sure a couple of more minutes won’t hurt.” Odessa relaxed as he sat down on the couch as well, left elbow propped up on the top of the couch as he got a closer look at her. She kept pursing her pink lips, the subtlest of frowns on her face above downcast eyes. Calum didn’t like seeing her so. . . Off. “What’s bothering you?”

“Life?” Odessa answered with a dry chuckle and Calum’s lips quirked, recognizing her feeble attempt of deflection. She let out a long sigh, running her fingers through her dark hair to push is back. She looked out the window, jaw working momentarily. “I had lunch with my dad today—it went as well as you’d expect.”

Calum’s expression fell, teeth pressing together as he gazed at the furrow between her eyebrows. He knew from what Odessa had told him that she didn’t have a good, or any, relationship with her father ever since he left her and her mom. Judging by how down she looked, lunch hadn’t been gone over too well. “I’m sorry about that.”

She clicked her tongue, waving him off. “Nothing to be sorry about,” she responded with a shrug. “I knew it was only going to upset me but I went anyway. It was a stupid decision.”

Calum was silent, unable to smooth out the crease in his eyebrows as he watched her profile. He didn’t think anything he could say to Odessa would help. He was lucky enough to have a good relationship with both of his parents, though they were divorced as well. And as difficult as it had been to watch their marriage fall apart when he was young, his parents didn’t let it affect their individual relationships with Calum. Knowing Odessa wasn’t as lucky as he was in the matter had his chest tightening, the need to help out his friend great but the inability of doing so unsettling.

“I think,” Calum slowly spoke up, picking his words carefully as Odessa glanced at him. He offered a small, encouraging smile. “I think what you need right now is to get your mind off of it, instead of sitting by yourself and letting your thoughts weigh you down.” Odessa quirked an eyebrow as Calum got to his feet, putting on a smile for her as he offered his right hand. “Let’s dance.”

He watched her blue eyes glance down at his hand before meeting his gaze, something flickering in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. Calum briefly wondered if it was hesitance, but as quickly as that look in her eye appeared, it was gone. It seemed Odessa came to a silent decision over something, allowing for a smile to quirk on her lips as she placed her hand in his, and Calum felt a relaxed smile grow as he tightened his hold to allow her to shift her legs, dress in mind, before standing.

Calum reluctantly let her hand go, immediately missing the warmth of her touch as they made their way out of the teacher’s lounge, flexing his fingers as he allowed for Odessa to walk out first before following her after shutting the light off. They wandered down the hall towards the cafeteria, the muffled music growing louder the closer they got to it, and right as they entered the crowded room, the song changed into one Calum recognized as Finally / Beautiful Stranger by Halsey, and he felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips.

“Right on time,” he hummed, earning an amused raise of an eyebrow from Odessa, before her gaze dropped to his hand, which he offered her once again. “Shall we?”

She smiled, sweet and pretty, accepting his hand for a second time as he led her to the center of the room where many students had paired off, even some teachers. His left hand gripping her right, Calum rested his right hand on Odessa’s hip as her other rested on his shoulder, and he could pick up on the way her lips curled up in a small, shy smile as they both swayed to the ballad playing through the cafeteria.

He tried not to focus too much on their proximity, this closeness between them new and familiar all at once. He tried to keep his attention on their movements, and not on how this kind of closeness with Odessa was something he had been silently wanting. Calum bit the inside of his cheek, willing those thoughts away. They were just friends, colleagues—he couldn’t be thinking of her this way, couldn’t be thinking of her as anything more than what she was. Despite her smile making his heart race, her laugh hitching his breath, her touch sending electricity shooting through his veins—Calum shouldn’t dive deeper into whatever feelings he was developing.

But, God, he couldn’t help it. Because the more he got to know her, the harder it was to keep himself from falling for Odessa. And how couldn’t he? She was proving herself to be everything he looked for in a woman, and more.

“Thanks, Calum,” she murmured, blue eyes lifting to meet his dark ones. The appreciation danced in her eyes and being this close to her, Calum was teased by the fruity scent that delightfully clung to her. If he were to guess, he’d say it was watermelon, which he found himself enjoying. When she noticed the subtle raise of his eyebrow, she continued, “For dragging me out of the lounge. I’m kind of irritated I let it get to me at all.”

Calum clicked his tongue. “No need to thank me, Essa.” He wasn’t quite sure when he started calling her that, having heard Luke utter it a couple of times, but soon enough it was slipping from Calum’s lips and she didn’t seem to mind, so it stuck. “I think it’s perfectly normal for you to feel like that—just know that I’m here to listen.”

Her smile was grateful, soft in her features, and the sight of it had a beat or two of Calum’s heart skipping. He meant what he said—he enjoyed this relationship he and Odessa had fallen into, a camaraderie during school hours and a genuine friendship outside of it. It was easy to talk to her, to joke around, the two of them finding a rhythm far quicker than Calum would have ever expected to. Getting drinks with her and everyone else on the weekends was relaxing, but so was finding Odessa in the teacher’s lounge during their lunch breaks and chatting about their lesson plans and their favorite novels that aren’t on the roster to teach their students. He’d get to know her as every day passed, finding out that the favorite writer she taught was Edgar Allan Poe and a certain professor in college made her develop a hatred for Herman Melville. He didn’t blame her—he preferred Nathaniel Hawthorne’s works, himself.

“I appreciate it all the same,” Odessa told him. Calum kept the smile on his face, despite feeling the breath silently hitch in his throat when she gave his hand a grateful squeeze. Then, with a gentle laugh, she teased, “You’re a solid work-husband.”

He grinned, the warmth of her smile sinking into his skin as they continued swaying to the gentle melody of the song. Calum couldn’t help but think chaperoning school dances just got a whole lot better with Odessa with him.

tags: @irwinkitten @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @astroashtonio @loveroflrh @softforcal @loverofhood @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @highfivecalum @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @miss-saltwatercowgirl @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @ohhmuke @mindkaleidoscope @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysidesblog @miahelizaaabeth @dramallamawithsparkles @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal @wildflower-cth @bloodmoonashton @vxidhood @gosh-im-short @thesubtweeter @mycollectionofnuts @cthwldflwr @everyscarisahealingplace @socorroann @talkfastromance4 @calumftduke @musichoney @treatallwithkindness @partlysunnycal @dead-and-golden @kaeleykaeley @harrys-sun-flower @br-hoe

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purrincess-chat · 5 years

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Kill Em With Kindness CH2

Thank you all so much for 3.5k (and growing)! You are all so wonderful, and I’m glad that you all enjoy my content enough to stick around and follow. I have a lot of plans for the future, and I just hope that you all will like them! Here is part two of this next spite filled adventure.

The opening scene and really this whole fic were inspired by lenore’s post from forever ago after Chameleon came out so shouts out! Also, I know several of you wanted me to tag you when I updated this, and I will do my best to get everyone, but I suggest getting an AO3 account and subscribing to the fic there instead. You’ll get an email whenever I update, and I always post on AO3 first before tumblr.

Read on AO3

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Chapter 2

“You know, when you made these plans with Adrien, I thought you meant to be nice,” Tikki said chidingly in the bathroom as Marinette washed her hands several days later.

“I am being nice,” Marinette said with an innocent pout.

“You put a ‘Coping with loss’ book on Lila’s desk yesterday.”

“She said her hamster died.”

“And the safety glasses by the napkins in the cafeteria?” Tikki cocked a brow.

“Max was worried about losing an eye.”

“You did your science presentation on tinnitus.”

“Well, after the music festival with Juleka’s mom, I was worried about our hearing.” Marinette snatched a paper towel from the dispenser and dried her hands.

“Your history report on the greatest liars and cheats in history?”

“I became fascinated with P.T. Barnum’s life after that movie and finishing with a comparison of Volpina and Rena Rouge was just a modern-day example everyone could identify with.” Tikki gave her a look. “I got a standing ovation for that presentation.”

“What about the fact-checking robot you petitioned Max to make?”

“For Alya for her birthday! I’m just trying to help her become a better journalist because I’m a good friend.” Marinette placed her hands on her hips haughtily.

“Speaking of Alya, you’ve been telling her to just hang out with Nino lately.”

“She said she wanted to spend more time with him. I’m just being supportive of their relationship,” she shrugged.

“Marinette,” Tikki sighed.

“What? We can’t expose Lila, so we’re just playing along until she inevitably exposes herself which I will watch probably with popcorn,” Marinette said with a laugh. “It’s called kill em with kindness.”

“It’s called being petty.”

“Semantics,” Marinette waved it away, but Tikki was unamused. “Look, I can’t beat Lila at lies. She just makes more, so I’ve come up with another plan that doesn’t harm anyone and keeps everyone from getting mad at me for calling her out. I mean, you saw what happened the other day when she got me expelled. Scarlet Moth almost made a comeback, and I was on the frontlines.”

“I guess we can’t let that happen again…” Tikki reasoned, tapping her chin.

“Exactly. Lila wants everyone to believe those things, so I’m just gonna let her keep falling down the rabbit hole until she eventually hits the bottom,” Marinette said with a twisted grin. “If I happen to push her a little deeper along the way then so be it.”

“That’s very underhanded of you, Marinette.”

“I don’t like it when people use my friends and threaten me.” Marinette clenched her fists. “She almost got me akumatized multiple times now, and we can’t ever let that happen.”

“You’re right. Just be careful,” Tikki advised.

“Don’t worry, Tikki. Coming up with solutions is my superpower.” She winked as her phone buzzed in her pocket with an akuma alert. “Speaking of, we have a city to save. Tikki, transform me!”

***

“Ladybug!” Alya waved her down after the battle, brandishing her cell phone. “Do you have time for a quick interview?”

“A little,” she said with a shrug. “Make it quick.”

“Okay, okay, many of my viewers want to know what advice you have to help people stay positive to avoid being akumatized,” Alya began, pressing record.

“Well, I would recommend changing your perspective a little. Instead of being bummed out about failing a test, maybe commit to studying harder next time. If you get into a fight with your friends, just take a deep breath and remember that if they’re your real friends, they’ll forgive you.” Ladybug replied, placing her hands on her hips. “And if you do get akumatized, don’t make a big deal out of it. Chat Noir and I will always be there to save you. Negative emotions are a part of life just like positive ones, and everyone can have a bad day, even me.”

“Next question, with the passing of Hero’s Day, my viewers want to know what they can do to help you and Chat Noir.”

“Just do your best every day. Lift each other up instead of tearing each other down and do your best to help others who need it,” she said with a smile.

“My friend Marinette is like that, always helping others and helping us stay positive,” Alya remarked, and Ladybug bit back a smirk.

“I think I’ve met her a few times. She’s alerted me of a few akumas here and there.” She tapped her chin with a coy smile. “Not everyone has superpowers like me and Chat Noir, but there are a lot of ways to help out in your school, in your community, or even in your own home just like your friend. I think that everyone should strive to be a Marinette.”

She pressed a hand to her earrings as they beeped and palmed her yoyo, flashing Alya a peace sign. “Gotta go before I change back.”

“Thank you for your time, Ladybug!” Alya bounced on her heels, clutching her phone to her chest as Ladybug tossed her yoyo over the roof.

“Bug out!”

***

When Lila walked through the doors of the library that afternoon, she stopped short when her eyes locked with Marinette’s sitting at the table with Max. They held that same taunting innocence that made Lila’s blood boil, and she knew this was another one of her “nice” schemes.

“Oh, Lila, there you are,” she greeted with a smile, and Lila did her best to suppress an eye roll. “You haven’t been doing so well in class, so I’ve asked everyone to pitch in helping you catch up. Max is here to help you with your maths and science, Rose has agreed to help you with Literature, Sabrina can help you out with history, and then Nathaniel said he would be more than happy to help you with the art project we have due next week.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. Adrien agreed to help me,” Lila said, waving it away. “He should be here any minute.”

“Actually, he had a pop-up fencing lesson with Kagami this afternoon. She insisted because her mother is so hard on her to improve her technique, and Adrien is the only opponent who challenges her enough, so he just couldn’t say no,” Marinette explained.

“Adrien does score well across the board on all of his exams; however, his schedule guarantees an 87.96% chance that you won’t get sufficient help in order to pull your grades up in time, so Marinette reached out to the rest of us to step in on his behalf so you don’t fail the semester,” Max stated, and Marinette smiled sweetly beside him.

“As class representative, I’m just looking out for the needs of everyone,” she said, standing up. “Thanks again for your help, Max.”

“No problem, Marinette.” Max waved it away. “Oh, and I will have prototype designs for that software you asked me for later this week.”

“Awesome! You’re the best, Max!” Marinette clasped her hands together cheerfully. “Good luck, Lila, and let me know if you need any more help.”

Lila offered her a forced smile before her face fell into a scowl.

“Have fun at movie night!” Max called, waving as she left.

“Movie night?” Lila quirked a brow.

“Yes, many of our classmates are convening to watch movies at Kim’s house this evening, but seeing as it’s a movie I’ve already seen, I agreed to help you catch up on your studies tonight instead,” Max explained, pulling out his textbooks. “I’ve assembled 100 maths problems for us to work covering each section of material that you missed while you were traveling then I have a PowerPoint reviewing over our particle physics unit from last term-”

Lila glared at the door Marinette had gone through, gripping her pencil with white knuckles. She wasn’t quite sure what game Marinette was playing with her, but she was definitely up to something. No matter, she wasn’t about to be defeated so easily. After all, she had Gabriel Agreste on her side.

***

“How did Lila react to Max?” Adrien asked as Marinette grabbed a juice from the snack table.

“She looked half ready to strangle me,” Marinette replied, popping the tab and taking a sip.

“There isn’t going to be a lot I can do if my father decides to use her in photoshoots again, but I’ll help you in any way that I can outside of that,” he said, grabbing a cookie.

“What are you two whispering about?” Alya asked with a smirk, and they both stiffened.

“Uh, I was just asking Marinette if she wanted to sit with me during the movie,” Adrien said, nudging Marinette with his elbow.

“Y-Yeah, I- of course. You don’t mind, do you, Alya?” Marinette fumbled, and her friend gave a proud beam.

“Not at all. I was actually on my way to tell you that I want to sit with Nino.” She winked.

“Great. Then it’s settled.” Adrien waved as they moved to their bean bags.

“How did she sneak past your father anyway? I thought he was some impenetrable wall?” She asked, and Adrien threw his head back with a sigh.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Is it wrong I kind of wish she’d teach me?” He chuckled, popping a popcorn kernel into his mouth.

“Your dad let you come to this, didn’t he?” Marinette pointed out, but Adrien averted his gaze guiltily.

“I’m technically supposed to be meeting with my Chinese tutor right now, but I may have told him I lost my voice while also telling Gorilla that this was his address,” Adrien admitted, tapping his chin with an impish grin.

“Sneaky,” Marinette complimented, but he curled his shoulders.

“I feel kind of bad disobeying him, but all I want to do is see my friends. What’s so wrong with that?” He shrugged, and Marinette offered him a smile.

“Nothing, and I’m sure your dad will come around eventually,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Marinette. I really hope so.” He smiled weakly, his gaze softening on her. “You really are the kindest girl at school. Lila won’t know what hit her.”

Marinette bit back a smile, cheeks pink and heart pounding.

“Ya know, Adrien, maybe if your dad ever allows it we could-”

“Lila, Max, you made it!” Kim called, and Marinette felt her blood run cold.

“I’m a really fast learner,” Lila said, shooting Marinette a pointed glare, and her jaw clenched as Nathalie entered through the doorway beside her. “Oh, Adrien, I ran into Nathalie on the way over. She was worried about where you were, so I told her we could check here for you.”

“Adrien, you’re supposed to be at Chinese right now,” Nathalie scolded, and Adrien stiffened, face falling. “If you come now, I won’t tell your father about this.”

“Yes, Nathalie,” he said glumly, shooting Marinette an apologetic wince. “I’ll see you at school.”

“I’m sorry, Adrien. I didn’t realize you’d get in trouble.” Lila winced, pressing a hand to her lips in an ‘oops’ manner. “Nathalie said your father was worried.”

“It’s okay, Lila. It’s my fault,” Adrien said as he passed, head hung low as he made his way out with Nathalie.

When the door closed behind them, Lila curled her shoulders and turned to everyone with a pout.

“I’m sorry. I feel like I ruined everything. I didn’t realize that Adrien was here without permission,” she said, covering her face.

“Don’t sweat it, Lila. You didn’t know,” Nino assured her, and she peeked over her hands.

“I hope he doesn’t get into too much trouble,” she fretted, but Nino waved it away.

“Nah, Nathalie totally sticks up for him. If she says she won’t tell, then she won’t,” he said, and Lila relaxed a little.

“That’s a relief,” she sighed.

“Well, since Adrien had to bounce, why don’t you take his seat next to Marinette? You two have been getting along so great lately,” Alya suggested, pointing to the empty beanbag beside Marinette, and Lila flicked her gaze to meet Marinette’s with a grin.

“Do you mind, Marinette?” She asked, a challenging glint in her eye as if to say, ‘your move.’

“Not at all.” Marinette smiled sweetly as Lila paced over to sit down, and her phone buzzed in her pocket with a text from Adrien.

Well, looks like we have our work cut out for us.

Marinette glanced at Lila out of the corner of her eye, chatting with Rose about Kitty Section before typing a quick reply.

So it would seem.

*sigh here we go*

Tagging: @teresarosiadeviluke2112 @sam-spectra @posyfoot @captain-rice @aloeveraspeaks @somethingelsefine @crazylittlemunchkin @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @rlv29 @kaleigh-girlonfire @kokoa-vb @fanwarrior-at-your-service @liebredavinci @starberry-mina @dalandana @rose-sparks13 @foreverblindedbystars @a-6-yearold-inside @redheadeddemon16 @deerestaurelia @graduatedmelon @janaikam @zatanni @shamefulllove @lunar-wolf-warrior @french-dog-joke @magnitude101999 @pinkittwice @musicallylara @summersprit-sims @timelinegodabandoned @patronusxcharms @azureocean33 @zazzlejazzle

#miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #marinette dupain-cheng #ml salt #cat writes #my writing #kewk

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katefiction · 4 years

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Cora, Chapter 8: Princess in the Tower

by katefiction (Maria) / 2013

St. Michael’s Church, London

December 2165

Pine cones and orange is my favourite smell. The way it gets right up your nose as if forcing you to acknowledge that it’s Christmas time. I breathe it in fully, revelling in my favourite time of year.

‘Could this get any duller?’ Annie says, shifting uncomfortably in the pew.

‘Shh’

‘Seriously, there aren’t even any cute guys to look at’ she huffs.

‘It’s a charity carol concert Annie, not an opportunity to pick up men!’ I whisper.

‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you weren’t cozied up to Nicky’

I blush.

I had told Annie what Louisa had said, how she’d made me doubt Nicholas’ integrity.

Annie had told me straight, ‘it seems like you’re just looking for an excuse to break up with him’

‘That’s not true!’ I protested. ‘Why would she say it?’

‘Because she hates you?…’ Annie said unhelpfully.

I hadn’t asked Nicholas about it, I didn’t want to cause a rift between him and Jonathan. The more I thought about it, the more I began to think Annie was right. Nicholas was a good man who treated me well and cared about me. Why would I want to ruin that?

The choir arrives at the front of the large church, and the orchestra warms up, filling the huge space with music.

‘Do I have to sing?’ Annie mumbles under her breath.

‘Yes or at least pretend’ I laugh.

Nicholas and his family are on the other side of the aisle; he catches me laughing and flashes me a smile.

I smile back awkwardly.

We are asked to rise and all hold up our song sheets to sing O Little Town of Bethlehem.

I had gone for a black A-line dress tonight with netting underneath which I immediately regret as Annie starts to tease me.

‘That netting is invading my personal space’ she says as we get to the second verse.

“The hopes and fears of all the years Are met in thee tonight”

I giggle, ‘get on with the song!’

She is clearly bored, but as she is always in America for Christmas, I force her to spend time with me whenever she’s in the country.

She begins looking around the church, presumably for a guy to flirt with.

“We hear the Christmas angels The great glad tidings tell”

‘Um Cora’ she says, turning around.

‘What now?’

‘Ben’s here’

“O come to us, abide with us Our Lord Emmanuel”

The carol comes to a rousing end and I spin around, hitting Annie with my skirt.

I see him immediately on one of the back pews. He is wearing a long dark coat with a scarf wrapped around his neck, which he’s pulling at. On his face is a one, or possibly two day layer of stubble.

I turn back around before he catches me staring as we launch into Away in a Manger.

Had he seen me?

‘Go talk to him’

‘No’

‘Don’t be so petulant!’

‘What is he even doing here?’ I say, more to myself.

The people on the front row turn and give us the evil eye.

‘Sorry’ I mouth.

Annie hushes her volume, ‘maybe he was feeling festive?’ she shrugs.

I give her the side eye, and as I do, find Nicholas looking directly at me. He gives me a curt nod and turns to look at Ben.

Crap.

We are given an interval to rest our voices. I try not to look over to Ben as I’m aware of Nicholas’ eyes fixed on me, but from the corner of my eye, I see him wonder to the back of the church by himself.

‘Hey you’ I say to Nick as I approach him. ‘Having a good time?’

‘Naturally, you?’

‘Yes yes’ I say, smoothing my dress down.

He pulls me to one side, away from Jonathan and Louisa, who are giving a bored Annie the schedule for their wedding.

‘If you want to go and talk to him, now’s the time’

I burn red, am I that obvious?

‘Don’t be silly…’

‘It’s fine…I’m fine with it, I trust you’. He says it so sweetly but for a moment I’m annoyed that he’s speaking to me like a child.

‘I’ll be five minutes, ten tops’ I say.

He nods and lets me hurry off to where I saw Ben heading, my heels clattering on the stone floor.

I find him in one of the alcoves with his back to the entrance, staring up at the carved wooden ceiling, presumably admiring the architecture. I watch him for a minute, not wanting to disturb his moment.

‘Are you going to say something?’ he says, his voice making me jump.

‘Oh…you knew I was there?’

‘I could hear your horse shoes coming a mile off’, he says, still with his back to me.

‘They’re not…’ I begin, but think better of it. ‘How are you?’

He turns around finally, his dark eyes fixing on me, ‘good, and you?’

‘Good good, happy birthday…for last month’ I say awkwardly.

He smirks at me, ‘happy birthday for last January’

I can’t help but roll my eyes at his nerdy joke. ‘So what brings you here?’

‘My cousin’s a member of the choir. And you?’

‘Nicholas’ family go every year, he invited me’

Ben stuffs his hands in his pocket defensively, ‘ah yes, good old Nicholas’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

The conversation turns unpleasant in a split second.

‘He swooped right in there didn’t he?’

My blood begins to boil. ‘I hardly call a year after we broke up “swooping”’

‘He was still there in the shadows waiting for his moment’

It’s only at this moment after all this time grieving, that I realise how angry I am at him.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous Ben’

‘Speaking of ridiculous, nice dress’. He reaches out and fluffs the netting up.

‘Stop trying to change the subject, it doesn’t work anymore’

‘Doesn’t it?’

I suddenly realise how close he’s standing to me. And the fact that no one else is around.

‘I don’t think you know how pissed off I am with you’

‘Why?!’ he says incredulously.

‘For not having the balls to stick around!’ I say too loudly. ‘I thought we had something…and you gave it up over a stupid tennis match that you didn’t even win’

He laughs as he backs away from me.

‘And why do you think I didn’t win Cora?!’

I’m too angry to take that as a compliment.

‘Well you got over it this year didn’t you?’

‘You can talk’

We stand there in silence, our chests heaving.

‘Does he make you happy?’

I don’t know what to say. He doesn’t make me unhappy.

‘He understands my life’

Ben moves closer again, ‘that’s not what I asked you’

‘He won’t walk out or get scared away…’

‘I didn’t get scared away, you pushed me out’

‘You called it off, not me!’

‘You will never admit you were in the wrong will you?’

‘Because I wasn’t’ I say stubbornly, trying to ignore his honey and wood scent that I love so much.

He sighs, as if defeated.

Fight for me. Please fight for me.

‘I hope he makes you happy Cora’

The music starts up again, telling us that we are to return to our seats.

He signals for me to walk out first, knowing that we can’t be seen together.

I do, and I don’t turn back.

Christmas

‘A royal flush!’ Dad laughs as he pulls out the novelty toilet paper that I’ve bought him for Christmas. Each piece has his face printed on it. ‘Thank you darling…I think’

It had been tradition for years for our family to buy each other joke presents at Christmas. This year was no exception.

Dad always bought me some novelty Christmas-wear, and this year I was proudly sporting some cosy reindeer slippers.

The rest of the family buzz around the Christmas tree, exchanging comedy gifts and laughing with each other.

‘Any gifts from Nicholas?’ Dad asks, trying to be casual.

‘I told him not to bother’ I say quietly, trying not to catch the attention of the rest.

‘Well that’s a shame, perhaps he’ll have something for you anyway’ he looks around the room like he always does when he’s hiding something.

‘Like what?’

‘Oh I don’t know, a ring maybe?’

‘Daddy! Don’t be stupid!’ I shout, prompting strange looks from around the room.

‘Ignore her’ Dad says to everyone, and they dutifully get back to their business.

‘He is not going to give me a ring’ I whisper.

He was talking about marriage just last month.

‘Wouldn’t you like that? Surely every girl would like a big diamond given to them by a nice man’

‘First of all, I hate diamonds, and secondly, even if I did want that, I wouldn’t be telling my father!’

Dad laughs conspiratorially.

‘What? What’s so funny?’ I say, getting increasingly agitated.

‘Let’s just say me and Nicholas have had words’ he pushes on of the baubles on the tree, making in swing and shimmer in the light.

‘Daddy, please don’t say…has he asked you…for permission?’

Rather than beating fast, my heart feels like it’s slowing down. Dad’s expression turns to concern.

‘I thought that’s what you wanted?’ he says.

Sometimes he can be so naïve.

‘To get married one day…yes, but…’

‘Not to Nicholas?’

‘Dad, shh!’

‘Sorry’ he whispers. ‘I just can’t see why you wouldn’t want to marry him, he’s charming, kind, affable, and he’d be great with the public…’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to marry him?’ I say sarcastically.

He tuts at my joke.

‘I didn’t say I didn’t want to marry him, but don’t you think it’s too soon?’

For all my worries, I can’t see Nicholas proposing this soon. He’s far too sensible.

‘Perhaps. But your mother and I got engaged after nine months’

‘And look where that got you!’ I scoff.

‘We had many good years Cora’

‘But I don’t just want years, I want a good life, to grow old with someone who I can have fun with’

Dad leans in, ‘Don’t you think it’s time you let Benjamin go sweetheart?’

‘That’s not what I meant’ I say, my heart quickening.

‘I know you were crazy for him, but he’s not here, and Nicholas is. It’s not fair to keep comparing them’

‘I’m not’ I keep my eyes focussed on one of the baubles.

‘You will never be happy if you don’t accept it, trust me’

‘I have accepted it’ I lie.

I just miss him so much, I want to scream.

Dad puts one arm around me and I snuggle momentarily into his round chest.

‘I just want you to be happy’ he whispers.

‘So do I’ I say back.

The Boxing Day shoot was always my least favourite part of the festive season. I was no shooter, but Dad forced me to come along every year anyway to ‘spend time with the family’.

I’d much rather be spending time with a mince pie and a Christmas movie.

It is freezing on the Sandringham Estate, with the open spaces allowing the wind to bite nastily at my ears and fingertips. I stand with my gun hanging limply in my hand, watching as Dad expertly aims at his target. I’m so bored I could cry.

‘MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!’ comes a booming voice behind me.

I turn around to see Nicholas, Jonathan and their parents striding towards us, all clad in their finest shooting gear.

Nick beams at me as he approaches. God knows what my expression must look like.

‘What are you doing here?!’ I ask as we exchange kisses.

‘Your father thought you might like some company’ he says, giving a curt bow and handshake to Dad who is greeting everyone. ‘He called us last night’

‘That’s all a bit sudden’ I say nervously, recalling my conversation with Dad yesterday.

Nicholas rubs his hands together for warmth, ‘yes well, he wanted a chance to congratulate Jonathan and Louisa on the wedding, seeing as he can’t make it next week’

Of course he did.

‘That’s…nice’ I say.

‘Aren’t you happy to see me?’ he says with a smile.

I press my hand against his chest, ‘yes of course Nick’

It is the truth, Nicholas was great company and I was glad to see him.

My good mood is cut short in a second, when from the corner of my eye; I see a blonde ponytail swinging in the distance.

Louisa and her parents, the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire walk purposefully in our direction.

‘They’re here too?!’ I say, probably quite rudely.

‘Is that a problem?’ Nicholas looks a little annoyed.

‘No…it’s just, Dad rarely invites anyone to this shoot…’

Why on God’s earth would he invite Louisa?Was he trying to ruin my Christmas?

‘It is her wedding too’ he says sensibly. ‘And he’s known the Devonshires for years’

‘I suppose’

‘Right Cora, Nicholas’ Dad calls, ‘let’s not mess about, get involved’

Nicholas takes my hand in his and leads me to where the rest of the party are shooting. He curls his arms around me and helps me point my gun to the sky, ‘just like old times hey?’

I giggle because I don’t know what else to say. It did remind me of the day Nicholas had asked me out. When he was the only man in my life. When things were so much easier.

I wish I could get back to that.

I look over to Dad who looks very pleased that his plan to cheer me up has worked. He gives me a small wink. I wink back, if only to please him.

Later in the afternoon, I retreat to the small cabin on the grounds where eggnog and warm snacks have been laid out for us to enjoy.

I take a sip of the eggnog, closing my eyes and enjoying its warm silky texture on my throat.

‘Is there anything else to drink?’ comes her squeaky, grating voice.

I don’t even want to open my eyes. But I have to.

‘There’s mulled wine’ I point, not bothering to offer to pour it for her.

Louisa shrugs and heads for the wine.

As much as I want to walk out and ignore her, the princess in me (and my father’s voice in my head) stops me.

‘So, you must be getting excited for the wedding’ I say.

‘There’s still a lot to do, working out where all the members of Jonathan’s family are going to sleep for one’

I nod, pretending to be interested.

‘Still, you’ll learn all about that soon enough’ she smiles sarcastically.

Does she know Nicholas had asked Dad for permission?

‘Not for a long time yet’ I smile back.

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Yes…why?’

She runs her perfectly manicured finger over the rim of her glass, ‘I just wouldn’t be surprised if Nicholas chose our wedding day to pop the question’

‘Oh grow up Louisa’ I say, beginning to lose my temper.

She doesn’t flinch, but stays frustratingly calm, the smile fixed to her face, ‘you don’t know him at all do you?’

‘What is your problem with us?! Do you fancy him or something?’ I know it is out of line, but I can’t help it.

‘Oh please’ she laughs. ‘Nicholas is a pale imitation of Jonathan and he knows it’

‘That’s ridiculous’

‘Why do you think he’s so competitive with him, he’s constantly trying to live up to his big brother’

I clutch my glass tightly.

‘Don’t talk about him like that’

‘And now he has to live up to your ex too’, she sticks her bottom lip out tauntingly.

‘You don’t know anything about us’

Louisa steps towards me, ‘I’ve known those boys for years, I know how they work’

‘If they’re so bad, why are you marrying Jonathan?’

‘I’m at his level, you are not. Nicholas will eat you up and spit you out’

As I’m about to respond, to tell her how much I trust Nicholas, he walks in, a look of suspicion on his face.

‘Everything ok ladies?’

‘Fine’ I say quickly. ‘I was just telling Louisa how much I’m looking forward to the wedding next week’

He puts an arm around my shoulder, ‘it’s going to be a great day’

A look passes between them, not of passion like I thought, but of warning.

‘It should be fun’ Louisa says, placing down her glass and moving towards the door.

‘I can’t wait’, I say grimacing at her.

She leaves the cabin, pulling the door shut behind her.

‘Are you sure everything is ok’, Nicholas asks as soon as she leaves.

‘Yes…she was talking crap, that’s all’

‘About?’

‘About you. About us’ I look at the floor, wishing I hadn’t just admitted that.

‘What did she say?’, his eyes darken.

‘Just that you aren’t who I think you are, that you’ll “eat me up and spit me out”’

‘You don’t believe her?’

I hesitate, ‘no of course not, but I do wonder why she has it in for you’

‘She’s never liked me…and she’s deathly jealous of you’, he bends to my level, ‘that’s all it is’

I can’t help myself, I have to ask him, ‘Nick…you’re not trying to live up to my ex are you? Because you know you don’t need to!’

He curls his lips, like he’s insulted, disgusted even. ‘No Cora, I’m not’

‘Oh, well good’ I say, slightly taken aback.

‘Anyway’ he says, softening, ‘I came in here to talk to you about an environmental project my father’s starting…’

Nicholas proceeds to tell me all about his father’s new project involving home grown food on British land.

‘…so I was thinking with your background managing the estates as well as other things, you’d get involved?’

I had hundreds of requests for my patronage a year, and even more now that I’m the Princess of Wales. I chose them all carefully and made sure I was passionate about each of them. I can’t say this one was getting the blood pumping.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work together just yet’

‘Why not?’, he looks crestfallen.

‘Because people will accuse me of favouring your cause for other reasons’

‘That didn’t matter to you when you were working with Ben’s Trust’ he says resentfully.

I flinch. The truth was I never worked with Ben’s Trust. Ben told me all about it of course, but my involvement with the Trust was nothing more than an excuse when I had to explain to Nicholas why I was inviting him to the Highland Fling.

‘That was different’ I lie. ‘And I’m not working with them now’

‘Please just consider it, ok?’ he says stroking my arm.

‘I will’ I lie again.

‘We’ll be spending the rest of our lives working together, might as well start now’ he says, thoroughly ending the discussion.

I want to argue my point but I don’t have the energy.

Instead I follow him out of the cabin, thinking about the fact that he spoken about marriage twice now before he’s even said he loves me.

Dunrobin Castle, Scotland

New Year’s Eve

Louisa has gone all out with the decoration of the castle for her wedding. The bannisters on the staircases are wrapped in holly and twinkling lights. Swathes of red and gold fabric drape from the ceilings and a band plays festive music in the foyer.

I have to give it to her, it’s magical. And the same can be said for Louisa herself. For as much as I don’t want to admit it, she looks beautiful.

As she and Jonathan walk back up the aisle, I admire her gown. Made from the finest lace and skimming gently over her slim figure, it frames her shoulders to highlight her doll-like face. She looks like elegance personified.

Shame the personality doesn’t match.

Nicholas walks behind them as best man, with the maid of honour, the ‘chocolate and orange’ Louisa-clone, Martha.

He grins at me brightly, for once seeming happy to be in his brother’s shadow. I return the gesture, glad to see him so relaxed.

It feels like a long wait for the evening reception to start. I sit with Jenny and our friends in the parlour watching the sun set through the glass doors.

‘Your wedding will be so much better than this’ Jenny says conspiratorially.

I laugh at her sudden bluntness, ‘this is pretty good, you have to admit’

‘Yes but your reception will be in a palace, that trumps a castle every time’

‘Oh I don’t know, I love it at Balmoral’

‘You won’t be able to travel from London for the wedding all the way to Balmoral for the reception…’

‘Why are we even talking about this?!’ I say, realising how much I don’t want to talk about my imaginary wedding.

‘Come on Cora, everyone knows you and Nicholas will be next’.

Jenny had changed her mind once again when I told her I was with Nicholas. Apparently we are perfect for each other after all.

Before I can affectionately tell her to shut up, the wedding planner hushes the room to make an announcement.

‘All those asked to partake in the official photographs are to report to the main hall in twenty minutes’ she says sternly.

I give Jenny my most despairing look.

‘Off you go’ she teases.

As much as I’d protested and as much I knew Louisa probably had, Nicholas insisted that I be in some of the official photographs. I was his girlfriend and date after all.

I leave reluctantly, making my way up the grand staircase to the east tower, where a round dressing room had been allocated for me to and Nicholas to get ready in.

Turning the little brass key that I’d been given, I enter the room and reach for my comb and hairspray that I’d left on the dresser. I smile at the sight of the vintage lace and silk emerald green dress that my mother had leant me hanging on the mirror.

Beside the mirror is the only window in the room. From way up here in the tower, I feel like I can see the whole galaxy. It’s beautiful.

I slip out of my day dress and put the evening gown on, as per Louisa’s strict instructions. My hair is another matter. After being in an up do all day, it has begun to sag. I take the bobby pins out, deciding to attempt to re-do it.

Clutching twenty of them in my hand while attempting to reposition my hair, they tumble from my grasp, scattering all over the floor.

‘Oh crap’ I mumble to myself, kneeling on the floor to retrieve them. ‘Where’s Annie when you need her?’

Under the dresser, I spot Nicholas’ bag hidden in the shadows.

Maybe it’s what Louisa said, maybe it’s my own doubt, but my curiosity overcomes me.

I unzip the main section of the bag and see nothing but Nicholas’ clothes. Patting my hand on top of them, I suddenly feel something suspiciously cube-like in shape.

It can’t be.

I carefully take out his shirt and unwrap it.

There in the middle is a black box.

Shit.

I shouldn’t open it, just like I shouldn’t have opened the bag in the first place. But I do.

The diamond dazzles me. It’s huge, bigger than any ring I’ve ever seen. Bigger than Louisa’s. I pull it out of the box and place it against my ring finger. It engulfs my whole hand.

He can’t seriously be doing this tonight. On his brother’s wedding day.

My heart is racing with panic.

I’m pulled out of my shock by the sound of laughter down stairs. I look at my watch, my twenty minutes is almost up.

My hair still hangs down in loose curls. I have no time to fix it now. I put the ring exactly how I found it and hurry out of the room, locking the door behind me.

When I get to the hall, everyone is waiting.

‘Sorry’ I say to Nicholas as I find my place beside him.

‘What were you doing up there?’

‘Oh just sorting my hair out…but I still made it on time!’ I joke.

‘Everyone knows when Louisa says twenty minutes, she means fifteen’ he says irritably.

He must just be nervous.

‘Oh I’m sorry’

‘Shouldn’t your hair be in some sort of style?’ he says, eying my loose tresses.

‘Sorry, style expert’ I say, trying to lighten him up.

Our conversation is interrupted by the wedding planner and the photographer shepherding us all into place for a group shot. I watch as Nicholas wrings his hands together.

I can’t let him go through with this.

As the reception gets underway, I pull Nicholas to one side, ‘can we talk?’

We go outside onto the grounds, the same place that Ben and I went on the night of the Highland Fling.

‘What’s the matter’ he says, holding himself to keep warm.

I don’t know where to start.

‘Nick, I think I know what you’re going to do tonight, and I can’t let you do it…’ I begin.

‘What am I going to do’ he looks confused.

I take a deep breath, ‘I found the ring’

He stays still, the cold air not even leaving his mouth. ‘You went through my things?’

‘No…well yes, but I knew what you were planning’

I just didn’t want to believe it.

‘Well that’s the surprise ruined’ he says bluntly.

‘Nick, I wanted to tell you not to do it’

‘Don’t call me Nick’

‘What?’ I say startled by the change of subject.

‘Don’t call me Nick. I hate it’ he says, looking past me.

‘Since when?!’

‘Since always’

‘Why are you only telling me now?’

‘How do you tell the girl you’re chasing that you hate the nickname she’s given you?’

‘Oh’

I feel deflated and confused at his sudden change of character. When I stopped things between us at the Highland Fling, he was so gracious, but this time, it couldn’t be more different.

‘I just think it’s a bit soon to be thinking about marriage’ I continue where I left off.

‘But it will happen eventually, why not do it now?’

‘Because I don’t want to’ I say, getting frustrated.

‘You don’t want to do it now, or you don’t want to marry me at all?’

‘I-’

‘Because you know I’m right for this Cora. Your Dad loves me; I get the rules, the traditions…’

What about “I love you”?

Ben never said it either.

He carries on, not letting me speak, ‘Ben Evans isn’t going to understand your future like I do’

‘This isn’t about him!’

‘Really? You know he probably just used you to promote that Trust of his?’

‘I WAS NEVER WORKING FOR HIS TRUST!’ I yell.

Nicholas is taken aback, by me losing my temper or by what I’ve just told him, I don’t know.

Suddenly he is calm and collected again, ‘how about we go and enjoy the party and talk about it later?’

‘Fine’ I nod, ‘give me five minutes’

He heads inside, leaving me in the cold. I’m confused and frustrated. A whirl of information is spinning in my head.

Why did he take it so badly?

Why does he keep bringing up that damn Trust?!

My mind hurtles back to the night of the Highland Fling:

“‘So how do you and Cora know each other?’, Nicholas asks.

I butt in before Ben can speak, ‘like I told you, we met at Wimbledon and I might be getting involved in Ben’s Trust’”

And then propels forward to the newspaper article that revealed mine and Ben’s relationship to the world:

“Sources reveal to us that the pair began dating last year after Cora began working with Evans’ charitable trust, the Marion and James Evans Tennis Trust.”

My breath catches in my throat. I’ve been so stupid.

I run back inside, my heels clattering on the floor. Nicholas is by the grand staircase still heading towards the hall for the reception, where the other two hundred guests are.

‘NICHOLAS!’ I shout, not caring who hears me.

He turns to me, ‘great, we can go in together…’

‘It was you wasn’t it?’ I say, panting from my sprint.

‘I’m sorry?’

I step closer to him, fury building, ‘you sold the story about Ben and I to the paper’

He laughs coldly, ‘don’t be silly, Cora, now come on, the party’s started’ . He grabs my arm but I snatch it away.

‘I was never working for Ben’s Trust, Nicholas’

‘This again?’

‘I told you I was going to work with Ben because I needed an excuse, you were the only person I told that to, and it just so happens that was how The Sun said we became close’

Nicholas stands there in silence.

‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid, I should’ve realised it was you’ I say shaking my head. ‘But how did you know we were even together?’

Finally his façade cracks, the charming man I thought I knew disappears, ‘you think I couldn’t see it at the Fling? You were all over each other’

‘But why would you want to ruin things for me?! If you hadn’t have sold that story, we would still be together!’

‘Don’t be so naïve! You and him were never going to work, I just quickened it up for you’

I want to punch him, slap him, anything.

‘You don’t know that’

‘Don’t tell me that you broke up because your affair was revealed’ he says smugly.

He is right.

‘What did you do it for? Do you even like me or want to be with me?’

‘Life isn’t a fairy tale, we will work well together, I’ll be a great consort for you, and in time we’ll learn to love each other’

That’s why he didn’t want to get intimate with me. He doesn’t even like me.

‘You’re ridiculous’ I whisper.

‘Look, whatever you think of me now, you’ll see I’m right eventually. All the complications that come with your life don’t suit a relationship like yours and Ben’s. Just look at your father and mother, and all the other failed marriages in your family. If we were to marry me, you know we’d never divorce’

I believe him. We would have the perfect royal marriage. On the outside at least.

It’s not like I have a better offer.

‘Just think about it’ he says. ‘Come and find me later’

He wonders off to the reception like all he’s done wrong is left the lid off the toothpaste.

I can’t face all those people, so I head up the staircase to my dressing room in the tower. When I get up there, I slam the door shut and lock it.

I should be angrier, Nicholas has ruined everything. But in my heart, I know he didn’t. I ruined everything.

I close my eyes to think when there is a sudden tapping on the window. I ignore the noise and try to un-jumble my thoughts. The tapping continues, louder this time.

I walk towards the window hesitantly. It’s dark outside, but as I get closer I see something that makes me scream for my life. A man’s face is looking right at me.

I back away from the window, ready to run to my protection officers who are waiting in the hallway outside.

‘Your royal highness, are you ok?’ one of then says at the door.

But the man begins to shout through the window, ‘Cora! It’s ok, it’s me! It’s just me!’

I step forward, and he continues, ‘open the window!’. It’s only then that I recognise his dark eyes.

My heart leaps.

I pull the old iron window wide open, and Ben climbs inside.

‘What the hell are doing here?!’ I whisper and then shout through the door, ‘I’m fine, just a spider!’

‘Nice to see you too!’

‘Ben, are you crazy, how did you even get up here?’, I stick my head out of the window and look down at the dizzying drop below.

‘It’s was pretty easy, I climbed out of one of the lower floor windows and up the ledges on the outside’

‘You’re insane!’ I say despairingly.

‘I know’

I can’t quite take in that he is standing here in front of me, clad in his best dinner suit, that’s marked with dirt from the castle walls.

‘How…why…?’ I can’t even express all the questions I have.

‘Why don’t you sit down’ he says, and I comply as my legs are like jelly.

‘Your father called me this morning. He said that he thought that Nicholas might be proposing to you tonight’ he looks down at my hand to see if I’m wearing a ring. ‘He said that despite the fact that he likes Nicholas, he hasn’t seen you happy since we were together…’

I want to cry, I can’t believe Dad called him.

‘He thought that we should talk before you agreed to anything. So I got here as fast as I could. The security had no problem letting me in, Wimbledon champ and all that. I saw you heading this way, but there were too many people around to go knocking on all the doors, so I thought I’d just go from the outside and peep through the windows’

I’m too stunned even to call him a peeping Tom.

‘I should’ve known the princess would be in the highest bloody tower’

‘But why did you come at all? I thought you were over us’

He tuts, ‘because I love you’

He loves me. It sounds so beautiful coming off his tongue.

‘We’re not engaged’

‘I figured that much out’ he laughs.

‘Ben…he was the one who leaked the story about us’ I immediately regret telling him.

‘He did what?!’ he eyes widen in anger. ‘That fucking little toe rag! I told you he was no good! Where is he?…’ he pounces at the door, but I jump up and block his way.

‘Don’t be stupid!’

‘He can’t do this to you and get away with it!’

I’m suddenly furious. At Ben. At Nicholas. At myself.

‘I’m not a damsel in distress! You can’t just climb up a tower to come and save me!’

‘I’m not…’

‘You left!’ I realise I’m shouting, ‘You left me, you can’t just waltz in here and tell me you love me and expect me to fall into your arms. If you really loved me, why didn’t you tell me months ago, why did you let me believe it was over?’

Ben is shouting now too, ‘because you were with him! I wasn’t going to ruin things for you without knowing how you felt’

‘You must’ve known how much I love you!’ I push him backwards.

He stops for a moment. This wasn’t how I had imagined myself telling him that.

‘I hoped, I didn’t know’ he says.

‘Nicholas thinks I should marry him because we won’t have the complication of loving each other. He thinks it’d be a perfect royal marriage’

‘And what do you think?’

‘That he’s right, it would be easier’

‘Is that what you want?’ he steps towards me, ‘an easy life with no arguments, no one to tell you when you’re wrong, when you’re being an idiot?’

‘I-’

And then he’s kissing me, one hand is through my hair, the other is clutching at my skirt. We back up against the door, his lips are on my face and my neck.

‘God, I’ve missed you’ he mumbles.

I grab his face and bring it back to mine, kissing him as deeply as I can, before pushing him off me.

‘I was scared of losing you’ I say suddenly. ‘That’s why I didn’t want anyone to know about us, I was never ashamed of you’

He stays quiet, letting me speak.

‘I saw my parents break up, and I’ve always thought it was the press that got in the way, I didn’t want that for us’

‘You couldn’t have hidden me away forever’

‘I know, but I thought the less people that knew, the better chance we’d have’

He runs his hand through my hair, ‘it doesn’t work like that, Cora’

‘I’m sorry…I was wrong’

‘I’m sorry too … and thank you for finally admitting to being wrong’ he can’t help but tease me, even now. ‘So what now?’

‘Now, I think I need to sort this all out myself’

In the process of falling in love, being heartbroken, then being with a man who never really wanted me to be myself, I’d lost who I was.

The old me would cringe at how weak I’ve been. I didn’t need any man to save me, not even Ben. I needed to act like the Queen I would one day become.

‘I just need some time, if you can be patient’

‘I’ve waited this long, I can wait a bit longer’. He kisses me on the cheek and goes to leave – through the door this time. ‘Oh, you look incredible by the way’

I blush despite myself, brushing down my dress and messed hair, ‘thank you’

Now alone again, I gather my belongings and text Jenny, and ask one of my protection officers to put everything in the car.

When I get to the entrance of the hall, the noise is overwhelming. Music is blaring and the guests are taking part in a Scottish jig. Apart from Nicholas, who is standing against the wall watching Jonathan with a disgusted look of envy on his face. I recall the conversation we’d had on our first date about how competitive the brothers were, and then conversations with Louisa, who kept hinting at something to me.

It’s only now that I realise why Nicholas had pursued me so hard. It wasn’t the money or the status he was after – he had both of those. His motivation was purely his life-long competition with his brother. After all, what could top marrying a duchess? Marrying a princess.

He catches my eye and I beckon him over to just outside the hall. I feel more in control and more calm than I have in months.

‘Have you had time to think?’ he says, a hint of desperation clear in his voice.

‘I’m afraid you won’t get the chance to upstage your brother tonight’ I say. ‘See, your offer was good, I’m not getting any younger and the chance to be guaranteed a life-long marriage is tempting…’

‘Great, maybe in a few mon-’

I put my hand up to stop him, ‘please don’t interrupt me. It is tempting, if the sight of my future husband didn’t make me want to vomit over his perfect suede shoes. I would rather spend the rest of my life alone than spend it with you’

I smile at him sweetly. Princesses don’t punch.

‘You will never speak to me or any of my family again, do you understand?’

He looks at me but doesn’t say a word.

I turn to leave, but turn back around for a moment ‘oh and Nick, maybe next time do some research before you buy the ring, because I fucking despise diamonds’

Maybe my language isn’t very princess-like, but it’s Cora through and through.

January 29th, 2166

I’m twenty-eight today. And I’m by myself.

Sitting in my apartment in Clarence House, I open the birthday cards given to me by my family and friends. I’d spent the past month alone, getting myself together, working hard, and trying not to call Ben.

I had told Dad and Mum everything that had happened. Dad suggested we lock Nicholas in the Tower of London and Mum proclaimed that she never did like him. We’d also sat together and talked for hours about their divorce. And about how to have a relationship in the spotlight.

They had both assured me that the good times were worth all the hassle that came afterwards. I was still scared, of course I was, but I realised taking a risk would be worth it. It was ok if it failed, I would be ok.

I prop up my cards on the side table next to the picture I have of King William and Queen Catherine. I put it up there to remind myself that they took a chance once too.

A knock comes at the door and I hurry over to open it, fixing my hair as I go.

‘Hello’ he says.

‘Hello’

I haven’t seen him in a month, but it feels like forever.

‘Happy birthday’ Ben says, clutching something rectangular in his arms.

‘You didn’t get me a present did you?’

He laughs that deep beautiful laugh, ‘no, not quite’

He places the packet down on the counter and unwraps it.

‘Lemon drizzle cake!’ I say happily.

‘I hope it doesn’t upset you, you know, being your tradition with your granddad and everything. I just thought you’d like to continue it…with me maybe’

‘I love it Ben’ I say, trying not to be a total idiot and start crying.

I go to kiss him on the cheek, but he turns his head purposefully and catches my lips with his. It’s like we haven’t been apart.

‘And I love you’ I add.

‘You’re alright too I suppose’ he says.

I slap him on the shoulder, ‘don’t be mean’

‘Ok ok, I love you, despite the fact that you drive me absolutely insane’

‘Good’

‘Good’ he mimics.

He cuts a slice of the cake and gives it to me, one slice of many more to come, I can only hope.

‘I’m sorry I don’t have an extravagant gift for you’ he says, stuffing the cake into his mouth.

‘I have everything I want’ I smile.

‘Look at you with the cheesy lines!’ he laughs.

‘Shut up!’ I say, burying my head in his shoulder.

He wraps his arm around my waist, keeping me there, ‘so you weren’t expecting a diamond?’, he raises his eyebrows tauntingly.

‘No I wasn’t, I would throw it back at you’, despite my attitude, I don’t move from his side, and he doesn’t let me.

‘Quite the model princesses aren’t you? Princess Cora, Rejecter of Diamonds, Potty Mouthed Queen of the People’

‘You better get used to it, princesses aren’t all what they’re cracked up to be’ I snigger.

‘Don’t I know it’

As it turns out, Ben never did give me a diamond ring.

Because on Boxing Day the following year, he gave me an emerald one.

#katefiction #royal fanfiction

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too-attached-to-fiction · 5 years

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Needy | Loki Laufeyson Imagine

Master list here.

Word count: 831

Request(s): Hello! May I request a fic in which Loki gets jealous and becomes very clingy with his s/o?

Yoo can i request a loki x reader where the reader is rlly lovely nd touchy with their friends and loki thinks they don’t rlly love him and they have to explain that ofc they do, theyre just used to showing their friends a lot of affection as well like cuddling and hand holding and forehead/cheek kisses bonus if their best friend is thor skdjsjsjdj

Author’s note: sorry it’s been so long, I’ve been working on a sanders sides fanfic for a while so I haven’t had time for requests and I was burned out for a while. But I’m back now! Sorry to the anons that requested this and didn’t get an answer until now! And sorry this is SO FUCKING SHORT I just didn’t know how to get back to the swing of things. Thank you for requesting tho!

- Nox

~~~

The first time you noticed Loki was clingy was during one of the festivals on Asgard. Although, you should have noticed before.

You’d grown up with Loki and Thor by your side, and were extremely affectionate with both of them. A child of one of the palace’s servants, you had watched the two grow up as the heirs to the kingdom. Once it was clear you refused to leave his side, a marriage was arranged between you and Loki.

Still, you treated Thor just as affectionately. You often greeted each other with kisses on the cheek, sometimes being overly affectionate because of Loki’s distaste for doing “anything that shows weakness in the eyes of the Asgardians”. You’d hoped it would push Loki to speak up, and yet, it was never mentioned.

Needless to say, the god had a tendency to bottle up his feelings.

Within seconds of walking out of the palace, Loki had wrapped an arm around your waist, careful to avoid smothering your robes. Other people looked away quickly, understanding the message loud and clear. He tugged you closer, and you looked up in confusion.

Normally, Loki despised public displays of affection and yet, he seemed to be the one initiating it. You leaned into him slightly, mirroring the way he held you with your own arm around him.

“My lord.” You said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear. His head bowed slightly, to hear you better. “Come, let us watch the performances.”

You led him through the crowd, turning around every few seconds to make sure he was still holding your hand, still following you. When the crowds got heavier, your grip got tighter. Normally, he would say something, but he just let you guide him forward.

The second time he was clingy, it was at the feast in the Palace. Every warrior was in attendance, and as always, music was playing.

You’d had a dance with Thor, laughing and jumping around joyously to the music. Loki watched from afar, blood boiling when he saw you happy with someone else.

Minutes later, he lead you out to the dance floor, something that always took you a lot of convincing before he would even dare think of dancing with you. Carefully, he twirled you around and fell into step with the music. Despite his cold exterior, you smiled up at him, relishing the moment.

“I didn’t know he could be so sweet-”

“This is odd behavior, but not unwelcome.”

Any onlookers were ignored, as you two kept time. Aside from simply appearing with Odin and Frigga when necessary, the two of you were often not seen together, and if you were, you didn’t interact like this. Thor and Jane were more likely to do something sweet in public. Even when the music finished, you kept going, slow, calculated steps tapping on the stone floors. Apparently, Loki’s forced dance lessons came in handy for events like this. You danced until the hall was void of the common folk.

The third time you noticed, you two were alone after a long day of being with the people. When you didn’t have any royal duties to attend to, you’d often work with the people of Asgard. Some days, you helped the farmers plant crops, and others, you made sure their living conditions were reasonable. You hadn’t seen Loki all day until he slipped into your shared sleeping quarters.

He lifted the covers just as you were about to fall asleep, and slowly, you rolled over to face him. “My lord.” You murmured in greeting. He pulled you closer as your hands immediately tangled themselves in his hair. “I missed your presence all day.”

“I as well.” He said, and sleepily, you lifted your chin to meet his lips. “You were missing from me all day.”

“Are you jealous of the townfolk spending time with me?” You teased gently, a sleepy half-smile on your face. You tucked your head into your chest, and he took the opportunity to kiss your forehead.

“Perhaps. Perhaps I am envious of your affections directed to others.”

“I only have eyes for you, Loki.” You said softly, reaching out to cup his cheek.

“But your affections for Thor-”

“Those are friendly, Loki. Do not fear; I am no infidel when it comes to love.”

“I should wish not.” He pulled you closer, despite the two of you already being pressed up against each other, limbs entangled.

“You’re rarely this affectionate.” You said, burying your face in his neck.

“I can’t show affection?” You smiled at his words.

“It’s quite a surprise, but it is welcome. I love you, Loki.”

“And I, you.”

Even though Loki still disliked public displays of his affection for you, he made more of an effort. In time, the two of you became known as the shy and gentle rulers of Asgard alongside Thor and Jane. He tried to keep up his intimidating exterior, but around you, he turned to absolute putty.

#loki imagines #everything after the first thor didn't happen #loki and thor are still good to each other #i need them to be happy for once #and i love jane #thor #marvel #marvel imagines #loki drabbles #canon what canon #fix it imagine #loki laufeyson #reader insert #loki/reader

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aknightout · 4 years

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Chapter One

Theadoria glowered hands on hips at the hand cart sitting askew, one wheel nestled comfortably in a previously unseen pothole. The bloody thing was too heavy to pull free fully loaded so with a sigh she set about hefting a few casks onto the ground and freeing the cart from it’s hole. While reloading the cart Fiddle Dyley approached from the direction she had been going. It was clear he was returning from the Temple where Theadoria was headed, judging by his own cart, likely leaving his family’s offering for the harvest festival. “Need a hand?” the boy asked, his voice cracking. He coughed as his cheeks reddened from embarrassment. Despite being over twenty years old his people, the Floriens, seemed to age a little slower than Humans. So the more embarrassing stage of growing up took a little longer and started a bit later.

“You needn’t trouble yourself on my account Fiddle, nearly done here.” the young man's face turned a deeper shade of red and Theadoria sighed inwardly. She wasn’t sure quite when it started but for nearly a year now Fiddle had become quite infatuated with her and her brogue. Most of the villagers paid her speech no mind but to a young man who grew up here all his life it certainly seemed exotic and alluring. Fiddle was nice enough but younger than her, barely half her height, and about as interesting as a boiled potato.

“No trouble at all to help a… ahh… a… “ the boy answered in a falsely deepend tone that trailed to his normal voice as he began to fumble.

“Damsel in distress?” she finished for him while dropping the last cask back into the cart. With folded arms she leaned on the cargo and gave a smile to Fiddle. His embarrassment threatened to boil over and he quickly averted his gaze while still trying to juggle a coherent sentence in his mouth. Taking the opportunity Theadoria quickly picked up the handles and began pulling her cart down the road. From behind her Fiddle finally shouted “Will I see you at the Festival?” She snorted at that. Brehill had barely a hundred people in it and they would all be at the festival. She wouldn’t be hard to find. Not to mention Fiddle knew full well she worked at the tavern and Lance would need her help slinging drinks all day long. “Gods only know Fiddle, Gods only know” she shouted back without turning round. It was several seconds more before she heard the rumble of his cart. It was hard to say if he was just watching her, or if he needed the time to decipher what she had said. ______________________________________________________

Grund felt something snap beneath his fist, satisfied with the result he stood over his victim and stared at the rest of his clan. Thin and sickly the lot of them. They had been promised fresh meat and whatever loot they could carry. But that was months ago. The others were beginning to question if the Chief had made the right decision sending them here. Having been declared Spear Bearer of this mission they were under his command, and if they started questioning the Chief it wouldn’t be long until they started questioning Grund’s authority as well.

He had felled the dissenter with a decisive blow and following him to the ground continued savaging him to make a point. The display had made the others cower and chuff in deference. For now.

It would not be much longer. Two more days if he was to believe the armoured sow. Grund winced and rubbed the scar in his midriff. She had taught him not to call her that and left him with a reminder in case he forgot. She had earned his respect by using proper teaching methods. But he still felt that sows did not belong on the battlefield. It was not the way of things. It was hard to argue with results however as he felt the three inch seam in his flesh.

He sneered at his brethren. They were his people but it still disgusted him how afraid they had become. A few months of hard living and they become nearly… human. Revolting just to think of those squishy fangless cowards.

“Eat” he commanded, stepping away from the body. He watched them tear into their fallen former comrade with some small satisfaction. At least they still ate like true Yotnar. Tusk, fang, and claw rending grey hide to taste still warm flesh. His nostrils flared at the scent of fresh blood. This was the freshest meat they had eaten since coming here. It took all his self control to keep from forcing his way back into the feast. But they needed it more than he. Grund would stay hungry. ___________________________________________________________

Erevandrel could hear the voices outside from his position kneeling before the shrine to Heclarod. More offerings for the festival. He peered to the alcove across the way where Scalendi’s shrine was chocked full of offerings. Bundles of grain, baskets of produce, wreaths of herbs and flowers. All of it would be used to cook or stored with the rest for winter on the day of the festival of course, Scalendi did not abide wasting her bountiful gifts by just leaving them out to rot.

“Can I help ya with somethin Andrel?” he snapped back from his thoughts to find himself staring at the barmaid from the Broken turtle. She was rolling a cask along the floor and had paused between Erevandrel and Scalendi’s shrine without his noticing. From her perspective she likely looked up to find him staring at her. He continued to stare a moment longer at her long red curls and wondered briefly which side of her lineage those came from. “No… just thinking.” he answered after pausing far too long. He returned his gaze to the shrine before him. Each of the shrines would hold gifts this time of year though the focus was thanking Scalendi for a kind harvest. The casks were likely being rolled to Dynessar who should never be slighted just before a party. Erevandrel looked down at the meager offerings before Heclarod. A roll of parchment with an old story, an inkwell, and a stylized carving of the goddesses symbol in a clay tablet. All things he had brought he thought to himself as he traced the symbol with a finger. A circle flanked on either side by crescents facing away from each other. Symbolic of the phases of the moon from waxing to full to waning representing the stages of life as well.

He stood, it was getting late he should return home before it became too dark. He turned and walked toward the door and immediately bumped into Helmund, the temple priest. Instinctively he reached out to steady the man and apologised profusely.

“No, no entirely my fault lad, you needn’t worry one bit.” Helmund often called him lad or boy. It was often hard for humans to remember that most Elves were likely far older than they were or ever would be. But Erevandrel didn’t mind. The priest had always been very kind to him. Kindred souls in a way they both felt a bit like outsiders from the world. Helmund had a terrible hunchback and while the town had learned to love the man they still often gave him looks of condolences which were almost worse than the stares from travelers passing through. Erevandrel had never treated the priest any differently from anyone else and Helmund seemed grateful for that.

“I’m afraid I need to get going but I will return tomorrow.” he explained, though it required no explaining. The two saw each other nearly every day.

“Wonderful, you can help me lay the final offerings tomorrow evening. And then a wonderful Festival after that!” Erevandrel nodded in reply and left. He never was sure how to feel about festivals. The food would be good and the music would be nice. But he never did feel quite as comfortable in large groups as he did alone.

He let his mind wander as his feet carried him along the familiar path he had walked a hundred times before now. A few folk greeted him along the way returning to their own homes. A sense of giddiness pervaded as excitement rose for the coming festival.

At the outskirts of the village he took the winding path up the cliffside. He was the only one in the village who lived up here. He couldn’t fathom why, the view was breathtaking. But he wasn’t about to invite neighbors if no one wanted to. At the top he crossed a short bridge that spanned the river which fell as a waterfall back down to Brehill and made way to his hut.

Night had fallen during his journey and he peered up at the night sky and it’s myriad of stars. In his long life he had taken the time to study them as best he could and liked to note the movements of the constellations. He saw that Erabor’s Arrow was nearly set to pierce the Manticore's heart, the Trebuchet was aligned nicely, and… had it truly been five years already? The Nine Lanterns were close to forming their ring. It wasn’t quite there yet, perhaps the day of the festival or even the day after that. He nodded to himself at the pleasant omen as he went inside. Maybe the festival would be fun after all.

#AKnightOut #HeroesOfBrehill #Theadoria #Erevandrel #Book #Chapter One #Author #Writing #Patreon #Fantasy

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th3okamid3mon · 4 years

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The Lighthouse, somehow charming to disturbing [SPOILERS]

What happens when you have 2 man inside an isolated house? NOTHING GOOD! NOTHING. GOOD. AT ALL!

Sinopsis:

2 lighthouse keepers are doing 4 weeks shift at an isolated and mysterious island in New England while fighting the desires to succumb into insanity. The tension between them grows as time passes, even though they can no longer decipher the time of day.

Photography, sound and edition:

BOI, WHERE DO I BEGIN!? OH I KNOW! THE CAMERA. The first thing that intrigue me about this movie is the black and white and that it´s shot in 1. 19:1 (For those who don´t know what that means, its the dimensions you see the movie, for example: a widescreen television in full hd would be 16:9). Seriously, this could possibly fool someone into thinking it´s an old movie, a literal movie from the 1930´s or 40´s. But NOPE! ITS FROM THIS CENTURY! BUT WAIT! THERE´S MORE!

SO! It was shot using a Panavision Millenium XL2, which it still uses film. Some people think movies are shot with digital cameras now days and that film is completely obsolete. Well, a couple movies have been shot with film and in color. Film can and does have a really good quality, a lot of directors still like to use film to shoot the movies and then transfer the movie to digital. Some directors digitalize the movie, edits it and then imprints it in film! A mexican cinematographer called Gerardo Barroso explain in a conference in 2012 at the FIC UABC (International Film Festival UABC) how he does that because he liked the film more than the digital due to certain details it gives, specially to the colors and general shots, one of the movies shoot completely in film was 2011 Los Ultimos Cristeros. 2011. Let that sink in. Back to The Lighthouse, this movie was film with Eastman Double X film, this type of film is only in black and white and they also used a custom filter to give the stylization you see here:

They also used a vintage , 1930´s Baltar Lens to give it more the old fashion movies style. This people went full on for the ¨super¨ old aesthetic.

It looks completely like a 40´s or 50´s movie, but the sound gives it away as a modern film. The shots used were also kind of vintage or old; lots of use of closeups, really open general shots of the lighthouse and the sea, several shots to fill in the spots. Those filler shots are actually used for a very bad trip Robert Pattinson´s character has, imagining having sex with a mermaid and being tangled into octopus and then coming out of conscious not realizing whether he is in the past or in the present.

The photography works really well in representation the absurdly, horrifying isolation the characters feel and the imagery becomes grotesque with the characters as they become even more aggressive and insane.

One thing that isn´t as appreciated or doesn´t seem as appreciated is the sound design. Not only the music, all the sounds. The deafening sound of the alarm, the motor that powers the light, the sound of the waves as they turn from calm and relaxing to roaring with fury as if god himself was punishing this men for existing. Every single sound is done with care, nothing was out of place nor excessive. You could say certain sounds become annoying like the seagulls or the alarm but that´s the point. You are experiencing the same annoyances as the characters, you have to know what (at least one of them) they are going through in that isolated place. There´s nothing! Nothing. No other people. Only this old farty man and the seagulls and the sea. And when you are trapped for 4 weeks only listening to that, it can drive anyone insane.

The editing is energetic, taking care of how every shot works for every moment. At the beginning there´s this unknowing feeling because we dont know the place, the character we follow (Robert Pattinson´s) is walking around, getting to know the place. We see it being a slow edit, it has slow moments, just getting used to the place. As time pass, we can see quicker shots, they dont stay in screen for a long time. There´s more cuts, quicker cuts. When you want a succumbing to insanity sensation of course you need the actors to act and the art design to be showing part of the story and the sound, but timing is important. if you leave a shot too long, it will mean something completely different. It was careful with each and every shot, and the timing was spot on, leaving just the appropriate amount of time to see what was going on and confuse the living shit out of everyone when the characters were tripping horribly.

Art design:

Every department in a movie is highly important, in this case it was crucial. A lot of investigation must have been done to get the proper clothes, specially if it was gonna be filmed in black and white. You CANNOT use whatever clothes in whatever color, you have to make sure those colors aren´t too dark or too bright, if they are too dark there will be sub-exposure, if they are too bright there will be over exposure. It had to be in a specific palette to make sure the film doesnt fuck up. Not only did they had to search what kind of clothes were used in 1890, but also what the building was made of, the boats, the materials, the food, what did they eat? what did they drink? in what did they drink? HOW DID THEY GO TO THE BATHROOM? Everything was thought out.

There were certain things like the make up or special effects that kind of confused me, it wasn´t until there was blood involve that caught my attention. In certain scenes the blood is in gray tones, but then when more blood is involve it turns into black, not dark gray, completely black. It strike me a lot.

SPOILERY, IT INVOLVES PART OF THE END, SKIP IT IF YOU WANT: there´s a part where William Dafoe´s characters turns or is viewed as a octopus and starts spewing ink. Robert Pattinson´s Character is covered in blood as he hits this character and it looked grayish, but when he goes into the lighthouse his face is completely black. I don´t know if it was on purpose, i think it was part of his delusion and hallucination. It popped too much and it was almost out of nowhere.

All and all, it was done amazingly, they did amazingly with the design of the house and the lighthouse. They dodge a bullet with the boat, i bet that would´ve been a lot more work to design or try to get. I mean, they still got a boat but they only did closeups and really limited view shots, there was no way you could see the boat completely and say if it was a modern model or an old model. The dirt and filthiness gross me out, i left the movie theater feeling filthy and gross, not only for how it looked but also for what I saw.

Writing and Characters:

As I said before, the film has the vintage, oldy but goody look and aesthetic. That´s really clear, but you have no idea what I meant. They really went full on the look and the writing. Hearing this two actors talk reminds me so much of an old movie. They talk too much! They spew a lot of sentences that sometimes don´t mean much? I mean, William Dafoe´s character talks like a sailor, because he is one and talks with riddles or just rhymes sometimes. At first glance they dont mean much, but if you paid attention to all he says it´s all foreshadowing for the cruel and awful finale.

The way they speak gets you back, it´s nothing you´ve heard before, by that I mean you would never hear anyone talk somehow like this. I dont think sailors talk like this anymore unless its for a gag. ¨Ya´hear?¨ ¨Ay, sir!¨ ¨YER A FILTHY BASTERD¨ ¨YER NOTHING BUT A DAWG¨. The accents gives a bit more of what era they are in, the writing itself does it though.

Man, oh man! My filthy pair of sexually charged man. This two are GONE. Or at least William Dafoe´s is. You have an old, obsess man who loves the light and refers to it as his wife; he spews about his life in the sea and eventually you start to think whether that man is just bark and no bite or bite with no bark. Did I mention this man is hella superstitious? Thing he tells the other guy? ¨You better not mess with the ´gulls. They are the spirits of sailors died at sea¨. He´s been alone for a while and his last second in command was described as dead and mad. HMMM.... Weird! And then you have the new second in command, new, responsible, hard working and has this mysterious vibe, something he is keeping to himself which is eating him from the inside out (if you get it, you get it).

There´s not much you can decipher from this two. They start as just two man in a lighthouse, one is the boss the other a subordinate, nothing more nothing less. Then they become a bit more friendly to each other, but its more of a job friendly type of thing since it is a job they have to do. Tension begins to boil up when they discover they are alone and isolate for who knows how long due to the boat of provisions not coming after the 4 weeks. This characters dont develop much in the story and that´s fine. Both are not exactly thrilling, it´s what they do that becomes interesting. William Dafoe´s character is shown as gross, apathetic, strict and superstitious as well as stubborn but becomes a little more sympathetic. Why? Because we then know Robert Pattinson´s character a not more. He is (probably) a murderer, he took the lighthouse job with other name because he was a wanted man? and he was escaping his old life. He was already deranged when he got there, he had more probabilities of killing anyone. And then we discovered, the old man had killed before! So non of them are likeable, can be charismatic but not good at all.

The plot is simple, the characters show emotions and certain 3Dimensionality but since they become even more of an asshole we kind of top caring about what happen to them. I guess the ending is more of delight to audience since we see them both get punish. Then again, I feel more bad about the old man than the new guy. He was an asshole in secret and ended up being an outed asshole.

Conclusion:

All and all, this movie is not for everyone. It has a nice pace and it´s interesting. The plot is simple, almost non-existent, what intrigues is the whole eeriness of the place and the situation that becomes super explosive really quick, it´s not a bad thing it´s more of a wake up alarm that hits you with a bat. It has quite the graphic imagery (sex, nudity, masturbation, animal killing in a VERY GRAPHIC AND HORRIFYING WAY, I HOPE IT WASN´T A REALLY ANIMAL MY GOD) that I dont think its for shock value, i think each have a reason to be and I understand it, it doesn´t mean it was shocking and disturbing though. Something I also didn´t expect was the chemistry between William Dafoe and Robert Pattinson, they work really well. Their acting was spot on and well done. Robert Pattinson has done other acting jobs, unfortunately some of those are from really bad movies which is a shame cause his acting is phenomenal. Thank god for this movie, not to discredit Dafoe but the one shining is Pattinson.

It is like a love letter to the film making from back in the old days, it could become a good stylization. A lot of movies with this old backgrounds are emerging and I dont see it as a bad thing though I can see it a bit of a problem. I feel it´s saying ¨The old days were better¨ but then again, what era hasn´t done that? Oh wait, the ones where vaccines didnt exist... In all seriousness, this could potentially inspire people to use the old gears or at least achieve this type of aesthetic to tell a story, it´s saying ¨IM NOT OBSOLETE YET, AND I WILL MAKE SURE OF IT¨ Film is an old material to use but it obviously shows it´s still kicking... for now.

I do recommend it if you like thrillers, it is really eery, it is full of tension and gives you a weird claustrophobic and isolated sensation.

NOTE: I´d say no minor should watch this, but I feel they would only want to watch it more, here i go though: If you are a minor, SERIOUSLY, DONT. it depicts graphic deaths, graphic explicit sex scenes and general grossness, they were from the 1890, don´t expect them to be or act clean. I walk out of the movie theater feeling gross and dirty, never felt that way before after watching a movie like this one.

Sincerely not delusional, TOD.

P.S: Watch kitten or dog videos to ease the utter disgust and disturb sensation of watching a man grab a bird from the throat and stomping it into a rock for at least 2 minutes straight.

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oozmart · 4 years

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Dance Till You Die

I wrote a oneshot fic for my OC Dahlia. Hope yall enjoy it :)

Dahlia leaned over the order window of the food truck. No customers, finally. The dinner rush hit and now everyone was out enjoying the music, dancing, laughing, having fun.

“You see that?” Drayton asked.

Dahlia didn’t even blink, she knew what he was about to say, “They’re all out there workin up a sweat and an appetite, they’ll be back for seconds in no time!” She rolled her eyes. Drayton was all work, no play. He didn’t understand, he’d never had real fun before. He was busy taking care of his brother’s, his family. Dahlia respected him for being a devoted family man, but she never liked his bossy attitude.

Dahlia was a rebellious teen, akin to that guy from Footloose. That was one of her favorite movies. Any movie that had dancing was her favorite movie. She wanted to go out and dance with the crowd more than anything. One night of fun. All play, no work.

“I know what you’re thinkin, lil missy…” Drayton accused, wagging a finger at her, “You’re gonna stay right here and help me prep for the after-dinner rush.”

“There’s no such thing as an after-dinner rush.” Dahlia retorted, not moving from her spot.

Drayton groaned. She was stubborn, that was one of her worst qualities, but she was the only one who could come help him with the food truck when it got busy at events like this. These outdoor concerts are some of their most successful sale days. This was for two reasons: For one, they sold a lot of sandwiches. For two, a lot of people from out of town would come to see these bands play, which meant more prime meat for the Sawyer’s to catch.

“Come on now,” Drayton began, “everyone’s workin today. Bubba and Chop are out there waiting for meat, and you’re here helping me sell it.” He couldn’t see her face, but he knew her eyes were rolling.

Dahlia turned quickly, leaning back on the counter, “What if I just went out and danced a couple of songs?”

“NO!”

“AW, COME ON!!! I never get to go have fun!!!” She whined.

Drayton stayed quiet, he wouldn’t hear anymore of this nonsense.

Dahlia creeped up behind him. “One song?” She asked with a pouty face and a gentle tone. He didn’t budge. She had to appeal to his business side to win this battle. “How about this,” she bargained, “I go out and dance with some people, and I tell them ALL ABOUT Drayton Sawyer’s AWARD WINNIN’ chili? Hmm?”

She grabbed his hand and pretended to dance with him. He stood still and furrowed his brow. This child was bizarre. “This music is GRROVY!” She acted out the scenario, “Sure does make me hungry…” She squeezed his hand, “I got an idea! Why don’t we go get some chili from that there truck? Ya, that one!” She sniffs the are, “MM, I can smell that choice meat from here!”

Drayton was the one rolling his eyes now. He had to admit, this wasn’t a horrible idea. “Fine,” he caved, much to Dahlia’s delight, “you dance a couple songs and round up some customers. If you don’t come back with a line of people you’re gonna be on dishwashin’ duty for a month for slackin off!”

Dahlia beamed, “THANK YOU!!!!” Still holding his hand, she pulled her older-brother-figure in for a hug. Drayton was not a touchy person. He shoved her off and brushed off his suit. He mumbled something under his breath, probably about the plight of small business owners, but Dahlia was already out the door and down the steps.

She hopped outta the truck and ran out to the dance floor, a square of dirt surrounded by 4 beams suspending fairy lights and American flags. She was wearing her old cowboy boots, high-waisted bell bottom jeans, and a crimson red blousy tank top. She was so excited she thought she’d just explode. The music was blasting from a small DJ on the North side of the dancing area, from its speakers played Elvis Presley’s classic, “Jailhouse Rock.” Dahlia didn’t care that she didn’t know anyone out there, once the music hit her ears she lost herself to the sound.

Nearby on a hill, looking down at the festivities, Chop Top and Bubba sat in the back of he truck. During big events like this, they’d keep an eye out for anyone leaving alone or drunk and if they looked like a good target they’d take’em out. While exciting in theory it was a lot of waiting around. They’d already been sitting around for over an hour and no good targets left the festivities. People probably wouldn’t be leaving till well after midnight.

“This blows,” Chop Top complained to his mostly silent brother, Bubba, “we should be home listenin to that radio lady and havin ourselves a well-earned break!” Bubba nodded as his older brother yammered on about how bored he was, until something down below caught his attention. He quickly shook his brother’s arm and pointed down to the dancing square.

Chop Top squinted, “What? Someone finally leavin?” Bubba shook his head and kept pointing to a specific person. “WAIT A MINUTE? IS THAT…..?” Bubba nodded excitedly, as he got his point across. “DAHLIA GETS TO HAVE FUN AND WE DON’T??!?!?!!” Chop Top whined. Bubba shrugged, he thought seeing his girl out there would cheer him up, but it only seemed to rile him up more.

Dahlia danced like her life depended on it. Between songs, some people applauded her, she didn’t think anything of it. She was in the zone.

“Howdy,” a tall, burly man approached her, tipping his cowboy hat, “you’re a mighty fine dancer!” His compliment made her smile. She thanked him, and before she knew it, he was offering his hand and they were dancing together.

With his purple rounded glasses atop his head, Chop Top looked through a pair of army binoculars he kept in the truck, stunned at the sight of his own lover taking the hand of someone, a stranger! “What game you playin…?” He muttered to himself. He looked the cowboy up and down through the lenses. He was probably about his height, but much heftier in the arms. Strong. Chop Top gave a small huff as he put down the binoculars. Bubba picked them up and began to watch the dancers with curiosity.

An old fashioned square dance began, and Dahlia and the stranger partnered up. He spun her around and picked her up by the hips above his head, she squealed with excitement when her feet left the ground. When the dance ended, his hands lingered on her waist. She suddenly remembered the promise she made to Drayton, “Oh! You know what we should do right about now?”

“Oh, I know what we should do… Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her away into the darkness. Bubba gasped, and urged his brother to look through them himself. Chop Top didn’t budge, still upset about the sour night he’d been having.

Bubba acted quick and hopped out of the bed of the truck and into the driver’s seat. He didn’t drive often, but he knew how. To Chop Top’s surprise, the vehicle started moving. He rolled around in the bed before climbing through the back window to shout at his baby brother, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?!!??!” Bubba let him yell, he didn’t care right now. He had to go save Dahlia. She always looked out for him so he had to do the same for her.

They twisted and turned through dirt roads until they stopped to a grinding halt, down behind some trees near the festival. Bubba frantically turned off the lights and hopped out of the car to get his chainsaw. Chop Top was on his heels going off still, “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOIN DO YOU?!?!?! THIS AIN’T THE WAY SHIT WORKS!!!!”

Bubba saw by the line of porto-potties, the stranger pulling Dahlia behind him. Bubba quickly shushed Chop Top and pointed. When CT turned his head his face flushed at the sight. The stranger’s hands were on her waist, he was trying to whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

“Whats back here?” Dahlia asked, cluelessly. She got an unfortunate sniff of the air and reacted, “BLEH, it smells like shit.” The man began to lean down to kiss her, but she leaned back and turned her cheek, causing his lips to land in the wrong place.

He chuckled playfully, “Aw, come on, lil mama… The way you were dancin had to mean something.” Chop Top’s blood boiled when he heard his nickname for her crawl out of someone else’s mouth. That was his lil mama.

Dahlia was offended on his behalf as well. Someone else calling her by that pet name felt dirty. “It meant I like dancing.” She snapped, “If I wanted something I would have asked.” She took his hands off her hips, but he held on to her hands. “Please…” she tried to pull away, but he insistently held on.

“You sure? Dancin gets tiring, don’t it?” He was determined to get her to say yes. In his experience, pressure usually wore women down.

Dahlia attempted to promote the business again, as a means to avoid any physical conflict, “Uhh, i’m hungry! Aren’t you? We could talk about this over a bite of homemade, award-winning chili? And Drayton Sawyer makes it the best!”

The man scoffed at the idea. “That Sawyer guy? He’s a hack. Nothin homemade about that shit. I hear its all canned and processed.”

Dahlia wasn’t Drayton’s biggest fan, but she respected him and loved him. He was family, and they protected each other. With that she was done with this fool. She raised her knee to his crotch with a hearty thrust and he went down without a fight.

Chop Top saw the man go down and took this opportunity to burst from the forest and swing his hammer at the fucker’s head. “YEEHAW!” he shouted as he went ham. The music was so loud, and the shadows of the porto-potties kept them hidden from any passerby’s sight. Bubba didn’t dare rev up his chainsaw in though. He still kept it on him as he ran to Dahlia’s aid.

She was stupefied by their sudden arrival, “What are you boys doin down here? Yall are supposed to be watchin for meat.” She put her hands on her hips.

“WE’RE SAVING YOU, BABES” Chop Top announced proudly with another swing of his hammer to the man. His body spasmed as blood poured from the cracks in his skull. This was normal for the Sawyer boys and Dahlia to see, it didn’t faze any of them. Rather she rolled her eyes, “I saved myself just fine, thank you very much.

“Its the 80’s for god’s sake I dont need a man to save me.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. She felt a weight on her head. Looking up she saw Bubba leaning his head on her as gently as he could. He was so much taller than her it was an awkward position. Whenever they’d sit around at home he’d lean on her like this, so he thought it would be a comfort for both of them in this moment.

Dahlia could never stay mad at baby Bubba. He was like a little brother to her. She put a hand on his cheek and patted, “I do appreciate you both comin though. Now Drayton can’t be mad at me cause I helped catch some food.”

Bubba blushed under his leather face and proceeded to take care of business. He bent down and picked up the legs of the now dead man, whoever he was, and dragged him back to the truck. Chop Top stayed back with Dahlia, “Ooh, I bet he’s pissed right now! Why’d you ditch him? Dangerous to play hooky on his watch.” He slouched over slightly and scrunched up his face, “You idiots are always slackin off leavin me to slave over a hot stove! I gotta do ALL the work ‘round here!!!” he imitated his older brother perfectly.

Dahlia laughed, she always loved his silly impersonations. He was good at them. “Well I didn’t ditch him,” she explained, “he said I could go dance so long as I brought in some customers.” She paused and shrugged, thinking about it, “Don’t know if I did that, but I guess did something.” She suddenly realized she’d have to go back to the truck for that fake after-dinner rush thing Drayton kept going on about. He was going to be upset for sure. “I better get back before he makes me wash dishes for the rest of my life.”

As she began to leave, Chop Top snatched her hand. “Uh, i- if you had to do dishes for a year…”. He felt a nervous itch on his scalp and pulled his wire hanger out of his vest and began scratching under his wig, “I- I- i’d help you every day.” He pulled the hanger out, but before he could nibble at the skin bits he scraped, Dahlia picked at the end of it and stole them, eating them herself. Chop Top was turned on, but kept it low-key by just giving her a toothy grin. She winked at him with a cheeky smile. She knew how she made him feel. She squeezed his hand before letting go, and proceeded back to the food truck.

Chop’s hand slowly came down to his side as he watched her walk away. He wanted her to come back. He wanted to kiss her. Sure, he could do it later when they got home, but he wanted to do it now out in the open while his heart was beating with excitement and adrenaline was pumping through his veins. He wanted to grab her by the arms and kiss her with a fiery passion. Alas, she was already far out of sight.

His thoughts were interrupted by the grunts of his brother from the truck. He leaned his head back in frustration before joining him to hoist the heavy body up into the bed of the truck. “Bubba what have I always told ya?!?!? Dont lift by yourself you’re gonna throw out your back!!!”

Back at the truck, Dahlia paused in surprise. A line of people! She didn’t see that coming. She quickened her pace and ran up the steps of the truck. Drayton didn’t look away from his work at the grill, “THERE YOU ARE! I think you got enough customers for the night, good job.”

Dahlia blinked. “Good job.” It didn’t seem like much, but from Drayton that was a lot. She felt a tinge of pride in her chest and a smile crept onto her face that she couldn’t hold back.

“Well? What are you standing there for?!?! GET BACK TO WORK!!!”

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kakuriyo-translations · 5 years

Text

Chapter 4: The Old Tengu

113.“Atatata. This is normal.” Looking in the distance, I sat in a seat looking at my face in the mirror. There was blood travelling down my forehead going along my right cheek and between my eyes. Although it is bad, it was a little amusing and I could not help but laugh. Since I have no other way to treat my wounds, I take out the ointment I was carrying around. I put some of it on a piece of paper. The bloodshed starts to stop, I tried very hard to treat it. I cannot hear the conflict going on, the only thing I can hear is the sounds of the lively festival music. “The Master seemed to handle that situation well…” I said to myself. Although, perhaps I may be kicked out of this place tomorrow? There was such a sad feeling. The Master, First Hostess and Young Hostess all looked so angry towards me. “Alright, what to do now? I made so many side dishes and I can’t eat them all by myself…”

114. I go around the counter and check the previously prepared dishes that have been laid out on a large plate. There are a few side dishes. Stir fried pork, Japanese radish fried miso eggplant and other goods. Theres also miso soup and freshly cooked rice. I was thinking about freezing it and cooking it for lunch tomorrow. I feel as if all this cooking was in vain now. For now, I may serve them in a bowl and eat alone for tonight. Ginji-san is surely being chased by work at the moment. The heat of the oven starts to warm the room. Outside there was a sound as if something had crashed into the ground. I was scared but none the less I went outside, a black lump had fallen against the willow tree. Several of the tree branches had broken. I hurried over to get a better look at the lump on the floor. I know that it was an Ayakashi, but it seemed he was having a hard time and looked like he was suffering. “A Tengu?” It was a nice looking Tengu with black wings on his back, small and light. They looked like they were on the verge of falling off. Perhaps he was one of those Tengu’s going on a rampage back at the front? It seemed he was drunk, when I was growing up I’d see my grandpa like this a lot.

115. I arranged some cushions and let him lay on them. “Why am I remembering something delicious…” My Grandfather would also go out drinking a lot with an old friend, he would often come home drunk. As he made his way home I guess his friend felt they had no choice but to help him get back as he would become quite drowsy. As I was indulged in memories the old Tengu’s eyes started to flutter open. Both our eyes met. “What is this place? I, ouch ouch ouch.”

“Mister, mister, are you alright? Would you like some water?

“Who are you?” The old man lifted the upper half of his body and I handed him the water. Even though his nose seems injured he manages to get up by himself and falls forward,

“What is this place?”

“Ah, this place is separated from Tenjin-ya.”

“What? Tenjin-ya?” The old mans eyes seem to get red when Tenjin-ya is mentioned.

116. He must have been one of the Tengu who had gotten into that big fight. It totally went over my head. In a panicked voice I added. “Ah, but it’s only me here! This place was abandoned by Tenjin-ya.”

“What?”

“Hey, Mister are you hungry? I prepared a lot of dishes earlier but might need to cook more rice.”

“…….”

“Did you not eat at Tenjin-ya?” The old man’s stomach made a growling sound, I suppose that was his answer. I started to laugh harder and harder and the old man seemed to seem confused in his sleepy state. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. My Grandfather also got hurt when he was drunk so he’d sleep. I’d make sure he wasn’t hungry or sleepy.” What a story. My grandfather would get hungry when drunk and then would fall asleep on the spot crushing things. He’d then be very hungry after waking up. However this Tengu spread out on the cushions on the floor reminds me greatly of him. “I suppose I am hungry but I can’t eat food made by a little girl!”

“Is that right? Even the cuisine at Tenjin-ya didn’t suit your tastes.”

117. “……”

“Well, I’m going to set up the counter, so feel free to pick up some chopsticks if you want some supper.” With that said I head towards the counter and stepped inside. I washed my hands then prepared the chopsticks and chopstick rests. I also set out a bowl of rice seasoned with pickled burdock, putting it closest to where the old man was sitting. I then return to the counter to warm up the simmer pork and radish, as the pot begins to boil a pleasant smell comes out. I dip my finger in slightly to have a small taste. The seasoning has gone into the radish and it tastes very good. “Oi, girl.” After I had a taste of the dish, the old Tengu calls me over with an impatient voice. I pulled my finger out from the pot thinking he may have thought me as rude eating this way. As I step out from behind the counter I see the old man is still lying down on the cushions. “Oi, please help me to get to the counter.” In short, he wants this, ‘little girl,’ to carry him on my back. Why did this old man have to be injured? I take him over to the counter seat. “Good, set me here.”

118. The old tengu took a seat, he immediately asked for a cup of hot tea, I poured one right away. I returned to the inside of the counter careful in handling the food. He made a groaning sound. I had realized the old man was looking at the vinegar burdock root.

“Mister? Would you like some simmered pork and radish?”

“……”

“I can prepare a little if you’d like to eat something.” He seems to be in an eccentric like dazed state, although I may be a good thing that this old man is quiet, so I may do as I wish. What a tame refusal. From inside of the counter I place out bowl full of simmered pork and radish in front of the old man. Pork and radish is made by roasting ingredients in sesame oil then simmering it with soup stock and soy sauce. In this new world even Ayakashi enjoy the tastes of things sweet and light whilst being stupendously delighted. Since this is not a dish that can be accompanied with sake I set out a bowl of white rice and miso soup. I stood inside of the counter for a little while before I heard a voice call out “Hey,” followed by a chuckle.

“This isn’t enough, isn’t there anything else I can have?”

119. ”There’s stir-fried meat, eggplant and miso but it may be a little heavy.”

“Good, bring it all out!” I wonder if he was really hungry? It’s like he has the same habits as my grandfather who also ate quite a lot.

“I’m sorry, because of the limited ingredients I had here I didn’t plan to make anything great, only enough to fill my stomach. I wish I’d prepared it differently since originally I had intended to eat alone…” Whilst preparing the food and chattering to myself the old Tengu asked me a question.

“You, what’s your name?”

“Aoi, Aoi Tsubaki. I’m a human.”

“Tsubaki? Human?”

“Oh, I suppose a human being in the Hidden Realm would be quite a funny thing… But please reframe from eating me since there’s food here.” I set out the warmed meat, some freshwater, eggplant and miso in a small bowl. The old tengu stared at me from the counter.

“Eh, is what’s up? Is there something on my face?”

“You, well are you the daughter of Shiro Tsubaki?” I blinked a few times in shock. Of all places I certainly did not think my grandfather’s name would be brought up here.

120.I also gaze at the old Tengu. Unlike the eyes that I’ve been cautious of, it seemed like eyes that were looking at something nostalgic. Suddenly, a smile slipped through.

“Almost. I’m Shiro Tsubaki’s granddaughter.”

“Oh, his granddaughter, huh.”

“Yes, do you know my grandfather?”

“I do. Yeah, I know him very well.”

The old Tengu looked up at the ceiling as he was immersed in his memories. For a moment, he fell silent. And in a big voice followed by a laugh, he let out a “gahahaha.”

“I see. At last, a granddaughter. Ahahahaha”

“M-mister?”

“My name is Matsuba. Call me Matsuba-sama, Aoi.”

I can’t help but say it obediently when he states it so clearly.

Certainly, this man seems to be quite a remarkable Tengu. No, just being a Tengu alone may be remarkable.

Without thinking, Matsuba-sama filled his mouth with rice and gulped it down in front of me, along with a side dish stretching his cheek out.

As I watch this grandpa eating the food so energetically and deliciously, I end up remembering my grandfather.

121.“How is it, does it suit your taste?”

“Oh yes, it reminds me of my mother’s cooking.”

“You have a mother, Matsuba-sama?”

“Of course. Even ayakashi have mothers who give birth to them.”

So that’s how it is, I can’t really imagine that.

“For an excellent tengu like Matsuba-sama, this kind of home cooking must be boring to you.”

“No.. It’s good to have occasionally.”

As Matsuba-sama held the bowl with a side dish, he was absorbed in deep thought. Did this person really go on a rampage at the front desk at Tenjin-ya?

“Hey, did the food at Tenjin-ya not suit the taste of tengus?” I tried asking him boldly. Without knowing what Matsuba-sama was thinking, he curved his mouth and distorted his face.

“Hmm, I simply got tired of it.

“We, who are regulars at Tenjin-ya, got tired of the same food that is always served here.”

“Is that so.”

“The head chef is a stubborn guy. He won’t even listen to any requests. He has the attitude where we have to consume it gratefully since he serves us.”

“There is a traditional taste..”

122.“However, you can’t help but get tired of it. I’m just saying it honestly.”

As Matsuba-sama states that he isn’t in the wrong, he raises his chin up. ‘Well, things like that could happen,’ as I thought to myself. Anyhow, I am just an outsider.

“However, Aoi, your food is nostalgic rather than disagreeable. It’s all food that is passed down from the present world. Not only that, but it is also the taste that Ayakashi like.”

“Have you been to the present world before?”

“Of course, because tengus like human girls. There have been many occurrences where young girls from the apparent world would be whisked away to become brides.”

“What..” That would be kidnapping… Matsuba-sama spoke as if it was a normal thing, but as expected after hearing something like that, I became hardened. Even if they are rotten, they are still ayakashi.

“My mother was also a human girl. Her home cooking was simple, yet gentle. Just like food from the apparent world.”Around Matsuba-sama’s eyes filled with wrinkles, just for a little bit, began to become less tense. A grandpa as feeble as him also remembers the taste of his mother’s it seems.

Even I, for a little bit started remembering my mother. But as expected, I stopped myself. Just by remembering my mother’s taste, my body starts shivering. It’s not that I don’t know my mother’s taste, but by no means is the taste of love free. Even if I wanted it, it’s something that would never be given to me.

123

After looking at my facial expression, Matsuba-sama spoke slowly.

“Aoi, you resemble Shiro.”

“Really? A lot of Ayakashi say that, but I wonder if I resemble him that much.” I lifted my face and for some reason, pinched my cheeks. When I’m told that I resemble my grandfather, I have just a bit of a sense of discomfort. But since we’re connected by blood, it’s not like we wouldn’t be similar to each other.

“Your faces might be similar but it’s also the same vibe that you both give off.”

“Is that so? I always thought that I was more calm than my grandpa.”

“Hahaha. No, no. You two have similar spiritual powers.”

“Spiritual powers…?” I have no idea what that means. Besides being able to see Ayakashi, I never felt that I had any other special powers.

“Shiro was a wild human. He came to the hidden realm by himself and would cause havoc with a lot of Ayakashi. Because of that, a lot of Ayakashi also were after his life.”

“Haha, that sounds like my grandpa.”

“There has been a time where I’ve also been helped by Shiro before. It’s been 50 years since then. It was around the time when he was still a boy. After getting drunk from sake, I fell into the Daikanro River, a river that crosses the hidden realm.”

124

“Oh my.” I wonder how many times this grandpa has told this story.. Even though I think that, without words, it touched my heart.

“I may be a great tengu who has lived for over a hundred something years, but at any rate, my iron clogs were heavy. As I was drowning, I ended up sinking too easily. My wings have also gotten wet, so they were too heavy for me to fly.”

As if Matsuba-sama was making fun of himself, he laughed abruptly.

“Fishing at the Daikanro River is prohibited, but like as usual, Shiro was fishing there. When he found me drowning, with that fragile human body, he jumped into the river and pulled me up to the sea bank.”

“Well, my grandpa is the type of person who did humanitarian actions.”

“No, no. He pestered me for a reward for saving my life. He was a shameless fellow.”

“Oh.. I see..” As expected, grandpa was a useless grandpa back then too.

“So, what in the world did you end up giving to my grandpa?” As I was getting curious, Matsuba-sama looked away.

“At that time, I didn’t have anything on me. Later on, I promised to give him a treasured fan.

125

Shiro nodded in agreement, but he ended up not showing up before me for a while.”

“Hmm, I wonder if that was when he returned to the modern world.”

“I wouldn’t know. He was a carefree, happy-go-lucky guy. He doesn’t keep his promises, but he’s unable to ignore what’s happening in front of him. He was an irresponsible person who lived for the moment.

“That is absolutely true.” Living in the moment, or rather, my grandfather’s haphazard way of life was expressed so wittily that for some reason, made my chest burn up. ‘This ayakashi really knows my grandfather,’ I thought once again.

“Since then, after time passed by, I’ve met him many times. But it seems that he forgot the promise. He never accepted it in the end.”

“Yeah, he probably really forgot.”

“It seems so. He’s that kind of person after all.” It’s not a seat for liquor, but Matsuba-sama still continued on about stories of the past.

Perhaps, it was as if his flood of memories was starting to overflow. If he didn’t talk, he wouldn’t be able to sort everything out.

“I liked Shiro. The majority of the ayakashi in the hidden realm would call him a good-for-nothing human, or a lowlife, worse than ayakashi. But even that was amusing and exhilarating.

126

“Ah, a lowlife, worse than ayakashi…” It’s not mistaken. Even in the modern world, ayakashi have also said that.

“I heard a rumor that Shiro has a big debt at Tenjinya. He’s a good for nothing fellow.”

Matsuba-sama sipped some hot tea and let out a long breath.

“Nevertheless, your cooking is exquisite. It’s the taste that ayakashi like. My mother knew this taste but had a hard time with it.”

“The taste my grandpa liked and what the ayakashi like are similar. Sweet, light seasoning, and plain flavors.”

“Oh? That’s strange. Back then, he used to say that the food in the hidden realm was too bland to eat.”

“What?”

“Well, his taste must have changed.” Before I could think, Matsuba-sama came up with this conclusion. It’s true that as you get older, your taste could change. Could it be that my grandfather’s taste gradually changed to an ayakashi’s. Or did he miss the hidden realm’s food..

127. I became confused at such a thing.

“Where is Shiro now? If his granddaughter is here surely, he is coming as well? How is he? Is he well?” The look in Matsuba-sama’s eyes is fun, filled with the excitement of a small child, almost shattering. I shake my head.

“No. He’s dead. He wasn’t that old, but he fell down a flight of stairs and died. It wasn’t a pleasant thing.” The sad sunken expression on Matsuba-sama’s face after finding out that my grandfather had died felt strange. Everyone else seemed pleased with my grandfather’s death but it seems the opposite for Matsuba-sama.

“I see, he was a generous man. He was respectable even amongst Ayakashi.”

“……”

“Human beings are such fragile creatures. Most can’t even live a hundred years.” His voice was lonely. Matsuba-sama sipped his tea with a sad look on his face. After that Matsuba-sama had tried to get drunk, however a cold expression came over him when I told him there was no sake here. He stood up in silence uttering, “I’m going to go drink.” He then left, I watched from the bottom of the willow tree as he flew overhead sending the pine wood flying.

128. Ships still soared in the night sky and the festival has not yet stopped. Matsuba-sama who was also flying amongst them slowly got smaller and smaller. He was a strange visitor but thanks to him I recalled the unlucky events that had happened to me. According to Matsuba-sama’s stories my grandfather has travelled in and out of the Hidden Realm alone. No matter how much I think about it I can’t help but wonder if he was not lonely, if he wasn’t scared. No matter how hard I think about this person that is no longer here no answers manage to come out. He was deeply loved and respected by some people here, but even in this world some things have not changed. When I think about my grandfather being the person he was it is nostalgic and unavoidable. My grandfather who tried to make his own granddaughter an ogre’s bride and a debtor. This feeling of sadness is something that I cannot do anything about. There’s nothing I can do about it; my grandfather’s debt is also my own burden.

129. The next day I got up at dawn, after rearranging some of the surrounding furniture I ate a lot of the leftovers. Yesterday Matsuba-sama the old Tengu had eaten a lot of it, so there wasn’t too much trouble. I washed the cooking utensils and dishes after eating cheerfully. This is a lovely place, it’s sad that it’s going to be destroyed but it does belong to Tenjin-ya. Now it looks the same from before I used it, it can’t be helped.

“Alright.” It was about noon when I had finished with all of the work. If I cannot work in this inn I have no choice but to find work on the outside. I put on the matcha kimono for employees that Ginji-san had given me. In this world the trend of a light blue flowy dress is nonexistent. Instead everyone wears kimonos, they are still thin, light and they cover your whole body.

“Oh, right, hair ornament.” I remember the camellia ornament that was given to me by the Ogre God and take it out of my bag. I miss those pleasures of standing under the Torii bridge, overlooking the face of a demon who turned out to be the Master of Tenjinya. Thinking back on those times are almost hilarious and the hunger in my stomach ceases.

130.” Well, looks like I’m selling this to a pawnbroker.” Even if it is pretty I attempt to put the hair ornament into the depths of my bag then stop, placing it on the counter. If I’m going to venture out of Tenjinya then I will leave this here. I walk the distance towards the door. Alright, let’s do our best to find a job.

“Aoi-san!” At the moment Ginji-san came out from the back door of the main building and passed through a corridor. He is now in the form of a young man wearing a Japanese half coat.

“Oh, Ginji-san! Great timing. Could I look for a job outside?”

“Outside? What? Why on Earth… No, you can’t. Aoi-san please come here.” Ginji-san seems as if he’s in a hurry, what could be making him like this? I follow him across from the courtyard, hurried along the corridor and went to the front desk. At the front of the main building all the work has stopped and all of the Tenjinya employees are lined up. The first lady, the young snow woman, the Tsuchigomo and the chief daruma. Other than that I don’t know anything about the others and for some reason there seems to be a large dog that was rampaging yesterday.

131. When I walked in everyone’s attention seemed to land on me, I thought that something must have been wrong. Cold sweat runs down. The Master came over to me with a sublime look on his face. Looking into his red eyes is worrying.

“Aoi, did you cook a meal for the tengu?” I was thrilled, I wonder if this is all about Matsuba-sama, however I wonder if I had done something that I shouldn’t have. The thought of them being angry at me and kicking me out was chilling.

“Aoi, Aoi! I was looked after last night.” At that time Matsuba-sama was wearing a kimono with the pattern of a mountain on it as he spoke to me through the crowd of Ayakashi. The Tengu were lined up side by side amongst the Ayakashi, they all made way for Matsuba-sama. Matsuba-sama walked over to me cane in hand at the front desk. Could Matsuba-sama possibly be a respected person? A great Tengu? Yesterday he was just a miserable old man who fell under a willow tree covered in branches.

“Aoi, Aoi you helped me who had fallen and served me delicious food, you are also Shiro’s granddaughter, so I will care for you.”

“Well thank you for that.”

“Therefore, I will give you this this Tengu fan.”

132.Matsuba-sama presented me with an eight-leafed fan. I thought of rude things such as to why I’d need such an object. The Ayakashi employees of Tenjinya all made surprising sounds when they saw it.

“Ehhhhhhh?” Their eyes raised as they all jumped up. Even the Master has an unbelievable look of surprise in his eyes.

“Here, this was originally meant for Shiro and for that reason you, his granddaughter will inherit it.”

“Huh? But is that okay? By the looks of everyone’s reactions this must be really precious.”

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” Matsuba-sama is in a completely different state from yesterday, he’s in a good mood and can look after himself. I look at my hand in puzzlement as he gives me the fan.

“From what I’ve heard you seem to be staying here at Tenjinya as a way to pay off Shiro’s debt, as his debtor. What a waste. What a pity. If you don’t want to work in a place like this come to Mount Shumon, there you will be treated with hospitality. If anything, you could even marry one of my sons. Then you will be my relative and we will pay off the debt. The Tengu will take care of such a human girl.”

As a result of Matsuba-sama’s outrageous proposal the Tenjinya employees once again stare at me in shock, I hold onto the eight-leafed fan.

133.The Master says nothing but only narrows his eyes. However, Ginji-san seems to be in a rush as he kneels at the feet of Great Tengu lowering his head.

“We cannot do that Matsuba-sama. We cannot do that.”

“Why not, nine tails?” Ginji-san continues to bow to Matsuba-sama although, I can understand Matsuba-sama’s reasoning and position.

“Aoi-san is also the Masters fiancée.”

“Ha. Fiancée? And he drove her to a place like that? A granddaughter of Shiro is my granddaughter as well.”

“Haha, yes well, that’s right, I suppose…” Matsuba-sama continues to scold Ginji-san. I rush over and stand in front of Ginji-san.

“Matsuba-sama, Ginji-san is my savior so please to not scold him so harshly.”

“Well alright, if you say so. But Aoi, please come with me.”

“Aha, Matsuba-sama I’m sorry but I cannot accept such an offer.” Matsuba-sama the Tengu standing to his side and all of the Tenjinya employees all let out gasps of surprise at my quick decision. A few voices of shock surface here and there. I can feel the Master staring at me with his red eyes, I do not know what he’s thinking.

134. Well, it doesn’t matter, I turn to face Matsuba-sama again.

“The thing is I can see that you care about me but Matsuba-sama if I go with you I know I will regret it.”

“Aoi, why?”

“Shiro Tsubaki is my grandfather and I want to fix what he’s done.” This may have been a foolish choice, but I feel as if I should clean up after my grandfather. It was for that reason my grandfather took me in after all.

“Besides, I told that Ogre over there I’d work off the debt and I can’t break that promise without his permission, and I know he’d rather I pay it back quickly instead of me bothering the Ayakashi working in the inn. However, I try not to listen to such mean things.” Matsuba-sama looks sad and disappointed, I can’t bear to watch.

“I’m sorry, I can’t accept this fan either.” I hold out the eight-leafed fan to the Great Tengu but Matsuba-sama but he slowly pushes it back towards me.

135.“Okay, but you keep that. I promised it to Shiro a long time ago, but he forgot about the eastward fan and did not accept it. Since you, Aoi, are supposed to be handling Shiro’s debt this eastward fan has been passed down to you.”

“Eastward fan…” It’s breathtaking. What does it mean eastward? Matsuba-sama stubbornly insisted that I keep it. ‘If you say so,’ I thought to myself as I hold it thankfully. However, it is difficult to think of a use for it in the first place, I have no idea what it’s supposed to be used for. Perhaps it’d look cool under a dish of some sort?

“Ogre God.” Matsuba-sama stands in front of the Master, before he was treated with great respect but now the Master smiles at him in a businesslike manner.

“What is it, Matsuba-sama?”

“If Aoi is your fiancée take care of her more. I know that you and Shiro have some history but that does not mean his grandchild is to blame.”

“Haha well, I don’t especially remember mistreating her.”

“Oh, you’re playing dumb.”

136. The old tengu turned his back to the Master and the rest of them.

“Well good because after the incidents of last night I was thinking about not using Tenjinya for a while but after Aoi’s delicious food I’ve decided to let it slide.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Well we did go a little overboard and will cover half the cost of repairing the inn.” The Master bowed his head to Matsuba-sama, other employees follow with looks of relief. It seems that I am one of the only people left upstanding. To me Matsuba-sama lowers his head.

“Aoi, because I ate your dish I became full of energy. When I eat your food, I feel powerful. You should open up a small restaurant and invite me to it.” Matsuba-sama leapt up on the spot.

“Ha? My food is just home cooking it’d be impossible for me to prepare a proper meal, let alone a restaurant.” I laughed at Matsuba-sama’s idea, however Ginji-san spoke up for me.

“Yes, that’s right! Aoi-san should open an eatery in that place. Please rethink your decision to break it down and let it belong to Aoi-san so she can be a chef. It’ll be a new start!”

137. “Ha?” Even Ginji-san thinks so, how strange. What are they thinking? I was about to laugh but I cover my mouth in a hurry.

“W-wait a second. What are you talking about? I can’t do that!” The cooking from here is a lot different from my cooking, I can understand that much. I try to refuse them. I’ll just find another job. However, Ginji-san begins to talk with Matsuba-sama about it.

“That’s right. If you do decide to please let me visit you at that place when I come to Tenjinya. If you want, you could even give it a name.”

“Thankfully, Matsuba-sama is one of our most esteemed guests. So, all of the Tengu would visit, it’d be extremely busy.” Ginji-sans business skills are a little terrible. The Ayakashi around me seem to be in a fuss about it, especially the Daruma standing in the shadows who have sour looks on their faces.

“Um, um. I don’t think I could make a very delicious meal though.”

“No, Aoi-san! You told me you’d listen to anything that I’d ask.” Ginji-san gripped my shoulders firmly and smiled at me. Eh? No, I told you to ask if you ever needed anything.

138. “That’s why you should cook at that place. This is also an opportunity for you to repay your debt.”

“……..” I can’t get out of this, I can’t get out of this. I can’t refuse, I have to pay back my debts. The inside of my head goes blank. At that time the Master speaks up.

“Please wait.” He said with a low voice, ending the flow of the conversation.

“Do not decide this on your own, I will decide. Understood? Ginji.”

“Yes Master, understood.” Ginji-san stiffens a little bit and bows his head to the Master.

“We will think about what to do with it, but for now let’s wait. For now, we have to get the inn up and running again. We can’t let it remain this way.”

I try not to panic, in that moment the Master puts his hand on Ginji-san’s shoulder, they both give me a passing glance before they stand to go before Matsuba-sama.

“Matsuba-sama, I apologize for how rudely we conducted ourselves yesterday. Please continue to use our services in the future.”

“Hm. While we’re talking about apologies for being rude I suppose we should too. Well, thanks to Aoi we accept your apology. Only for Aoi’s sake, and you remember that well.”

139. “Yes, of course.” After the interaction, the Tengu were rushed into a large conference room called, ‘Enma,’ by the first lady. The Tenjin-ya executives are also sucked into a working spree far and in-between. Whilst holding the treasured Tengu fan I watch the movements of various Ayakashi.

“Aoi.” The Master passed by and called out to me. I think worriedly to myself.

“I don’t know where you were going but know I will not allow you to leave Tenjin-ya.”

“But I thought I could look for a job outside?”

“Wait awhile, okay?” The Master grabs my hand and puts it to my head, it feels a little obscure. A black sleeve brushes my cheek and his arm passes by. I’ll wait as he says, I feel a little tired anyway.

140. “Don’t feel bad human girl.” The front desk Tsuchigomo says as he passes me. Although I don’t entirely get what he’s trying to say. With uncertainty in my mind I step into the dark corridor and sit down on the unused steps. The raccoon room hostess girl calls out to me, she sits down as she eats Manju buns.

“That old man Tengu seems to be quite fond of you.” The raccoon girl throws me a manju bun that I catch.

“Although because of it Tenjin-ya will be able to resolve the problem easily.”

“Ha?”

“Last night the Master tried to entertain the angry Tengu on one of our luxury ships ‘Kukakumaru,’ but the drunken Matsuba-sama who was not in a good mood drank too much and fell off the boat. The Tengu finished up the feast and searched frantically for Matsuba-sama but they couldn’t find him. It was a pretty big deal.”

“I see. That’s why Matsuba-sama was in that place.” Matsuba-sama must have remembered the sight of falling under the willow tree. Although it must be bad practice for a Tengu to fall from such a height. The raccoon girl continues to eat the Manju.

141. “At that point in time it had already been said that it was impossible to restore ties with the Tengu of Shumon Mountain since Matsuba-sama is the head Tengu. The Tenjin-ya executives had a meeting in the conference room this morning while everyone else was repairing the front desk area. Guests are leaving out the front gate and tonight Tenjin-ya is in temporary repair mode. Most guests have cancelled.”

I thought that no customers other than the Tengu would have been in the front anyway.

“Well then the Tengu came over and started yelling about letting go of Shiro Tsubaki’s granddaughter. ‘Bring Aoi Tsubaki to the front.’ Because of it the front desk could not be fully restored.”

“Wow, that happened?” Although it is said that leftovers are often better I didn’t know that such good things could come out of my cooking. Perhaps I hadn’t even realized it myself?

“I feel kind of blurry. I don’t even know what your position is.”

“I don’t get what you’re saying?”

“The executives are jealous that they’re taking care of a human girl like you. Especially the daruma in the kitchen which is where most things are taken care of. You better be careful.”

“It could be worse.” I only thing I’ll get worried if it becomes an extremely troublesome matter.

142. “Ahaha, but there could also be good things.”

The raccoon girl jumped off the stairs, her brown her brushed passed me. She turned to leave.

“Hey, what’s your name?” I asked for the name of the raccoon girl.

“It’s Kasuga!” Cheerfully she rushes to the brighter side of the hallway. Now I’m familiar with the situation although I thought it would have been a stupid reason that I couldn’t have understood. I nibble on the Manju. After that I went back to the small building, I sat inside in the quiet. I lie down ready to sleep in spite of the stillness of the afternoon. The smell of tatami mats is new, in saying that it’s also relieving, giving me peace of mind. I closed my eyes. I’m thankful that I have time to just simply breathe in silence accompanied by the smell of tatami mats. I fall into a short sleep.

DO NOT CLAIM TRANSLATIONS AS YOUR OWN. You are allowed to use these translations as a base to translate into other languages WITH permission only.

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Pages 120-126 done by @Tokouru

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veronicassadboi · 5 years

Text

🖤 Jeronica Secret Santa ❤️

To @vxj-veronica-jones with love. Merry Christmas. Thanks for your continual love and support of the fandom. You’re a real MVP. Sorry, all I can offer is angst as that’s my #Thing. Summer mentions because it’s summer on my side of the world. Sorry if it’s too much angst for the festive season but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, right? Formatting is annoying because I’m posting this amidst travelling overseas for Christmas on my phone. I should face posted on AO3 instead of posting this long ass post that won’t work with a “read more” cut. Merry Christmas anywho ❤️

Be With Me

Warning: mentions of sex, gang slanging (lol), swearing, heart ache.

Summary: She pops up everywhere. In the taste of shakes at Pop's. The writing she left on his kitchen table that he hasn't been able to move. In the text messages he reads before he forces himself to sleep at least two hours at night. He's still learning how to perfect that, though. Because sometimes it's a messy forty-five minutes just before school. Or it's a solid sixteen hours and he's missed the whole fucking day. At the moment, there's no in between.

————————————|

Jughead lights up a cigarette. It just alleviates the urge pulsing through him but he takes them anyway; three deep drags in a row with rushing bloodstreams and noisy thoughts. Jughead turns up Tame Impala and lets the music drown him in noisy basslines and clashing cymbals - clashing thoughts. But his eraseture of his messy mind is a battle lost. He stubs out menthol cigarettes in the ashtray, watching it burn into itself, mystic wisps of smoke, but he reaches for another one. The urge he has for Veronica is pulsing faster now. As he flicks his lighter, he wonders how much her happiness would grow if she watched him light up his Serpents jacket the same way he burned this cigarette. Red hot flames, up in smoke….

What’s the price I pay for loving Veronica Lodge? He thinks.

Pure fucking torture is what I pay, the back of his mind reminds him.

Jughead’s craving for Veronica doesn’t feel much more than a gentle rustle in the breeze at the moment. It’s a welcome change to the raw throat burning he usually gets at four in the morning, at two in the afternoon; ten at night. He zones out of imagining Veronica’s sugary, honeyed calls and he feels lighter all of a sudden. In her zone. But he comes back down to earth, it hits him harder than it usually does; Jughead’s craving is sated because she’s here with him.

Though she’s with him, fears eats away when all he can think about is the skin scratching, blood thickening feeling he’ll get when she leaves.

Love is confidence. Confident is what he feels when Veronica is here with him. I’m undefeatable, I’m God-like right now.

She’s almost aerobatic – fucking artistic the way she flies through the air and it’s all because of him. She wraps her arms around his neck, dots sweet kisses. Skin tearing jaw bites that he can smell, cinnamon mixed with his favourite brand of menthol. He smiles against her as he tastes her skin, she tastes like she did at four in morning and during her break at lunch, the back wall of Pop’s knows the shape of her body almost as well as Jughead does. She tastes absolutely edible as her thighs creep up his sides, pulling herself up his body with her legs around his waist. “I missed you,” she tells him, scratching on his leather back.

Jughead feels his cheeks burn, his heart whistle; fingertips numbing all because of the girl around him. He hisses up courage, tasting her a little more. Saturating myself in her, he begs himself. “Tell me how much you love me,” He begs her. His fingers are pins and needles, his heart is tight in her grip.

Veronica leans back as Jughead grips onto her ass, keeping her up with his mind trying to keep up too. “I want you to stay with me.”

He sniggers as his mouth fills with saliva; he’s salivating, - a man starved, hungry, feverish from starvation. His mouth feels dry now, not keeping up. “What’s the price of loving me?” he ask her this time.

She raises an eyebrow. “That you can’t live without me.”

He groans against her; he fucks her against the wall.

When you love the way we love, who the fuck requires a heart? He asks himself.

Because it’s a pause in heart beats, it’s the lack of blood flow. He doesn’t exist anywhere else but in her.

He kisses her dirty; he kisses her until he can’t breathe.

They’re in the trailer. When they came in, the sun was shining so bright on the two on the floor. Now it’s just cold, dark and Jughead’s heart feels like a hoarder – almost as if he’s keeping her all to himself and he won’t share her; he won’t let her loose. If I let go, she might not come back to me...

“I love you,” Veronica tells him. “More and more everyday.”

She’s glittery beneath the moonlight, dark hair turns midnight in the light. Skin turns tasty in the moon. She turns magical in here, he reminds himself. She’s supernatural right now. Every kiss on her lips tells the story of us, he knows, starvation, lust, love, dependence, poison, love, affection, pure, love, lost, love, needing, love, I can’t live without her. Love.

“Tell me how much you love me,” he asks.

“Come with me, we’ll go, Jug,” she promises. “New York.”

“Princess,” he prays.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I love you more than they do.”

“I love you so much, I go fucking crazy.”

“Go fucking crazy then,” she orders, “Do it, then you can come with me and we’ll start a new life.” “A new life,” he copies, “One where you love me happily.”

“I love you happily anyways,” she says with a sigh. “Even when it hurts.”

She’s purple painted toes digging into her blankets. She’s laying in satin kind of tired.

He feels cold without Southside on his shoulders. “Were you Southside?” she asks before even looking at Jughead standing at the trailer window.

“I was,” he says, catching in his throat.

“And?”

“And now I’m not.”

Veronica hums. “What time are you going back?” she says so thickly, Jughead can feel her words hitting him in the heart; sharp, harsh arrows. “Are you going back?” An arrow to the heart.

“No.”

She rolls over, her eyes are red bloodshot and her skin sun kissed in the dark. “So today you’ll pretend like you’re all mine?”

“Only if you pretend that you’re all mine, Princess.”

Veronica shakes the earth to give Jughead more than anything in the world. I am a man starved. I am greedy in loving her. I take all of her, nothing to spare.

She took all of him until there was nothing left to give her.

“Just be with me here,” she prays.

“I’ll be here.”

Jughead ignores the necklace that hangs around his Princess’s neck that his best friend bought her. Just like she ignores the smell of Betty’s vanilla on his own skin.

xxxxx

Jughead stares at the time on the alarm clock as it beeps to wake him up. He doesn't switch it off, he doesn't have the energy hit snooze. He thinks briefly on the time and he wonders what Veronica is doing at this exact moment. If his thoughts didn't betray him, then the smell of her in his sheets did. He woke up with her smell mixed with his smell and he knows he's fucking lying to himself when he tries to make out that he's unsure of how many days it's been since he last saw her fake smile. Thirteen. She pops up everywhere. In the taste of shakes at Pop's. The writing she left on his kitchen table that he hasn't been able to move. In the text messages he reads before he forces himself to sleep at least two hours at night. He's still learning how to perfect that, though. Because sometimes it's a messy forty-five minutes just before school. Or it's a solid sixteen hours and he's missed the whole fucking day. At the moment, there's no in between. She's the marrow in the bones of his fucked up days. Veronica Lodge is the marrow in his very bones. Veronica is him. Jughead punches a pillow as the alarm keeps going. He screams into the same one. He realises it smells like her, so he clings on a little tighter. And then he feels the ache in his jaw, the pulsing of blood in his split lip and then he remembers how he got here in the first place.

XXXXX

"You hate me, don't you?" Jughead asks his best friend. Archie Andrews wasn't a liar. And Jughead knows that Archie Andrews has a level of loyalty that the Southside wouldn't be able to rival. Archie Andrews also had a weird way of saying exactly what was on his mind even if maybe, Jughead thinks, he shouldn't. Jughead also wonders if he can count how many times Archie opens his mouth in an attempt to make up some lie, but, yet again, Archie Andrews is not a liar and it almost irritates Jughead that his best friend is torturing him in this way. "I don't hate you, Jug." Jughead sniggers, kicks his boots on the lino floor of the trailer and stops himself from rolling his eyes. "You hate me." "Betty still loves you she just..."

"Doesn't love what I've become."

Jughead can’t even come up with a string of truths. It wasn’t Betty. And it wasn’t love lost between him and her either. It was Veronica. Jughead continues to lie through his teeth, humouring his best friend. Trying not to think too loudly about his best friend’s girlfriend. Trying not to be too harsh about Betty.

Archie scrambles for words again. Jughead can tell. He's frantic and stumbling over his own tongue. He grabs Jughead by the collar and shakes him out, but Jughead can just feel boiling blood. "This stupid jacket is what we hate, but we love you, Juggie," Archie takes a steadying breath. "Betty loves you; I miss you, Jug. Veronica does too.” Jug wishes they were kids again. Way back when. When FP and Fred were best buds and they were back up in the treehouse. Or even not that long ago, when he was crashing on the Andrews floor and the biggest issue was Archie burning pizza. But they're not. Archie is a Northern Suburban Knight in Shining Armour and Jughead is a Southside Serpent earning new fangs while cycling with the training wheels still on. Hearing Veronica’s name made his arteries connected to his heart harden and stop pulsing, the blood was coagulating, stiffening and hardening. Archie's words only made him feel half the amount better, because 'I-love-you's' from Archie Andrews were dished out as often as 'hellos', Jughead doesn't think it as a dig at his best friend, he likes to think of it as Archie just has a big heart. But he sees his best friend glaring at the leather jacket on his shoulders and then he remembers how he got here in the first place. Jughead thinks quickly on everything that he has control over. He has freedom and the trailer is his. He can ride out at any time, there's no limit to where he can go. And then his chest feels tight, and his breathing is too shallow. He can't control his repetitive reading of Veronica’s last texts. Or the way he thinks the only way his heart is still beating is because Veronica Lodge is still on his mind. But the trailer is his, the bike is his, though not something he had initially wanted, Hotdog was his. And so were the bad thoughts, the mess of hair on his head, the dark rings under his eyes, the two hours sleep, the love he holds for Veronica, the cigarettes he all of a sudden acquired and the pills Sweetpea insists he'll like. They're all his. And then he remembers how he got here in the first place.

XXXXX

Toni has a body that is out of this world. Toni has a mouth with lips that look like they need biting. She has hair you can hold on to. Toni has words that make guys drop to their knees, Jughead knows, because Fangs told him. She gives him that taste of Southside without the pain. And when there is pain involved, Toni makes a good makeshift nurse. She's seen things before that he's only just learning about and she makes a good teacher. And if Betty was good at teaching him school work, then Toni is schooling him at life. He feels bile at the back of his throat when he thinks of Betty and Toni in the same go. But things are complicated and no amount of digging his snake pit further into Southside was going to change that. He couldn't be further from the North than he is right now. Even while sitting in the Red and Black with dust plumes glittering in afternoon sun, Toni is making a passionate speech about showing the true identity of Southside High to Riverdale. And as much as taking photos of the Football team and the Drama class that just so happens to have an uncountable amount of students with nose rings and belt buckles with studs on them, he can't help but think that Toni would have a better chance at portraying this place for what it was. A festering wound that is hard to cover up. "You've got some dark rings under your eyes, Forsythe," she says with a smirk. "You been up all night or something?" Jughead reads the bite of her lip and the wink of her right eye. He reads it dirty but he shrugs in reply. "Hmm," he says.

Toni knows secrets about him that no one else does. She keeps them locked up inside - Toni is the safest place he knows and one of the only places he trusts. “Veronica,” she says, slapping on a look of pity. She slinks behind his chair, pats his shoulder, ruffles his hair. "Don't worry, Juggie, if you love each other, you'll find your way back." Do marrow and blood every actually touch? He's not sure. He flickers briefly between thinking about how he and Veronica would find their way back and believing that they had never actually ever fucking lost each other. He flickers between words from Toni's lips and Veronica’s soul. He flickers between loving Veronica and then he remembers how he got here in the first place.

XXXXX

Veronica has been working at Pop’s alone. He can tell by the way her skin is slick and she’s an overbitten lower lip. He knows she’s tired, but she knows she works harder than anyone else. He knows the taste of her overbitten lips and the feel of her hair in his fists. Out of selfishness for his own battered feelings, he doesn't approach her. Or he might tell her how much he needs her. How he can't live without her. How he can’t fucking breathe. But he's at risk of looking like an idiot and his ego can't take another blow. Her shoulders slump, he watches her hand smooth over her face and then over her hair, she cranes her neck a little, leaning on the mop handle. He doesn't order, he walks out hungry. He kicks his bike before getting back on it. And then he remembers how he got here in the first place.

XXXXX

It's sick, because every punch from the Ghoulie sounds like Veronica’s name against his skin. He feels the Ghoulie’s knuckles sing against the right side of his jaw, his teeth grate against each other but he manages a swing too, weak with his left hand side. Princess, it ghosts. Somehow, the Ghoulie gets ahold of the scruff of his neck and he's trying to tackle Jughead down, but Jug is younger, faster, he spins out, spits blood on the floor and swings his right, stronger hand. Veronica, it sings against the Ghoulie’s nose. The Ghoulie laughs manically, "Yeah, you little Serpent’s tougher than you look, huh?" Jughead thinks ironically that the Ghoulie isn't right because if only he knew of the girl that has him crippled most of the time. But he shouldn't be thinking of her when he gets landed a blow to the temple. He's almost out cold when he hears Sweet Pea call his name. "Veronica?" Jughead asks the buzzing in his ears, it surely has to be her. But then he realises it's not because he remembers how he got here in the first place.

XXXXX

Jughead feels exposed and he tries to sit up quickly when he sees her, but he also wonders if maybe he shouldn't bother. He has to be dead to be seeing Veronica Lodge sitting on the end of his bed. Once upon a time it was sneaking through bedroom windows. Then crashing out on the overused sofa in the trailer. Then it was shouting, hateful words. Soft tender kisses in the rain. Wiping tears away in the booth at Pop's. Making himself physically fucking sick because love shouldn't be this hard, right? Veronica had promised him that their love was unshakeable, unmovable, limitless. She had promised Jughead that their love was as easy as breathing. At what point of their love did Veronica become a liar? He wonders.

When we chose to fall in love, he reminds himself. Nothing was harder than hushed secrets. Lying to the people they swore they loved. Now, she was so close that he could smell her perfume, but he could also make out the tracks and paths of her tears thanks to black mascara. And as much as Jughead wanted to look away, he was a man starved. He drinks her in, he soaks up her sun, he wants to feel pain in his palms when she's in his hands. But the way she drips disgust in him hurts him more than it hurts her. "Why are you doing this, Jughead?" she asks, a malicious tone in her voice. She shakes the room, she slams a fist down on the same pillow he does every night. "Don't do this Jughead," her tears fly. "This is crazy! It's dangerous." He thinks his love for her is the only dangerous thing around here. He reaches with a shaky, beat up hand and wipes her tears and she sinks into his hand, closing her eyes. "You know I’d do anything for you. And if that means keeping on the Southside to keep them from you in the Northside, then so be it." "Run away with me. Please," she begs. "I'm serious." She slides into the bed with him, shaking with cold even if it's warm outside. He wonders why she's so cold, why everything hurts. But then he remembers how they got here in the first place. He can't keep away from her. But then, he never could. He dreams of Springtime when he was a kid, riding bikes with Archie. And he misses that too. The old Archie. The one who wasn't so scared. The one that was funny. But Jughead remembers, they were all funny back then. He laughs lightly about Betty and how way back when, she used to be a pigtail kind of girl and not much has changed, only that she's now a single ponytail kind of girl.

He remembers when he wasn’t in love with the girl he shouldn’t be. When he wasn’t hurting his best friend and Betty. When things were simple. He prays for those days. But he couldn’t survive without Veronica, so the prayers are futile. Now he’s late nights in The Pembrooke where he’s kissed Veronica a million times after paying the price of Southside, he made it up to her with her thighs around his head and her nails in his hair. He laughed against the insides of her ankles and soft kisses on her wrist and for once, Southside was left on the floor next to her radio. Jughead lies in Veronica’s arms with her fingers still playing with a curl at the front of his face. "I want to go, V," he tells her honestly. "I want you and I to go, let's go, get out of here." It was crazy but Jughead knew it was doable. He had arranged everything, he had money, a car. He wanted to skip, get out of here. Veronica stops, tilts Jughead's head with her hands and gives him a serious look while frowning. "Are you serious?" "Do I look like I'm joking?" he challenges. She inhales sharply. "Leave all this mess behind?" He nods. He nods so hard, he feels like he looks stupid but he was serious and if he could, he would leave now. "You and me, Princess, what do you say?" She smiles. She kisses him a million times. He smiles against her collarbone and then he remembers how he got here in the first place.

XXXXX

It’s hot-sweat in the middle of summer kind of heat. It was sweat dripping from the tip of her nose. Veronica and Betty had been ice-cream-sweet all day. Veronica smacked her lips and looked up from shy eyes, whispered rumours and quiet laughs were painful. Her lips smack together with pleasure when she humours Betty; Summer heat carries summer secrets. Veronica keeps warm in the memories of last night.

It’s hot-sweat in the middle of summer kind of heat but Jughead was muted-twilight-tones with the sun setting on his skin. It was sticky tar pavements and sticky fingers against Veronica’s iPhone screen from summer sun when she messages her mom to tell her she’ll be late home but through the heat, Jughead still wore red Docs with long socks and sweat-sticky leather against his back. They stand outside his trailer with the overused door handle and the worn out paint that spoke volumes to her. Old. Muted. Worn. Sticky-summer-sun is setting on the worn out paint and made it seem a little colder than cold around here.

Jughead stands on a cigarette butt to put it out and nods at Veronica. “Tell me how much you love me,” he says. “Come on, Princess,” he says with a scuff of his boot.

“Nobody likes someone who’s so needy,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

He laughs quietly and reaches out to her shorts, hooking his lazy-long fingers in the belt hoop of denim shorts, pulling Veronica closer. Her hips bump his hips, her breath hitches in her throat as she feels him but his breath is breathing on her skin. Jughead’s mouth meets Veronica’s neck; his tongue dances on sweat-sticky, soft-aching skin. He kisses her. “Let’s see how needy I can get then.”

His words echo. His smile, though she can’t see it, is larger than ever. She can feel it; she feels his smile on her neck; on her skin. His hands? She can’t see them; she feels them, edging on the start of denim, popping her buttons, second button, third button, and the rest after that. She gives in with her eyes curious-kind-of-wide and her voice on his tongue.

“Where have you been?” she asks him.

“Gone,” he groans against her skin. “Preparing the world for you,” He keeps running his fingers on denim. Punishment reaches down and starts doing denim up, never looking away from his leather jacket. But his fingers stop pulling and he steps back, running a hand over his face. “V...” he murmurs.

“Jughead,” she says strongly back. Loud in her mind. Smirk dancing on her lips. “Punishment,” she tells him.

He smirks to himself and shrugs his shoulders; exhaling loudly as he reads her erratic mind. “Tell me you’re not mad at me…”

“But then I would be lying,” she says putting her hands on hips.

He pulls her by the hips again, bumping her to him again, making her weak all over again. “Tell me a lie.”

“Where have you been?” she asks him. He was supposed to be so much more than secret-whispers and smug-cocky smirks.

“Southside,” he says biting his lower lip and shoving his hands pocket deep.

His eyes flicker down to the dirt he’s standing on and his lips purse but she can read them and the words he’s trying to speak. “Stop going Southside,” she begs. Her hands finding his and pulling them up to her lips. “Just be here with me.”

Jughead sighs and his hands tighten in hers. He pulls Veronica’s hands to his lips this time, kissing them over and over. “I’m here,” he mumbles. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” he repeats his prayer, on her knuckles, smoothing out fingers, running over her nails.

She feels them building in her chest first then it runs up into her mind; half-prayers and mumbled promises. “I can give you more than they can,” she promises. “I just want you to be here with me.”

He chuckles again and lets go of Veronica, pulling at belt loops again. “I’m always here,” he answers. “Always.” He was here but he’s not here. He was in her space but he wasn’t really here with her. “Tell me a lie,” he murmurs sugar-sweet. “Tell me a lie, tell me a lie,” he murmurs as he pulls her in; shoulders easing, anger still running electric through her. “Tell me you don’t hate the Serpents, tell me you’re okay… Tell me another lie.”

She pushes at his chest; shoving him away. Weak-handed, pissed-off-strong. “I hate that you don’t tell me everything.”

He sniggers at her. It’s all cocky-truths and rolled eyes. “That’s not a lie, Princess,” he says running his tongue over minty-fresh teeth. “That’s the worst kind of truth.”

“You’re right,” she whispers against his lips.

“We’ll be leaving, any day now, Princess.”

She’s lost in the taste of his tongue and his hands between her thighs.

XXXXX

The SS Camaro is in need of a paint job, but it's enough to do the trick. His heart races and the arteries barely open up but this time, not from pain. From pure, unfiltered excitement. Jughead is okay, but he's not at the same time. The sun shines through the window of the car and he knows it should be burning him, it's unnaturally hot today but he feels almost nothing at all. Crashing waves is what he feels in the tightness of his chest and freefalling right in the pit of his stomach. He's scared. He's worried. He'd give up his entire life just for this. Veronica is two minutes late but the way her hair swings with her brisk walk and her suitcase rolling behind her, he can see that those two minutes was part of his time well spent. She was here, and every step on the pavement as she walks to the car feels like they sprout dark petalled roses from the concrete and her smile is rooting itself in his veins. Just seeing her is completing him. He revs the engine, she opens up. They look at each other; Jughead lets Veronica peer directly into his soul and at one point, he feels her inside of him. She shuts the heavy door, it makes her flinch but she takes a deep breath, steadies herself, closes her eyes. Inhales. He turns on the indicator to signal out of the street but before he moves, he kisses her cheek. "I love you, Veronica." Veronica smiles like the sun in the middle of summer, burning him, charred skin. "I love you too, Jughead," she breathes. "Let's go." "Where to?" "Our new home," she laughs. "Anywhere!" Jughead remembers how he got here in the first place. Love.

—————————|

Lots of love,

@veronicassadboi

#jeronica secret santa #jeronica secretsanta #jeronica #vughead #jughead x veronica #veronica x jughead #vxj-veronica-jones

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antihero-writings · 5 years

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Red and Gold Chapter 2: Blackened Magic—Pandora Hearts Fic for Phsecretsanta2018 (Vince/Ada Pirate AU) (Full Chapter)

Fic Title: Red and Gold

Fic Synopsis: Memories of a strange music box in Ada’s occult shop intertwine with a present where she meets the equally mysterious Vincent Nightray…

Notes: This was my Phsecretsanta2018 gift for @endoreon!

Chapter Title: Blackened Magic

Chapter 2:

“More meat, Seaweed-head, more meat!”

“There isn’t any more meat left, Stupid Rabbit!” Gilbert held up the empty plate that should have been enough for all of them.

She blinked at the empty plate. “Then you will be punished for disrespecting your Captain!” she took it from him and bonked his head with it.

“You’re not the Captain!”

“Oh yeah? Then who is?”

“Oz is!”

“Well he’s my manservant, so…”

“Are you really this stupid?!”

As they continued to fight, Ada tried and failed not to laugh. Luckily, her amusement went unnoticed by the two, on account of their focus on each other, and the noisiness of full table. Though her brother, Oz turned to her, smiling himself.

“They don’t get along very well, do they?” Ada mused.

They had decided to meet at a tavern a little way from the Vessalius manor for dinner, and Oz and his crew (well, he called them his crew, but—as Gil and Alice demonstrated—they often fought over who the true ‘Captain’ of their ship was) took up half the tavern.

Oz and Ada sat next to each other, chatting about school, and Oz’s latest endeavor into the Cheshire Cat’s dimension. Gilbert and Alice, of course, sat across from them, squabbling. Oscar sat at the end so he could get up and get more drinks whenever he wanted, already telling wildly exaggerated stories about things like how he tamed the sea. Sharon chuckled pleasantly at everyone’s antics, and Break across from him, teased drunk Oscar, and had managed to steal all the dessert before anyone finished the main course (they didn’t have much, so he had to do this to satisfy his sweet tooth…if that was possible. They would have demanded for some themselves, but anyone who dared attempt to get between Break and his sweets found that that sword at his side was looking rather sharp).

“It seems that way. But I think it’s just because they actually care about each other a lot.” Oz smiled.

“Say Oni-chan,” Ada drummed her fingers on the table, “you were telling me about looking for Alice’s memories, did you ever find any interesting objects or books in that dimension?”

“Uhh, we saw a lot of weird stuff, but no. At least, nothing to take back. We were kinda busy, you know. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious!” her voice was especially high-pitched.

There was a murmuring from the front door. They looked up to see that two people had walked in, and apparently they were something to whisper about.

One was a young man with golden hair, and a gold eye, while the other eye covered with a patch. Metal jingled as he walked in. His clothing was similar to Oz and his crew’s, though a little fancier; in black and silver, he wore a tri cornered hat, a long jacket, with a brown sash that held his bag, a black belt with a gun holstered on it, and black boots. The girl next to him was much shorter, younger, and had silver hair and eyes—eyes that had dimmed to a hollow grey, like there was nothing behind them—and she wearing a tattered white dress, with a blue corset over it, and a sword on her belt.

“Who’s that?” Ada tapped Oz on the shoulder.

As the man’s uncovered eye found their table, he cried happily, “Nii-san!” rushed up behind Gilbert and hugged him.

Gilbert didn’t seem nearly as excited to see him; he wore a scowl at the appearance of his brother, and attempted to break free of his grasp.

“Does that answer your question?” Oz snickered.

“What are you doing here?” Gilbert grumbled.

As her eyes scanned the table, she found that Gilbert wasn’t the only one who seemed displeased with the company— the playful look in Break’s red eye turned to something icy. Most everyone else, however, seemed relatively undisturbed, and continued with their conversations.

“Do I need an excuse to see my favorite brother?” Vincent hugged him tighter.

“Yes, when the Nightray manor is islands away,” he grunted.

Uninvited, Vincent sat down beside Gil. The girl seemed perfectly content to stand patiently behind him, and not partake in the festivities.

Alice didn’t seem to mind her seat being shifted, or if she did, her actions of trying to grab a bite of every other available food was her way of getting back, and was not, in fact, normal Alice behavior.

“You’re so mean!” Vincent chided playfully. “When I came all this way to see you!” he stabbed a piece of bread before Alice could reach it, giving her a taunting smile as she growled at him.

“Hey! I was gonna eat that!”

“Don’t you think you have enough, Alice?” Oz tried to calm the boiling pot.

“No, Manservant! You can never have enough food!”

As Oz tried to appease Alice, Ada observed the man beside Gilbert. Gil’s annoyance with Alice was of a completely different nature than his coldness towards his blood relation. She had remembered him mentioning Vincent before, but he’d never been very long-winded in his descriptions, and she’d never met him herself.

Maybe most people would have been deterred against him, on account of Gilbert’s general good judge in character—(though Break didn’t like him either, and he wasn’t exactly the poster-boy for good character)—and the…something that seemed to follow him, something clouded, hidden, something you can’t quite place your thumb on…something about this man—maybe it was the same something that put others off—intrigued her. Seeing him in person, she wasn’t quite sure what she had expected before. In the same way she was drawn to the objects in her shop, drawn to the darkness, to an ominous mystery, that can’t-quite-place quality about him was probably what it was that drew her to him. Magic of a blackened sort. Like the opposite of a moth drawn to a light. Like…a spider and the dark.

And the fact that he was more than a little attractive was neither here nor there.

She cleared her throat. “Um, Gil?”—gold eyes flashed up to her—“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“My apologies. Ada-sama,” be bowed a little, “—As much as I may try to deny it—“ he muttered, “this is my brother, Vincent.”

Ada extended her hand from across the table. “I’m Ada.”

Vincent was resting his hand in his chin, and offered the other hand casually towards her, like he was royalty, though something about his smile, and the way he said—

“Pleased to meet you to, Ada-sama.”

Made her feel like royalty.

His hand was cold. But something about his touch made her feel warm.

“It’s nice of you to stop by to see Gil!”

“See,” Vincent taunted, “She understands …”

Gil rolled his eyes.

“There was a time I would have given anything to see my brother too,” she tapped her pointer fingers abashedly.

“Ah, yes, Oz Vessalius,” he turned to her brother, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yes, we’ve met.” Oz smiled, but failed to make it sound like that had been a pleasant experience.

As they continued conversing, telling stories and asking questions, Ada found she and Vincent were the ones carrying most of the conversation.

Something about the silkiness of his voice, the way he seemed both detached from those around him, and tangling webs between them…

What finally caused Gilbert’s brother to leave however, was when Break joined them,

“Oh look, they let a rat in here,” he draped his sleeve over Vincent’s face. Break’s tone was perfectly cheery, but his words were poison.

“Only because they didn’t clean up the scum walking around,” he responded in the exact same tone.

It didn’t take long after that for Vincent to say, “Well, as it appears I’m unwelcome, I’ll be going,” and stand up to leave.

“Feel free to not come back~!” Break waved.

But before Vincent left, he turned to Ada, “Ada-sama…might I have a word alone with you?”

“Eh? Me?”

He gave a curt nod.

Gil, Oz, and Break glanced between the two of them, confusion in their eyes—something protective flaring for Oz and Gil, and revulsion in Break’s.

Ada stood up and followed him outside.

“Um…Ada?” Oz stood, reaching out a hand towards her, his concern evident.

“It’s alright, Oni-Chan. I’ll be back!”

With that they exited the tavern, and walked a little way down the path before Vincent stopped, pulling a small spyglass from his bag to look out at something.

The tavern sat on a hill, overlooking much of the island, which they could now easily observe. She pushed her hair behind her ear as the breeze tossed it, waiting for him to begin.

He handed her the glass, saying, “If you look a little way down and to the left, you’ll see a shop.”

She followed his directions, and, as often happen with these things, the shop was her own.

“It’s said to hold,” he paused and spoke softly, “all manner of unsightly things.”

“Is that so?” she fidgeted nervously.

“It is also said that the proprietor is a young woman, from a famous dukedom.”

Her heart beat faster.

“Would you happen to know anything about that?”

She set down the spyglass.

“Why would I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he walked behind her, “maybe because you’re”—on the word he placed a hand on her shoulder—“the woman?”

She spun around, feeling her cheeks flushing. “W-Where did you hear a thing like that?!”

A smirk tugged at his lip. “So it’s true.”

“I-I never said that!”

“No,” he leaned in close, “but your cute little face,” he brushed his fingers along her cheek, “says quite a lot.”

She had never been very good at lying, or masking her emotions. Even now, she felt her cheeks growing hotter by the second.

“Oh don’t worry,” He took his finger away, “I won’t tell a soul.” He put his hands behind his back, and walked backwards in front of her, like a child excited to have a secret, and the power to keep it, and earn someone’s trust, or tell it, and break it, but watch the fire that spread. “In fact, I am interested in doing business with you.”

“Oh?”

“It has come to my attention that you just so happen to have an extraordinarily rare artifact. One that I happen to have been looking for for quite a long time.”

“What might that be?”

“Well,” he stood, pushing his own hair behind his ear, “If it’s not too forward, I was hoping we could discuss it tonight.”

“…Tonight?”

“You see, I have some rather important business I have to attend to, and I cannot come by tomorrow. And I don’t think either of us want our brothers finding out about this little operation.” He gestured to the tavern with his thumb. “Us meeting out here is strange enough as it is.”

She glanced back to the tavern herself, wondering if Oz and Gil were pressing their noses against the window, trying to gain clues about what they were talking about, and if they’d need to kill Vincent for coming near her.

“I…suppose your right.”

“It can be our little secret.” He whispered, and the sentence sent chills down her spine.

“What time were you thinking?” she kept her breath in check, her heart beating uncommonly fast.

“Shall we say…around midnight?”

Electricity. The words, his touch, his mere presence, were like lightning, making tepid feelings inside her bubble.

Even so, he might be Gilbert’s brother, but he was still a stranger. A stranger, asking to meet her in the middle of the night. Should she accept?

She’d be lying if she said this wasn’t the first time this happened—the objects she trafficked in lent themselves to clandestine meetings, (her meeting with Leo, of course was one example). People wanted to be discreet about these things, and atmosphere was important, after all. Still, it was suspicious any way you look at it.

Then again, the idea of meeting a handsome, mysterious stranger in the middle of the night to discuss an occult artifact, was so exciting it was almost intoxicating.

Looking into that golden eye—like his brother’s, and yet not—there was this feeling of things being unfinished, like there was more he wanted to do—whether it be in life as a whole, or with her specifically, she couldn’t be sure. And she couldn’t help but wonder if her eyes held that same unfinished quality, a yearning for something more. Because, in truth, she didn’t want to say goodbye to him. Not just yet.

“I’ll see you at midnight, Vincent-sama.”

She hadn’t been very good at explaining things to the table when she returned. That inability to lie was a rather large crutch when she was interrogated by Gil, Oz, and even a sobbing, hiccupping Oscar, who started paying attention when she left. She told a half truth about how he was looking for a magical object, and a witch (she didn’t quite like the looks of horror and disgust on their faces at the word). Later, when it was time to leave, she placed her cats on lookout, and was glad that no one—the servants, Oz, or Oscar—seemed to have seen her getting up in the middle of the night (though the latter she was guessing might be passed out, or else puking his guts out).

The idea of seeing his face, hearing those velvety words, again, made the hours she waited—9:00, 10:00, 11:00—sand dripping by slowly. The stars turned sluggishly into view. She wanted to take the minute hand and twirl it around until she heard midnight’s bells. Her anticipation, shifted and floated in the air above her heart, it dove back into her chest and squirmed there.

When the time did come, and she rushed towards her shop—in a black corset, her witch’s hat, and cloak—the night air was cool and blue, but, unlike the unease that it held when she met Leo something in her veins rushed too, the air buzzed, alive with exhilaration. Rather than seeming impure, the world was so much more alive; the stars shone a little brighter, the wind was a confidant, who wanted to keep her secrets, rather than moan her doom. The world was a wonderland for her to explore, a box for her to open.

She always loved discussing the occult…maybe she was just excited that Gilbert’s brother shared her interests?

Let’s face it, she was beyond excited about that.

But this was something more than just business. Something to do with him specifically—once again, that undefinable something.

She had been around magic long enough to know that this was more than just simple curiosity, this was something akin to enchantment. Something pulling her moves, something sparkling in her eyes. And she didn’t fight the spell. Nor did she yet know its name.

Or maybe someone watching from a far off future would say it was curiosity. That is, of the same dark, disobedient kind that led her to defy Leo’s words once before.

When she arrived, he was already there. They exchanged pleasantries, and she opened the door to her shop, lighting a few lanterns.

“Sorry it’s not much…” she said modestly.

Her shop hadn’t seemed so small before. She’d always been so proud of it, how full it was, how many questions she could answer, and that almost-alive quality of the place, and she had been looking forward to showing it off to him. Even if it hadn’t been completely recovered since her search for the whispers, it hadn’t ever seemed so cluttered and insignificant.

“I think it’s quite charming,” he replied politely.

She tried not to squeal her joy at his compliment.

“T-Thank you…So will you tell me what it is you’re looking for now?” she turned her back to him, folding her hands in front of her.

What could it be? She continued her attempts to curb her enthusiasm. Was it a book, or a lantern, or a compass, or, ooh, maybe a—

“Of course; It’s a music box.”

The world slowed, the current of fast turning seconds became slow sand again, and she could almost hear time’s ticks, like water dripping in a quiet cave—but who knows what lies beneath those black waters? The excitement that had been so potent seconds ago turned to dread. The wind outside, rather than lively with whispers of a thrilling adventure to come, became a howl, telling her she should have listened to her doubts. The gaps of black between the stars seemed to swallow the light, and the shop became smaller and more cramped by the second.

No. Not that. Ask me for something else.

She had wanted to bury it. Though the whispers had stopped, moving it back into the trap door hadn’t been quite enough. Whenever she had stepped over that creaky board, the sound called to her, a ghost, and the feeling that one day she would feel her dark bride’s hand grab her ankles and pull her back into the depths of her own past, crawled into her mind and made its nest there. So, though she knew she couldn’t get rid of it—for fear of who else might use it—she had wrapped the box itself more tightly, put chains around the chest, and moved it to a place she thought would be safer, more secure. She wished she had truly listened to Leo, and started by putting it there, as far as away as she could keep it from her, without it being completely out of reach.

Sure, there was more than one magic music box in existence. But she only had one; That music box. And, despite having used it, she never told anyone about its existence, per Leo’s orders. She was sure of that. How could he know?

Perhaps he meant something different?

“I’m sorry…could you repeat that?” she whispered, and didn’t turn to face him.

“A music box,” he said pleasantly,

“What sort of music box? What is its…purpose?”

“One that has a haunting tune,” His footfalls followed her, “which, when played,” and as he placed a hand on her shoulder, cursed words fell in her ears, “is said to allow you to watch your own past unfold before you…even converse with your past self.”

The words made something cold crawl down her spine, and she had to fight to keep memories from resurfacing like monsters in uneasy waters.

She spun around, brushing him off.

“Now why would I have a thing like that?”

“First of all,” he lifted his hand to refer to the shop.

Oh, right. Of course.It seemed that lying skill would be needed quite a lot today.

“And second of all,” he stepped closer, “once again, that precious face of yours betrays you.”

She turned away before he could touch her.

“If I had an object like that, do you really think I would give it to a stranger?” she rubbed her arm nervously.

“Come now, I’m not a stranger, am I? Nii-san knows you well enough for us to say we’re not complete strangers. But as far as the music box goes…” he paused, then laughed a little, “Oh I think you’d do everything in your power to hide the fact that you had it.”

He was smart. An intelligence she didn’t think she could battle, even if she had had the ability to lie.

“I’ve been looking for this for a long time, Ada-sama. I really don’t want any trouble.”

“And…why would you be looking for an object like that?”

“Why do my reasons concern you?”

The frankness of his response caught her off guard.

“Because—“

“Do you usually interrogate your customers?”

That was true; she usually didn’t care what people did with the things she sold, even if she was often interested. She may ask, but she tried not to pry.

“If an object like that exists—”

“Please. You wouldn’t be so restless if you didn’t know it did. If you think a few ill-conceived lies are going to deter me,” he ran his hand along her shoulder. “you’re very much mistaken.”

“Vincent-sama…”

What could she do? She was a bad liar, and, even if she wasn’t, he was a good at seeing reading her. She wasn’t going to stop him by…

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

And she tried a different approach.

“The past is…dangerous.”

He did the last thing she expected; he laughed. Loud and long. An action that made her intrigue turn more rapidly into something dark, and hot, and stubborn.

“Oh you think so, do you?” he put his hands behind his back, stepping forward, “What makes you think that? Did the Hatter tell you something? Or…” he stood back up to his full height, his eye boring a hole into her, as if he were casting judgment on her by his mere gaze, and he stepped forward, tipping her chin up to him, his words whispered, but cold, “Did you use it?”

She stumbled backwards into her desk, covering her ears, breath heavy, as if to block out his judgment, or her memories.

She flicked her eyes up to him, as if they could hold the same judgmental drilling power as his.

That intrigue and excitement was twisting and writhing and turning into something else. Something angry, and burning, and defiant.

“Listen,” she stood, brushing herself off, “the past may seem like it holds the answers, but it’s not something to be meddled with. Especially not mine. Please leave.” She pointed at the door, “I will not be humoring you tonight”

All that anticipation, gone. All she had been waiting for had become a demand to leave.

“Hm,” he grunted, turning to leave, though she could feel something simmering.

She let out a breath, surprised, but relieved hat he wasn’t going to put up a fight.

And in the next second that simmering thing was alive, and she was being pinned against the wall, his hands on either side of her, his jaw set, the look in his eyes like gunfire.

Electricity. It was in him now, but it was not that warm, bubbly feeling. It was a streak of lightning in an already stormy sky. The sting of something beneath the waters.

“I told you,” he hissed, “I wouldn’t give up that easily. Either you give me what I’m looking for, or—I don’t want to—but I’d be perfectly happy to tear your,” he looked around, a twisted smile on his face, “quaint little shop apart.” He leaned in closer, and she could feel his breath on her face, “Or if I don’t find it…you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, terror turning the dials in her heart.

“And I told you...” she heard the shake in her voice, and tried to sink to the floor, but he placed a hand on her chest to stop her.

“It’s not something I would expect a thing like you—a spoiled brat, who has had everything handed to her, for her entire life—to understand,” he spat.

The words bit even more than his threats. Is this what he thought of her? Just a spoiled brat? A noble’s daughter, who never suffered? Who couldn’t understand him?

More importantly, why did she care what he thought of her in the first place?

What should she do? Should she give in to save her life? Or would she give her life to save the music box from him, or him from it? What would be she be saving in the end? How bad would it be if he ended up trapped in his own past?

Still, this was Gilbert’s brother. Even if he tried to deny it, she knew he cared about him. If he disappeared…

This was Gilbert’s brother. She couldn’t believe that this piercing darkness was the only thing inside him.

There had to be more. There had to be a reason for his actions, his determination.

Surely he had been through a lot in his past, if he would go this far just to talk to it.

Maybe she could find a way to help?

As she was held there by the strands of her own decisions, and his venomous eyes—which she tried to keep from meeting—her gaze drifted upon the wind, out the open window.

It was far off, and out of reach, but she saw something flicker in the cold moonlight. Something important. Something worth noting. Something she’d missed.

Something they’d all missed.

Red and gold, fluttering in the wind.

Sitting in a little alcove, just off the edge, just out of view, was a ship.

A ship, with red and gold sails

"What’s that, Uncle?”

Oz pointed at the picture in the book. It was of a ship, sitting in a cave, its sails a peculiar color of crimson, with borders and symbols in gold. The ominous air surrounding even the picture of it was enough to give the children pause.

He, Ada, and Gil were all sitting on Oscar’s lap, sunlight from the window behind them draping them in gold.

Oscar pulled them all closer, “Remember about the Abyss?”

The nodded, each with different reactions—Oz with intrigue, Gil with fear, and Ada a mix of the two.

“Well, there are two things in this world connected strongly to the Abyss that are very dangerous.” He looked out the window, as if painting the picture in his mind, “One are called the Sirens, or Chains.”

“They drag bad guys into the Abyss, right?” Oz asked, and Gilbert clung tighter to Oscar.

“Very good Oz-kun.” His Uncle ruffled his hair. “The other, are the Baskervilles. This ship,” he pointed at the picture, “Belongs to them.”

Ada leaned in closer to get a better look at it.

“Why are they bad, Uncle?” she asked.

“Well…” he put a finger to his chin, probably trying to formulate a non-terrifying answer, “It’s not that they’re necessarily bad, it’s just…You know how the Abyss is like a prison? Well the Baskervilles are like reapers, they too drag people to the Abyss. But they aren’t always careful with who falls in.”

They paused, taking in the information.

“If ever you see a ship with red and gold sails, I want you to run as fast you can, got it?”

Everything seemed to both click into place, and go out of sync.

This man, the one who knew things he wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t, things she kept secret; who would ask to meet her in the middle of the night, because a strange and powerful artifact she hadn’t told anyone about; who had business to attend to in the morning, and whose anger was quick to flare; who would speak of the past like a toy, was a Baskerville.

Gilbert’s brother, Vincent, was a Baskerville.

Emotions brewed in her like a potion, and her expression must have been disloyal to her once again because his gaze followed her own.

She didn’t breathe.

The smile that grazed his face was gentle, but somehow twisted. “Do you like our ship, Ada-sama?”

She swallowed. “You’re a Baskerville.”

She hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

He grinned. He took her chin in her palm, forcing her to look up at him.

“Is that a problem?”

If she tried to escape, she might make the situation worse—he might call his Chain to pin her further, or worse, kill her, but if she didn’t, she might die anyways…

“What do you want?” her words were taut, tiny, like that little girl, so long ago…She wanted to be stronger than this.

“I told you.”

“Why would you bring an entire ship just for a music box?”

“Whoever said that was the only reason for our coming here?”

“You really think I believe you came for Gil?”

“Well, yes, that too,” he chuckled, “but that wasn’t what I was referring to.”

There was a sound like thunder outside. They both looked up to see white smoke puffing up from the aforementioned ship.

Where did that cannonball land?

Fear doubled in her, it stuck her heart and her throat, and threatened to overtake her breath.

“What’s your real intention in coming here, then?” the unwanted question spilled from her lips.

He came very close, dragging a nail along her cheek, and whispered in her ear. “To kidnap you.”

He pulled away, and gave a warm and genial smile.

She gasped, eyes wide. When her legs found the ability to move, she was surprised that, this time, he simply let her go. Her own legs double-crossed her, however, and she fell to the ground. She scrambled across the planks, reaching up for something, anything that could help her.

She had to get to Oz. To Oscar. To run, like her Uncle had told her to so long ago.

“Echo.” Vincent snapped his fingers.

The sound of glass shattering.

She hadn’t noticed the girl standing outside; she could have been there for days for all she knew, her presence was masked and the shop was dark.

That lightning split the world.

The shop was silent, and her witch’s hat fluttering softly to the ground, was the only evidence that something had occurred that night.

"Oni-chan!”

That word had interspersed itself throughout the earlier whispers. The word that came by the most often, the strongest.

It was her voice. Her terrified, little voice, crying for her brother.

Her voice, so small. She hadn’t realized her voice was so small then, that she could be so helpless.

But these whispers had stuck with her so much, because they reminded her of that time. She had tried to put out of her mind, like a fire. Told herself there had been nothing she could do, then. That even if she had made it in time, then, she couldn’t have kept Oz from the Abyss. She wouldn’t have been strong enough.

But these whispers were a poison. They made her question herself. They made her think the scene was still here, still fluid, could still be changed. They made her wonder, Maybe if I just—Maybe if I had—Maybe I could…

Instead, this time, as she slammed shut the box, the word, the voice, that tiny helpless thing that once was her, was no longer disembodied and subtly toxic.

She turned to see a little girl, in the room with her. Blonde hair, green eyes. Her little green dress, and gold hair soaked through with rain.

That past was real. Here. In the room with her.

Ghosts were more than whispers.

The adult Ada’s hands flew to her mouth to keep herself from screaming. In doing so, she lost her grip on the music box, sending it to the ground before she managed to lock it, causing it to land on its side and crack open.

Standing there—and yet, not there—was herself. A memory of the past, a specific past, her past, animated.

The little Ada flickered in and out of solidity. She was almost transparent, though real enough to send her heart reeling, and nausea to her throat. Her small eyes, dappled with tears, were—thankfully—not looking at her future self, standing there, but somewhere beyond her. Even so, they were still looking at something else that was also both there, and not quite there; something beyond her future self.

What if she knew that her future was watching her now? What would the little girl do? Would she scream? Or would she run up to her, say it was nice to meet her, and ask if the future was going well? If the little Ada knew the regrets that the future her felt now, would she have been given the strength to accomplish the task? What if she could talk to her? What would she say? Could she change things? What would her life become if she could?

Chills played melodies up and down her spine.

Her past self ran forward—(Ada jumped out of the way)—the little feet trod on the music box, and a few discordant notes spilled out from it. And as they did, her past self’s form became more solid moment by moment. After passing it, Ada turned to see what she was running towards.

The box played more of the song, and her thoughts rearranged themselves, went out of order, so the notes became background to her, not the thing itself; the thing to shut down, the thing that was causing this …but something that was simply there. Not to be noticed.

The song was dark, and slow. The notes tinkled out like raindrops, like leaking ink onto the pages of her life, drop by drop, flooding out. And, as the notes crept along the floorboards, their bony fingers trailed with them more of the scene, blood on the floorboards, in the water.

The ghost rain pounded louder and louder, becoming more real, more here, and with it, the shop started blurring, as if the drops were corroding it away.

All Ada—the future Ada, the, in her mind, real Ada—could do was watch.

She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t seize the music box and shut it up. She couldn’t grab her past self and shake the hours out of her until only the future was left. Not anymore. She didn’t have the strength. The understanding. Or the time.

The music was all that was left.

A door, big and oak, a facet of a giant mansion—which would have been magnificent, with all its bricks, and windows, and rose gardens, had it not been so stormy—stood some ways away, below her.

Her past self was running across a stone bride towards this door.

When Ada looked back she saw that she was now on this bridge too, and the quaint, quiet shop nowhere in view. Her life was suspended over howling, hungry waves and jagged rocks.

Panic and intrigue were now the battling forces in her. She couldn’t quite quantify the scene, place it into normal terms and call it by name—it just was now. How she would get back, and how much she would see before she did something, were no longer answerable. Her mind was in another place too, perhaps still in the future.

She, of course, remembered this scene. She knew everything that happened. Not in precise detail, but she had been through it once before, of course. However, the foreignness of the sensation made it seem as if she was seeing it for the first time, wondering where this unknown little girl was going to, and why it mattered.

As she looked all around her—trying to find a single piece of reality, of now—she gazed down at the waves below.

There were many ships; people had come from far and wide to see her brother’s coming of age ceremony. These ships had all sorts of symbols and colors on their sails, or just plain white. They were from different houses, and came in all sorts of sizes, shapes, and kinds.

But there was one in particular worth noting.

Once again, in a cave, hidden away, to the side. She would have never seen it if she hadn’t been on this bridge, high above. And she wouldn’t have found it so quickly if she didn’t already know it was there.

A ship with red and gold sails.

And for a moment she was that little girl again, running because she had to save her brother, she had to warn someone, anyone, that that ship her uncle had warned her about was here, now, and they would surely—

“Your sin is…”

But she had been too late then, and she knew she was too late now.

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