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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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HASO, “Take Me to Your Leader.”

I hope you guys are all having a great week, and I hope you enjoy the read.

Captain Kell sat in his room's boots up on the small desk space as he watched the news report filtering in from over the feed.

“Early this morning the chairwoman of the UN has announced a state of emergency and launched a formal investigation into the attempted assassination of the GA’s Admiral Vir. This all comes in response to the announcement by UN president late last night that they were unable to identify connections to any internal terrorist organizations after a woman was caught attempting to assassinate the Admiral during one of his speeches two months ago. The failed assassination was thanks to 25 year old marine Angle Ramirez who dove in front of the bullet for his commanding officer, and is now (as his family claims) fully healed and back to work. Since the incident, GA and UNSC leaders alike have encouraged Admiral Vir to stay away from earth as much as possible and remain on his ship until further notice. At a request from one of our journalists yesterday morning, he agreed to a statement from his ship the Omen.”

There was a flickering on the screen as a face appeared on the news feed. It was, somewhat from a distance, and the lens seems grainy from radiation interference, but the man seen was tall and blond and had one green eye though he was wearing an eyepatch. Captain kell thought he looked a little more lean than the admiral, but it was hard to tell with all the distortion.

When the man began to speak there was something missing in the voice as well, but it would hardly be noticeable.

There was a knock at his door and he quickly threw his feet down from the desk walking over to throw the door open and step outside into the hall. Angelo was waiting for him there and without saying a word the two of them walked down the long hallway and to the planning room.

Mace was still discussing with some of the other men and women there., and Geea and Beatrice were still loitering at the back.

Captain Kell couldn’t keep the distaste from his thoughts as he looked at the two of them. There was a prime example of toxic love if he had ever seen it. The two were clearly partnered or, at the very least, dating, but he had never seen two people who enjoyed pissing each other off as much as they did. WIth them there was plenty of jealousy and mistrust to go around. And as for Geea’s views on Drev religion, well they were backwards to say the least.

He had seem the same sort of fanaticism in certain shamed drev generals after the war, radical, and suicidal almost in nature.

She had no real idea what the meaning of the new law was.

As soon as he walked in the two women turned to look up at him, their arms crossed over their chests. Beatrice was playing with some big ass knives like that was likely to impress anyone, but really all he saw was some crazy asshole whose parents probably didn’t give her enough attention when she was a kid.

He sad down at the table.

Geea leaned forward expectantly.

“Setting course/”

He turned his head to look up at her, “Yes, setting course to whatever cesspit of corruption spawned you.”

Geea pulled back, “Excuse me, but we hired you for a job, not for insults.” One of her hands reached for the weapons on her belt, but Noble stepped forward spear at the ready. He was a good foot taller than she was, and he knew for a fact he was probably a better warrior. He had a natural talent for it.

He leaned back in his seat, “You hired me for a job and now expect me to fling my dead corpse at the Omen like my ship is going to be able to handle that.” he shook his head, “You hired me which means we are going to do this MY way, which means we are going to do it quiet, and we are going to do it proper. That means NONE of this comes back on me. If we show up at the omen right now and bust down their doors, we are going to get atomized by two platoons of marines and an entire clan of Drev. LEts not also forget that the Admiral Isn’t exactly going to be easy to just kill.” Captain Kell waved a hand wildly, “He has a fucking Drev SAINT on his crew, that is hardly something I think I want to deal with.” he shook his head, “No no, this is going to take me a lot longer to plan, and it is going to require a lot more material that I don’t already have.”

Geea bristled in impatience and indignation.

“I am not going to throw my life away for this mission, and if you want to push that, than I will throw you out of the airlock faster than you can say, “please captain, please I was just being a whiny little bitch.” The room was silent around Geaa’s seething, but he paid her no mind. She didn’t exactly scare him.

She was a minor player in the black market at best, and the way she moved told him she was no great shakes as a warrior either. Probably used to fighting humans so developed a habit of using brute force to overcome them with her height. As for Beatrice, he had a feeling that she made up for skill mostly in unpredictability and sheer fury.

Anyone can look scary if they scream real loud and flail their knives at you.

The way their crew behaved was enough to tell him as much. No one on the ship really respected them, and Geea ruled mostly out of ear, her men were not as loyal to her as she thought they might be, and he had a feeling that, for the right price, he could buy them off if he wanted.

He rested his palms flat against the table before him, “You understand if I am going to do this I am going to need all the right equipment. You want the man gone but I want it to look like some freak disappearance The last thing my crew needs is the long arm of the GA down on our heads.” he shook his head, “No we need to do this strategically, and we need to do this quietly, and we are going to start by getting the tech we need to pull this off without being seen.”

He turned to look at the two of them, “I am assuming that you two know where I can get those sorts of things…. Under the radar.”

Geea crossed her arms over her chest, “And YOU don’t. You are a pirate after all.”

“Yeah, I generally tend to STEAL from other people and sell it to middle men. I don’t generally tend to buy any of the goods.”

Geea stood, waiting for a long moment before finally uncurling her hands in annoyance, “Fine, Fine, but we make this quick.”

He nodded his head once and motioned her to continue on following her up and to the bridge where he watched her set a course.

He tried to make it look like he wasn’t watching her, but in the back of his mind he was quickly memorizing the coordinates that he saw appearing on screen. Granted he did have a bot installed that should copy it for him, but you can never trust technology to do exactly what you expect it to do.

When she was done, he moved forward and slid into the Captain’s chair, familiar with the machine as he prepared it for a warp sequence.

Despite him being very familiar with this ship, more than one time he found himself accidentally reaching for controls that weren’t there. He cursed his muscle memory, though he forced the ship into doing what he wanted, alerting the crew to the imminent warp before he could accidentally kill one of them by sheer freak accident.

Geea watched him from behind.

He knew she didn’t much like him.

That was fine by him. She wasn’t exactly the kind of person that he would want to be liked by.

They came out of warp a few moments later with a hard lurch through the internal dampeners were doing their job to avoid smearing him across the front windscreen like window pizza.

She walked up to stand beside him and rested her hand of the chair, the gesture reminded him of someone else, and it felt wrong to have her do it, though he tried not to show his discomfort.

“Just beyond that asteroid.”

Captain Kell raised an eyebrow. This was all very interesting. Here he was thinking they would end up back on Noctopolis, for he had been sure that that was the hub of all pirate activity in the universe, but he guessed not. As they came around another asteroid, his eyes fell on a large chunk of rock that must have been over ten miles wide in his shi[s estimation, and from here he could already see the hive of docking ports and extending protrusions built into the rock.

He blinked in awe at the glittering blue lights and the hive of activity surrounding the massive asteroid.

Ships flew in and out through open docking bays landing here and there on extending arms. Good were moved by silent crane arms through space as add ons were constantly being made by men in space suits scurrying over the rock. The palace was…. Amazing at the same time it was an absolute disaster of engineering. You would never see something like tat made by the GA or UNSC, but from here he could see plenty of influence from all parties.

As they flew closer, they were absolutely dwarfed by the massive rock, and it’s protruding arms. All around him he saw human building techniques, and Tesraki logos stamped on almost everything as they moved forward. Massive viewing screens were all around them doing advertisements on things would would never have seen on a location run by UNSC or GA interference.

The one to his right was some sort of bootleg pill for weightloss, while, on the other side, someone was advertising some kind of flamethrower. The screen above that was giving the specs for the newest design in railgun technology.

His eyes were wide as he stared at all of it, and his heart began to race fast inside his chest.

Now THIS was awesome.

Being a space pirate sure did have its perks.

Over the radio feed static rolled in and out as the broadcasts from the different advertisements tried to pick up his frequency.

But one voice came in clear and crisp above all others, “Unknown aircraft. Identify yourself.”

“This is the Infinity requesting docking.”

There was a momentary pause over the other end of the line, as their ship was likely scanned before, “Docking permission granted, please proceed to hanger E docking space 6.”

He did as ordered, flying his ship down to the entrance of the docking bay, where he was ordered to slow, and then a large mechanical hand grabbed them around the hull and pulled them further into the asteroid.

They were dragged inside a ways, though he could definitely have flown in himself, and eventually sat down on E6.

There was a sharp jolt as they made connection with the airlock, and he stood rom his spot, turning and walking past Geea and towards the cargo bay where his men were waiting. He looked at them each in turn, making slow eye contact with them.

“You know what to do?”

There was a nod as they recognized the true words behind his eye contact, and they quickly moved into pairs of two discussing which piece of “equipment” they were looking for. It likely wouldn’t take them long, but he didn’t expect that part of their mission to take that long anyway.

Following after them, he was accompanied by Geea, Beatrice and Noble as they walked out into the tube and finally, into the absolutely massive atrium of the hidden Pirate city.

He had to stop, he just couldn’t help it, it was like nothing he had ever seen before, and his mind just couldn’t wrap itself around the massive room full of people and billboards and holograms. There were railed transports on the floor, and there were vendors selling strange food at every turn. It might have been any normal metropolitan area if it weren’t for the sort of advertisements for weapons, and strange illegal creams.

There was one place that was advertising body modifications….. With a ten percent discount if you got the limb removed with them as well.

On another wall someone was advertising a new mechanical eye. The technology hadn’t been released to the public yet, but the features…. Well the features were amazing. He found himself dragged in and rendered mostly stunned. They had him hooked by the first demonstration.

He wanted a cool new mechanical eye.

But Geea grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him, “Aren’t we supposed to be doing something.”

Angrily he frowned and held up a hand turning on her with his eyes narrowed.

He prodded her in the chest in a show of dominance towards her. Letting her know that he wasn’t afraid of being insulted or intimidated by someone like her. To him she was nothing.

“Look, I’m not stupid. I know that this genius little assasination attempt wasn’t your idea, so right here and right now, you better take me to the asshole who set you up for this is you can color me gone. I don’t work through third parties.” He prodded her in the chest again with one finer, “I don’t trust them.”

The Drev stared down at him with absolute rage and consternation.

“Don’t touch me.” She hissed.

He prodded her again, “Just try and stop me.”

She reached for his hand, but he caught her by the wrist and twisted it. He knew the way Drev joints worked, so he knew exactly what NOT to do. She howled in pain and Beatrice moved forward to help, but a spear to her throat by Noble was enough to stop her in her tracks.

“Show me your boss, or your girlfriend becomes a kabob, your choice.”

There was a sharp growl and finally Geea agreed, taking her hand back with some measure of pain and annoyance, “Fine, fine…. Follow me.”

She stalked away grumpily and Noble kept an eye on beatrice as the were led further into the station.

The captain kept his head turning this way and that distracted by the bright and colorful ads, advertising things that he wanted, and some things that he didn’t.

To his surprise, more than once he saw advertisements for Iron eye Knockoffs. He would have dared get a procedure done on this back alley asteroid, but it was still quite shocking. This air of shock continued along with him as he was led down through the darkness and into the tight passages and tunnels of the Asteroid.

Eventually Geea stopped in front of a door and knocked once.

The camera above the door whirred and looked down at them. Geea waved to it and with a hiss it finally opened.

They were led into a small waiting room with pristine little couches as if he was expecting to see a doctor at any moment, but after a few minutes of sitting another door opened and they were allowed through into the next room.

Geea told him to stay put as she was led behind yet another door.

Not to be left Behind, Beatrice followed after, giving him the opportunity to slip over to the door and quickly deploy a small circular camera which used technology unknown to him to see through the door.

It streamed directly into his fake eye as he closed the real one, and glanced around the room.

He could hear voices, and enhanced the sound of his implants.

“Did you get the assassin.”

“Yes, but there have been some, hiccups.”

“What might that be?”

“He is insisting on meeting his employers.”

The voice seemed almost bored with the idiot pirates, “Then let him meet someone, he doesn’t have to know. Jerah over there will do just fine.”

He turned his fake eye towards the source of the voice falling on some sort of hologram. He quickly looked up just as Geea was turning back towards the door.

He managed to make it up to the person’s face, a Rundi, how str-

Then he froze in shock and disbelief.

Geea reached towards the door, and it was only with a swift movement he was able to pull his camera away in time an leap from the door as she stepped from the room.

He tried to keep the horror and shock on his face in check as he was led into the room to meet his “employer.”

He didn’t care though.

He knew the truth.

There was plenty of evidence on that camera. Evidence that the chairwoman of the GA had ordered his assassination.

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polarisbibliotheque · 3 years

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DMC OC Week - Day 3: Past

OC + DMC Universe

Summary: “After 10 years, Dante goes back to the city of Remény, a place where he left much more than dead demons and thankful humans. He’d finally meet her again.”

Content: Honestly, everything you’d find in a DMC game. But with more existential crisis and exploration of repressed feelings (it’s a wild ride).

Age rating: +16

Word Count: 3.3k

“So… What’s your name, lady?”

On that grim day, when all hope was lost and Diana thought death was certain, that man in a red coat jumped in to help her defend her own life. She deemed it as good as gone, but that man stood by her side when no one else did.

And not only that – when Diana was sure she would get mortally hit, he stood in front of the blade, a scythe piercing through his chest. She screamed in horror as blood gushed from the wound, pooling around her feet and sprinkling on her hands and face. He couldn’t die, not for her. If the only person who decided to help her had to give their life for Diana, she would choose to die – he definitely was too good to go in such a terrible manner.

But he simply took the scythe off his chest and kept on going. As shocked as she was, Diana still managed to get the bloody scythe from the floor and fight. It was heavy and clunky, but she’d do whatever she needed to survive.

When all demons were gone, that man turned around to speak to her for the first time.

“Diana. And yours?”

“Most people call me Dante.” As he answered, Diana could only raise one eyebrow. ‘Most people’? How many other names did he have? “Those people who left you behind, you know them?”

“Hmmm.” Her reply was nothing more than an annoyed hum and it would remain like that. Diana checked her wound to assess how bad it was, but her heart ached more than any physical pain she felt.

What happened that day was only the last drop of water to overflow the cup of hurt emotions Diana had inside. For too long she had dealt with being mistreated by everyone around her – but she didn’t expect to be left to die like that.

Dante kept watching her for a while… She reminded him of someone.

“You think they’ll open those doors now to let you in?” He had to find out what to do next. Dante needed to get the job done, but now she was under his protection. He wouldn’t leave Diana behind, but he couldn’t move on killing demons relentlessly with a hurt human by his side. He needed to get her to safety.

And Diana just stared back at him.

“Perhaps if we ask nicely.” Her statement dripped sarcasm, making him laugh briefly. It wasn’t a laugh of enjoyment, but one that recognized how humans could sometimes be worse than demons. And it also recognized some mannerisms from a company he missed so much in his life.

“What about your family? Do you have someone around?”

“I told them to leave during the first wave. We weren’t together when the demons attacked, and I didn’t want them to die because of me.”

Diana barely looked at Dante, but he felt a pull in his heart with her words. He knew exactly what she meant – Dante himself would get the people he loved to safety first during emergencies and if he died, so be it. At least they were safe.

Especially if it was his family. If he still had one.

“The sun’s about to set, we better find a safe place to spend the night.” He looked at the skies, the color changing to a darker tone. At night, the city would be swarming with demons that lurked in the shadows – and those things would smell Diana’s fresh blood like sharks.

“Don’t worry about me, you have a job to do. I can go on my own.” Diana took the scythe from the floor again, testing the weight on her leg. It hurt more than she expected, and it didn’t stop bleeding.

But she learnt to be alone. It had been a very long time since she couldn’t trust anyone, and that day sealed her belief that she could depend on herself and herself only. Although Dante saved her, Diana also thought the world of the people who left her to die. The people she forgave so much so she wouldn’t be alone – but she was. Left to die. Left to survive.

Dante furrowed his brows. Vergil. Diana had some of his mannerisms: the way she was cold and distant, sarcastic and stoic. A lone survivor – instead of keeping it light-hearted like the Crimson Slayer, she had the cold, polite aura of the Dark Slayer.

Dante couldn’t leave her there to die.

“Well, you’re not going very far with that leg of yours.” He pointed out, making her stare at him. “C’mon. I’d prefer to continue our chat in a place where those demons won’t turn you into their Happy Meal time.”

A faint smile appeared on Diana’s lips, even though she didn’t want to. That alone made Dante a little more content about himself – he knew Vergil was hard to crack, but Dante had his ways to deal with his brother. Perhaps he could do the same with her.

When someone was so used to harshness, a little kindness could go a long way.

The mirrored walls were covered in blood. Chairs and tables were tossed around, broken, blocking the way. The floor had drag marks everywhere, covered in crystals of broken glass, bottles and cups. There were no bodies left – and if there were, they wouldn’t want to see them.

A pub wasn’t the most obvious choice for a safe place to spend the night, but it had only two entrances: Dante and Diana blocked the back door with chairs and tables, making sure no demon could enter. They left the front door unblocked, though – if they needed to escape, that was the route.

Dante knew a handful of demons who could teleport through the barricade, so an escape route was a must.

Diana sat by one of the last chairs on the bar, the scythe resting by her side, close enough to be grabbed in an emergency. Dante stood by one of the blood sprinkled windows right at the other side of the pub, checking if the streets were safe.

But he also checked on her. Diana’s wound was worse than he initially thought, and Dante was suspecting there was some sort of poison that wasn’t allowing her to heal. It kept bleeding and that was a huge problem – not only because it could attract demons, but it was unsafe for a human to bleed so much.

“Hey, Diana. Let me take a look at that.” He decided to approach her, which seemed to startle her. Diana was too lost in thoughts to remember she was there with someone else.

“It’s ok. I’m fine.” She answered briefly, but shied away from him as soon as Dante was close enough to touch her.

That annoying tug on his heart stroke again. What the hell did people do to her to make that woman so avoidant?

He understood Vergil – he really did. Neither Dante or his brother had an easy life and even though Vergil did some stupid ass things in pursuit of power, Dante knew where it came from. He knew why Vergil was so avoidant and so closed up, deeming his feelings as a weakness – Dante could never really judge him.

Yes, Vergil was a pain in the ass to deal with, but he could understand wanting to become full demon and leave all his humanity behind. For his brother to get like that, though, it took a lot. Dante’s heart always got hurt seeing another human with those traits, because it usually stemmed from a great pain.

He had always been the soft-hearted twin.

“Ei, I know a thing or two about first aid.” He sat on what was left of the seat by her side, leaning most of his weight on the bar. Dante didn’t want her to get even more uncomfortable – reaching out was a matter of patience. “But I do know a lot more on demonic wounds. Scythe through the chest, remember?”

Diana let a little smile color her lips, making Dante smile back – a little proud on breaking through that thick coat of ice, even if it was just a little bit.

“That thing isn’t healing, right? We’ll have to patch it up somehow until we find someone who can properly take care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.” Diana’s response was almost automatic – she even stopped talking as soon as she noticed the words coming out of her mouth. Luckily, Dante brushed it off and didn’t tease her as she expected he would do.

“Oh, I know that. You faced head on a bunch of demons with a metal stick as a weapon.” It was a compliment, and she wasn’t expecting that. Dante took Diana completely by surprise and disarmed her so easily. She didn’t even know what to do with herself. “Say what. I’m gonna find whatever bottle's left on this joint and pour us a drink. Whenever you get uncomfortable, we stop to have a sip and chat. How do you feel about that?”

Diana still shied away when Dante leaned a little towards her but he took her answer as a good omen.

“If you can find a surviving drink in this place, fine.”

“You have to be quite strong to be able to take a stab through your heart and keep on going.” Diana barely moved as Dante saw what he could do on her thigh.

It was way worse than he was used to see in humans. Diana mentioned a Monk at the Cathedral who could help, but he didn’t want to break the news that it was probably going to take a lot more work than just patching her up. There was something more at work there – Dante couldn’t make out if it was a poison, a jinx, a hex, or whatever else those demons had in their bodies. He just knew she was at a great risk.

But Dante also didn’t want to admit that to himself. He decided to stay in denial and tell himself “everything is gonna be alright”. He probably was being too overdramatic, too much of a doomsday person. Or at least that’s what he wanted to think.

He wasn’t going to lose her. He wasn’t able to save his brother and bring Vergil back to a normal, functioning life where he didn’t have to know only suffering and harshness – but he could do that to Diana. He could save her. He had to.

“Eh, it’s part of the job.” Dante brushed it off, already used to it. He lost count of how many times he was impaled by blades.

Dante immediately stopped what he was doing, though, when Diana took her glass from the table to take a sip of whisky. He leaned back, taking his own broken glass between his long fingers covered by black leather gloves.

“Everything ok?”

“Hmmm.” She just nodded back, taking another sip of alcohol. Dante waited, knowing she’d say something else. At least that’s how it was with Vergil. “I’m not used to that much… Touching.”

“It’s ok. You’re doing fine.” Dante’s lips searched for the part of the glass that wasn’t broken for another sip of whisky, looking aloof to allow Diana to smile briefly. She tended to smile when he wasn’t looking, even if it was a shadow of a proper smile. “We have the whole night.”

And in those sky-blue eyes, she found nothing but honesty. Dante wasn’t human, Diana knew that. But his heart was an open book in his eyes – there was something in there. A kind of pure honesty mixed with loneliness. A longing for kindness in return.

Dante waited patiently until Diana said it was ok for him to work on her wound again. He had a few first aid things resting on the bar that could help – the most he could find on that hopeless place. She didn’t touch her glass for quite a while.

“Scythe through the chest, just like the song…” She muttered to herself, drawing his attention. “Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame…”

“Darlin’, you give love a bad name.”

As soon as Dante sang back to her, Diana smiled. The very first honest smile that lit up her face, making Dante smile back. They were making progress.

“You seem to know my brother well even though you spent years apart.”

Vergil walked gracefully by Diana’s side. Enveloped by the darkness of the night, both moved silently like specters, making almost no noise. They didn’t want to draw the attention of demons during a rescue mission – they could investigate further when people were safe and the whole crew got back together.

“Dante did help me when I had no one else. He isn’t that easy to forget.”

“That you are right.” Vergil’s tone was annoyed, making her smile. “His foolishness is remarkable.”

Diana didn’t want to laugh out loud, but she did – making Vergil raise an eyebrow towards her. He wasn’t used to people laughing of the things he said… Well. People other than his brother. Dante seemed to be the only one who thought Vergil’s dry humor was funny. Having another person outside his family be so… Welcoming to him was surely different.

“It is, but it always puts a smile on our faces, right?” Diana agreed with a sigh, contemplating the bright moon high in the velvet blue sky. “He can always make me smile.”

Vergil wasn’t expecting that remark – but she was right. In all his foolishness, Dante made him smile even when Vergil didn’t want to. The Dark Slayer lost count of how many times they ended up laughing when Dante started to follow him around during an argument to “hug it out” while Vergil literally ran away around the shop’s table.

It was very angry laughing between both, but it always worked like a charm to make them less angry and stop screaming at each other.

“Hmmm.” And Diana furrowed her brows when she noticed Vergil had the same mania she had to hum while thinking. She wondered if Dante also noticed that years ago. “You’re also right about that.”

“Does he follow you around for a hug when you’re avoiding all human contact as well…?”

“…And you keep pushing him away, but that idiot is worse than a hungry koala?” Vergil completed her question, making Diana start laughing immediately.

And even though he didn’t want to, Vergil ended up laughing as well.

#dmcocweek #dmc oc #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc dante #dmc vergil #dante sparda #vergil sparda #devil may cry dante #devil may cry vergil #dante x oc #dmc crew #polaris bibliotheque #I'm sticking with those tags for now

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stan-joonies · 4 years

Text

Leave Me Like Everyone Else, It's Not Like I Believed You'd Stay

Y/n laughed when she spotted Rosalie in a tree, her face obscurred by leaves.

"I can see you, Rose." She giggled, standing near the tree.

Rosalie cleared her throat unnecessarily before jumping down, the crack of twigs and leaves filling the silence.

Y/n raised an eyebrow as Rose ignored her in favour of staring at her hands.

"Rose?" Y/n's smile dropped. "Are you ok?"

[[MORE]]

Said blonde shook her head, breathing before looking at the human. The human. Not just a human. The human.

The human that changed it all in the best way possible.

The human that made Emmett do that amazing belly laugh and Rosalie to giggle.

The human who unknowingly fell in love with two monsters, and stayed when she found out the truth.

The human who made two happy vampires even happier.

The human who's heart Rosalie had to break.

The vampire steeled herself, her lips pressed thinly and her shoulders squaring.

"This isn't working." Just those words made Rosalie feel like her insides were aflame. Hands digging their way out of the ground and clawing at her feet, pulling her underground.

Y/n felt like the breath had escaped her, eyes widening.

"What? Rose...What's going on?"

Rosalie gently shook of her hand, closing her eyes and grimacing.

"Me and Emmett thought we were missing something, so we experimented. We thought you were the one we needed but we were wrong. Me and Emmett..." Rosalie felt hands of air trying to choke her. "Are better on our own."

Rosalie wanted to cry in that moment as Y/N's eyes glossed over, lines appearing on her forehead.

"This is a joke right...?"

Rosalie could only shake her head, watching as Y/N broke down, her heart slowly being ripped apart.

Rosalie took a careful step forward, reaching a pale hand to touch her, gasping when Y/N slapped it away.

"Don't touch me!" She exclaimed, h/c brows scrunching up. "You don't get to do that!"

"Y/n..."

"No!" She shouted furiously. "Where's Emmett? He couldn't bother to be here too? I'm not worth the two second trip, am i?" Y/n snarled, crossing her arms over her chest as if trying to shield her fragile heart from more damage. "To think i was this stupid."

"Y/n...you're not..."

Y/n ignored her, rolling her eyes.

"Ever since we got into this relationship. In the back of my mind it was always 'Emmett and Rosalie'. You were always there! My thoughts couldn't escape! Where's Rosalie and Emmett today? Are Rosalie and Emmett having fun? Are Rosalie and Emmett happy today." She let out a sob. "Then i found out...that you weren't what i thought you were. The thoughts got so much worse, so much more negative. Rosalie and Emmett are immortal...will they be there even when I'm old? How would Rosalie and Emmett feel once i die? How can i be equal to Rosalie and Emmett if i die soon. Can Rosalie and Emmett love me equally even if they have hundreds of years together against my fifty? You never left. Those thoughts consumed me. The doubts and thoughts became my daily. But i had the both of you, when you invited me over and we'd snuggle on the couch with Emmett at our feet and we'd watch him play video games, giving him praise when he won. When he was done he'd lift us both and carry us to his room where we'd all hug eachother close. I'd be wearing three jumpers because you both would make me feel freezing. Those moments made doubts go away, if only for a day."

"Y/N," Rosalie encased her in a hug, wincing when, instead of melting into it, she freezes. "You a--were everything. We love you so much. There was no need for those doubts. We love you like you love us and we love eachother."

"But that's still not enough to stay," Rosalie tensed, eyes widening. She didn't even move when y/n broke out of her lax hold.

"I need to find Bella," she quickly turned, running out of the forest and away from Rosalie.

Once she was far away, Emmett jumped down from the trees, quickly taking Rosalie into his arms.

"Why couldn't you be here with me," Rosalie muttered, digging her head into his chest.

Emmett closed his eyes, feeling his heart throb and a familiar emptiness consume him.

"Cause I'd run after her..."

Y/N was doing better. When she found out the Cullens had skipped town she was heartbroken, a hollowness consuming her for months on end.

Then, University arrived. A chance to leave the little town of Forks and escape the bad omens lurking in the darkness.

She smiled when she got her acceptance letter. It was far away yet still only a five hour car ride. Bella tearfully told her to come see her once a month, Y/N just as tearfully agreed while hugging the girl's oxygen away.

Y/N remembered driving away, her family waving her off and a sense of lightness came about her. She wasn't healing or living. But she was surviving.

With her stomach full, Y/N made her way out of the cheap restaurant and down the dark road. It was swallowed in shadows, rain pouring down and clanging against bins.

Shaking off a sudden chill, she continued walking, her boots clicking against stone.

From her right, a bin tipped over, clashing against the floor and echoing around her. She wanted to stop, see what had caused it.

But Rosalie taught her better.

"No matter what happens, keep moving."

Her voice echoed hauntingly in her head and she followed it, her steps quickening slightly when another bin fell up ahead. Then another. And another.

It was like a horrible, screeching banshee echoeing around her. Her heart was drumming against her ribs cage and her vision became blurry when she forgot to breath.

So when hands slithered around her waist like snakes and pulled her into the darkness, she couldn't scream...

When Y/N woke in the barn, seeing Victoria smiling down at her, she jolted up and accidentally smasher a hole into the barn. That earned her being ripped apart and left to slowly reassemble. After that, Y/N chose to brood in silence, actively thinking about her human life and grasping onto them. They were the only things she had now.

When a shirt Y/N recognised was passed around, she hid in shadows, resisting the temptation to snatch it and smell it herself.

That clothing was Bella's. The same Bella who changed her life and now it was the Bella who smelt so sweet to Y/N that she wanted her.

Then, after a month, she met Bree Tanner. A small girl who built up her own resistance, something Y/N admired.

They spoke about their lives before, everyday they became closer, to the point of being sisters.

When Victoria released them, making the mindless newborns follow her by scrunching up a piece of Bella's clothing in her hands, their resistance was put to the test.

They stayed up on trees, far away from Bella.

Y/N watched as her family defeated the monsters, ripping off their heads and throwing them into a fire. But the newborns were vicious, biting and scraping at tough skin.

When Y/N caught sight of Emmett and Rosalie, it felt like a rusty wrench sunk into her heart.

She wanted to go to them, fight with them, but Bree held her back.

"They'll mistake you for the enemy." She informed, making Y/N rethink her options.

When they were all destroyed, a wolf taken away, they jumped from the trees, announcing their presence.

From down here, Bella's scent was much more potent and strong, but Y/N's resolve was stronger.

"No..." she heard someone cry. Y/N looked up, her eyes connecting to Bella's teary ones. "Y/N...what happened."

The vampire looked down in shame, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Victoria caught me, wasn't intentional, but she was ecstatic when she did," she huffed.

Their eyes travelled to her body, where all her scars showed. One thick one on her neck where they ripped her head off. Two on her arms. Two on her legs. Multiple on her stomach...

"This is Bree Tanner," she introduced. "She's my friend."

She tried with all her might to not look at Rosalie and Emmett, who, in comparison, desperately tried to catch her eye.

Then, figures emerged from the forest in billowy black cloaks that masked their faces from view.

"You missed a couple," Jane stated, eyes trained onto Bree and Y/N.

Rosalie snarled angrily, stepping between her and Jane.

"They're with us,"

Y/N sighed, pulling Rosalie back and looking into her eyes.

The world tilted, her dead heart hammering against her chest. Rosalie was even more beautiful then she remembered. Her golden strands of hair framed her face like an antique painting, her porcelain skin glowed from the faint sunlight that peeked through the clouds. Her eyes were black and cold yet they invited Y/N in, almost begging her to come closer and look into them more.

The dam had broke and her eyes immediately searched for Emmett's, who sped to her side and grabbed her by the waist. He was larger it seemed, muscles more defined and his cheekbones higher. His eyes were dark and dangerous but inviting too. His dark hair in contrast to his pale skin created a beautiful painting of a fallen angel. She felt warmth spread through her and caress her slowly mending heart.

Everything was misplaced. Her feelings clashing with her brain and her senses becoming completely overloaded. Memories swarmed her, pushing others out of the way.

The feeling of being disconnected from reality felt freeing yet absolutely terrifying.

But Emmett and Rosalie hugged her, and their bodies were no longer cold to her.

In those arms, the same that had comforted her, the same that had loved her, the same ones thst had broke her, she knew things would happen. Good or bad, she didn't know. But things were coming her way, and she'd be damned if she faced it alone.

Her resolve melting, her arms, with no lack of struggle, snuggled into them both.

For a couple of seconds she could forget the outside world. Just for a couple of seconds.

A white field, burning, suffering. Screams rising into the cool air.

Emmett screaming, Rosalie crying.

A s/c head rolling on the ground, imprinting the snow.

Alice gasped, shaking out of her vision, her eyes going to the three vampires cocooning themselves from the world.

Alice felt sympathy rise up into her chest.

There was only one future...and it didn't see them all in it.

#twilight #twilight x reader #twilight imagine #rosalie #rosalie hale #rosalie hale x reader #rosalie hale imagine #rosalie cullen #emmett x reader #emmett cullen x reader #emmett cullen imagine #emmett #emmett cullen #angst #fluff #new moon #imagine

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matildaofoz · 4 years

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The Harvest Pt.1 (Warlock!Michael x Reader)

A/N: Happy Halloween, Witches and Warlocks! Here it is, part 1 of The Harvest, the one night of the year were predator and prey come to revel under the Blue Moon.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Cursing and the promise of more to come in Pt. 2

Tag List: @prophecy-is-inevitable @jimmlangdon @drasangel @leatherduncan @sexwon131 @rocketgirl2410 @9layerdevilfoodcake @vulgarprayer @michaellangdonstanaccount @michaellandgons-sunshine @iwillboilyourteeth @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul

I hope I tagged all of you who showed interest, if not - I’M SORRY! Forgive me (and shoot me amessage so I can add you for Pt.2)

Fair Maiden,

you are hereby cordially invited to attend the annual celebration and Warlock tradition that is The Harvest.

Upon the last night of October, you will partake in the ancient tradition as a guest of honor, taking place at the Langdon Estate.

All further necessary arrangements will be divulged to your person at an appropriate time.

We look forward to welcoming you and remain until such time

Sincerely,

Ambrose Holt,

High Warlock

The hand holding the parchment sank into your lap after you finished reading its contents out loud to your mother and stepfather. Confusion and a hint of fear flitted over your features and you began to worry your lip as your eyes skimmed over the contents again in an effort to make sense of them.

“That damned Son of a Whore, Ambrose Holt!” your stepfather cursed, beginning to pace the length of the drawing room.

“John Henry Moore, hold your tongue!” your mother hissed, taken aback by his foul language. Her eyes followed him around the room as she scooted closer to you on the chaise longue to take a look at the letter herself.

“It's all my fault! I never should have taken the two of you back here with me. I was foolish to think that something like this wouldn't happen,” he seethed, running his hands through his dark hair. He stemmed himself off the fireplace mantel, his mind racing at the significance of the letter.

“We'll tell them she won't attend, it's simple,” your mother retorted, placing one hand atop your own still clutching the piece of paper. The look on her face told you that she wanted to believe her own words more than anything.

“Darling, that won't be an option. Once you are invited you have to attend, you do not decline a High Warlock's Summon. This is a direct attack on me in the most barbaric way and I’ve dragged you both into my mess.” A humourless chuckle rumbled from his chest at the admission. Your mother’s hand squeezed yours tightly, lips drawn thin as she watched her husband. This was beyond a nightmare. He needed to come up with a plan, a way to halt the events that had been set in motion but begun a long time before he met you and your mother.

“I need to pay a visit to an old friend,” he muttered under his breath suddenly as he pushed himself off the mantelpiece and rushed for the door.

“Where are you going?” your mother threw after him but he was already out in the hallway.

“I’m going to see Behold Chablis. Don’t wait up for me!” he shouted before the front door slammed shut and the two of you were left in silence.

“It will be alright, Angel. Don’t you worry,” your mother said. She forced a smile and you weren’t sure if her words were meant solely for your own reassurance.

You remained silent, looking down at the letter, an uneasiness settling in the pit of your stomach. If your stepfather sought the council of another warlock when he had sworn of his brotherhood for over a decade, it was a bad omen of things to come. Your eyes traced the elegant penmanship on the page. The Harvest. Whatever it was, it made the skin on the back of your neck prickle.

The letter had arrived that afternoon while you were busy tending to the garden with your mother. John Henry had taken custody of the letter, delivered by a private courier and paled as he saw the High Warlock Council's sigil etched on the envelope beneath your name.

Before your mother's marriage to the Warlock, you had believed the supernatural to be but flights of fancy, parables adorning the pages of children's fairy tales as a way to keep them from misbehaving, whispered his hushed voices over a candle under the guise of a full moon to scare each other. All that changed with John Henry's entry into your life at the age of 12. While he was himself a Warlock, a fact he kept hidden from everyone around him except for you and your mother, he had come to condemn his kind several years before. He felt his brethren had strayed from the righteous path of magick, meant to guide, heal and better the lives of those through who's veins it flowed in favour of a darker, more sinister purpose. At the centre of it, he believed the Langdon's were to blame. They had corrupted those around them, slithering their way even into the High Council itself and changing the fabric of the ancient brotherhood.

He told you what he thought you would need to know when you were old enough to at least partially understand, for your own protection should such a time arise. You were not of his blood but you were his daughter and he had sworn that he would protect both your mother and you. The arrival of the letter had made it clear that the time had come and he wasn't sure he would be able to make good on his promise to you after all.

He did not come back that night and after you mother had retreated to their bedroom, you too went up to your room to ready yourself for bed. However much you willed it, sleep did not come easy. In the darkness of your room, dimly illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows, your eyes were drawn to your writing desk were you had placed the letter. The words kept running throughout your head and the more you thought about them, the less you felt you understood them. With a huff you turned onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut tightly in an effort to stop the thoughts running a mile a minute. It must be past midnight by now and you were no closer to falling asleep. The last day of October was just over a week away and even though you couldn't possibly know what the night held in store for you, you'd be damned if you showed up unprepared. You may not be magically-inclined but you were well-versed in the art of reading. John Henry's library was just down the hall, the myriad of manuscripts and tomes softly calling your name in the dead of night.

“Oh, curse all this!” you muttered under your breath, throwing the blankets off your body and tiptoeing across the room to the door, evading the creaking floorboards that would alert your mother. She was a terribly light sleeper. The air around you was frigid, your nightgown doing nothing to keep out the chill that crept up your legs and over your bare arms. You edged along the wall to your desk, placing the knitted shawl hung over the chair around your shoulders.

Quietly, you inched across the hallway, stopping for a moment to look at your parents closed bedroom door. Silence. Taking it as your cue, you flitted to the door on the far end of the corridor, hoping to God that he hadn't locked it. Gingerly, you pushed down on the handle so it wouldn't squeak. The door swung ajar. Unlocked. With a small satisfied grin, you pushed through the opening and closed it behind you silently. A relived sigh escaped your lips as your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark room, any moonlight blocked out by thick curtains. You had only been in John Henry's study a couple of times, to stand at the threshold as you told him that dinner was ready or to venture in to bring him a cup of tea while he poured over manuscripts behind the large mahogany desk. While he did believe wholeheartedly that a lady should be educated beyond learning to play the piano and housekeeping, he had made it clear that the books in his study were off limits.

“There is nothing in my study that a young lady such as yourself need concern yourself with. The less you know, the better,” his words rang in your ears. You wagered he would be eating his own words right about now, considering the events of the afternoon. You scoffed, as you inched your way across the plush carpet under your bare feet, to where you believed his desk was. Your eyes were beginning to make out the silhouettes of the furniture and soon enough your hip bumped into hard wood. You winched at the the small pain and your hands began to feel out for the box of matches you knew he kept on the desk somewhere. He could easily light the candles or the fireplace in his room with a snap of his fingers because he had shown you. However, he preferred not to, saying it made him feel more like any other man who was not gifted with his supernatural inclination.

“Ha!” you exclaimed as your right hand came upon the match box, your left coming up over your mouth to stifle the sound. Several seconds went by with you as still as a statue as you waited to hear your parents bedroom door creak open. When no sound bar the pounding of your heart reached your ears, you let out a breath, cursing yourself. You couldn't risk being found out when you hadn't even begun to gather any information. Without wasting any more precious time, you swiftly took out a match and light it on the rough side of the box. The flame came to life before your eyes and all you could see was the bright light for several blinding seconds. Your eyes roamed over the desk now bathed in the small flame and you found the candle holder. You took off the glass cover and held the match to the wick, lighting the candle and placed the cover back over the now burning candle to keep it from being blown out. Hooking your finger into the holder, you ventured over to the wall of books, suddenly discouraged from your task at the sheer volume of knowledge stacked into the ceiling-heigh bookcases tat adorned the wall. This was going to be much more tedious than you had anticipated. Your eyes began skimming over the spines, half of what was on them not making any sense to you.

The Seven Wonders, The Musings of one Augustus Bromhold, Lupercalia throughout the Ages, The Warlock's Pocket Guide to Necromancy. You continued along the shelves, some of the books so old that in the dim light you couldn't make out the writing and some didn't seem to have any on the spines at all.

A Complete History of Warlock Traditions

At the title, your mind went back to the letter. The Harvest had been described as an annual tradition so surely, in a book entitled 'A Complete History of Warlock Traditions' it must be mentioned. You peeled the tome from the confines of the shelf and went to sit in the armchair stood next to the cold fireplace in the corner. You placed the candle on the small side table and and opened the book at the back, hoping to reveal the glossary. Having found what you were looking for, you flipped back to the page and began to read, teeth softly gnawing at your lower lip.

The Blood Harvest, an archaic ritual celebration held on the 31st of October was outlawed by the High Warlock Council on 4th April, 1763. Still referred to by outliers of the Warlock Brotherhood simply as The Harvest, in an effort to conceal the brutal nature of the dark rite of passage ritual, it is rarely observed to this day. The High Council has prosecuted the outlawed celebration and of those who oppose the rule of law and remain faithful to the ritual to this day.

Celebrated annually before its outlaw, the ritual invoked the divine duality. Warlocks and human women, dressed to represent The Horned God and Triple Goddess respectively, partook in the ritual sacrifice on All Hallow's Eve to appease the supernatural beings that stalk the living on the night of the undead. Often cited to bestow great powers on the Warlocks who successfully complete the ritual rite of passage with one of the women selected, it is now widely regarded as nothing more than bloodshed, sacrificing those unfortunate and unknowing females to a slow and painful death at either the hands of the Warlocks if they so choose or the creatures invoked as formidable foes to the young men as a way to prove their supremacy over the dark forces and step into adulthood.

A cold shudder ran down your spine as your eyes read over the passage, letting the book sink into your lap. How was it possible that a High Warlock invited to you to an outlawed tradition by the High Council itself 100 years ago no less? Unless, it was no longer outlawed...John Henry's knee-jerk reaction to the letter no longer seemed so cloak-and-dagger.

A sudden creaking of floorboards on the other side of the door made your pulse thrum in your neck. Had your stepfather returned or perhaps you had been too loud and your mother had heard? You would've heard either the front door or the bedroom door open but then your mind was still swooning from your discovery. Gingerly, you placed the book on the side table next to the candle and inched to the door. Your breath caught in your lungs as you listened, on ear pressed to the cool wood. You could hear someone, something on the other side. The sounds of scratching against the wood made you shrink back, one hand coming to rest over your chest, your heart beating erratically. Your other hand reached for the door handle and you collected your wits about you before you pushed down the handle and yanked it open. You were greeted by a mass of fur and dark eyes that shot up to your face, equally as surprised as you were.

“Oh heaven's, Rosie!” you hissed, trying to calm yourself down at the sight of the family dog that must've heard you wandering around and decided to see for herself what you were up to in the dead of night. She tilted her head slightly at the mention of her name, looking past you and into the study that was off limits to her, her nose sniffing at the foreign scent of the room. If it wasn't for your incessant insistence that the St. Bernard was despite her outward appearance, nothing more than an overgrown lap dog,your parents would have kept her outside almost exclusively. With a lazy curiosity, she stepped over the threshold past your legs to inspect the new-found territory. You quickly walked past her to place the book back in its place on the shelf and took the candle holder in your hand, before turning around to see that Rosie had plopped herself down on the carpet in the middle of the room, watching you through her friendly heavy eyes.

“Rosie, you know you are not allowed in here. Well, technically neither and am I so where does that leave us? Come on, let's not leave any trace of us being here,” you berated her half-heartedly, grabbing her by he collar in the hopes that she would grace you with compliance. She looked up at you with an expression of indifference, seeing as your late-night musing must've roused her from her slumber downstairs as she came back up on all fours with a huff to trot out the room in front of you, waiting at the threshold.

“I don't know about you, but I could use some fresh air, what do you say?” you whispered in her direction, her presence calming your frazzled nerves somewhat. With one final glance around the study, you exited, making sure to shut the door as quietly as possible, leaving no trace of your trespassing. Should your mother, wake you could put the blame on Rosie for rousing you to go outside. You'd make sure to bring the candle back up with you, when you came back later. With a nod of your head, you silently bade her to follow you down the stairs and out the front door.

The midnight air was as welcome to your burning skin as it was chilling, serving to ground you and you pulled the shawl tighter around your shoulders with one hand, the candle in the other dimly illuminating the air around you. You watched the lit wick flicker slightly, growing and wavering in intensity, shielded only by the glass from the wind. Ever since this afternoon, your world had begun to tilt on its axis, threatening to plunge you into the unknown, to blow out that candle and yet there was no glass cover to keep you from being engulfed by the darkness that surrounded you. Rosie began to make her rounds around the front of the house and you became lost in your thoughts of what would happen but a week from now. John Henry had tried to shield you, believing it was safe to finally return to his birthplace with you in tow. Now it seemed, all those years of shielding you from his past would come to haunt your present.

Rosie's low growl beside you pulled you out of you reverie and your eyes snapped into the direction she faced, teeth bared and snarling. You struggled to see the source of her sudden defence through the candlelight blinding you of your surroundings and the dense mist that settled over the ground at night. Beyond the stone walls along the gravel road, you could make out a cloaked dark form and for a moment you thought it was John Henry who had come back from his visit to his old warlock friend. Yet the tall figure stopped about 100 yards away in the middle of the road, an ominous feeling creeping up your legs and spine at the sight. Your house was nestled in the countryside, the next estate and their occupants miles away. You stood, frozen to the spot as you waited for the figure to move. Around them, the fog grew thicker, spreading outward like pipe smoke blown against a glass pane, and engulfing both you and Rosie, who began to growl beside you.

Michael watched as you left the house, your nightgown billowing in the frigid night breeze, revealing glimpses of the smooth skin of your legs. When Ambrose Holt had told him of the letter sent to John Henry's stepdaughter, he knew he needed to see for himself what would ultimately be the downfall of that heretic Warlock who had come too close to undoing all of what his family, his father had set out to achieve. To restore the warlock bloodlines to their former glory and to retake what he and many others considered to be their birthright. It was foolish to think that mere humans could achieve what his kind had over millennia, he scoffed at their hubris in the face of such mundaneness. John Henry had forsaken his kind and had tried to smother their power, their supremacy. He should've remained in his self-imposed exile, Michael mused as his eyes took you in, still unaware of his gaze on you, smiling at the way the breeze plucked small strands of your hair out the loose braid you wore to bed, the way it flushed your cheeks a rosy red. You would make the perfect Goddess to his Horned God.

He could whisk you away right now when you offered yourself so freely, unattended in the middle of the night, your pet of a dog wouldn't stand in the way one bit. Patience, he chastised himself as he walked closer along the road with calculated slow steps, his black cloak swishing around him, his hood drawn down into his face. He had waited this long to take revenge on John Henry, he could wait a week more, even though you made it hard for him when your eyes finally spotted him, raking over him at the sounds of that wretched beast beside you. Underneath the hood, he grinned, satisfied by your reaction. He could smell your fear even from here, so deliciously terrified at the site of him, frozen on the spot. He had you precisely where we wanted you. With a barely cognisant flick of his wrist at his side, the fog grew ticker around him and his invisible fingers reached through it to graze along the backs of your legs and up your spine. Oh, he was going to enjoy this years Harvest more than ever when the prize was you and all you embodied.

You felt the fog move against the base of your neck, distinctly like fingers on your skin. The candle in your hand began to flicker and blew out, leaving your in darkness, only the pale moonlight as your guide. Your eyes grew wide as you were plunged into darkness and before them, the cloaked stranger disappeared into thin air, swallowed by the mist. Rosie's growls stopped and she shook off her guard, back to her usual self. You met her gaze, you heart still pounding furiously before you hastened back to the house, nearly tripping on your way up the stone steps. Rosie trotted after you, nudging you up the stairs. Even though she didn't seem half as bothered as you, she rarely moved this quickly. You pushed open the front door, Rosie slipping inside past your feet. You threw the door closed behind you, your back pressing into the wood as you struggled to catch your breath. For a moment, you stood in darkness and silence before heading up to your room, not caring if your mother would wake at the ruckus you made. You prayed that John Henry would be back by the morning with answers. The candle holder out of his room stood forgotten on the hallway table.

#michael langdon x you #michael langdon x reader #warlock!michael #michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagines #spooktober

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The Monster’s Lair - A Baptism of Fire

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 11 | Chapter 12 - A Baptism of Fire

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale, manhunt, blood, gore, death, vampirism, witchcraft, evil fairies, angst

Author’s note: It’s always so bittersweet to finish a long fic. For weeks it has been embedded in my brain, bubbling up on the most impractical moments. Business meetings? Yes. 3AM whilst trying to sleep? Yep. And of course.. once I found a moment to write, the muse was gone and I’d just stare at a blank page for a good hour. Now..after all those struggles..it’s finished. My baby’s finished! *sigh* THE POST-FIC VOID IS CALLING. 😩

Anyways, I’d love to hear from you, dear readers. Give me all your feelings, ideas, tips (and of course fic prompt ideas).❤️I love you and I hope you enjoyed the read!

Word count: 7.801

Reading music: Sowulu - Wulfwiga

(Link to my Masterlist)

Something was there.

Like she owned a sixth sense, she knew when danger lurked. And lurking it did. But quietly. Far too quietly. Flicking her ears the deer listened in more closely, the cold forest sounds muted by the thick layer of snow that covered the earth and greens. Winter was at its deepest and coldest now, meaning hunger pushed the herd further to the borders of comfort.

Turning her ears again, her eyes unblinking, she watched with large doe eyes into the dawn. Another whisper sounded through the trees. Hard to discern. But there. Something was definitely there.

Her heart started to gallop, but her feet remained stationary. Nothing around her seemed to be out of the ordinary, the world as white and quiet as ever before. Perhaps it had been a bird or critter. And perhaps it was death.

Her ears pricked around her head, but neither eye nor ear could spot anything strange. All she could see were the slow sun rays that had started weaving their way through the pine trees, starting yet another day in winter wonderland.

Though it was no wonderland for her. More like a fuzzy white nightmare. As she stood there she felt a strange daze fall over her, her limbs no longer her own as her heart beat for two. Gnawing nervously on the patch of grass between her lips, she tried to figure out what was happening to her. Was it an evil spirit? An omen?

A twig snapped and fast as lightning her hooves spurred into full sprint, back to the safety of the herd that had also started to scatter, away from the invisible danger. With leaps and jumps she rushed over the icy planes and snow-heavy branches, hoping to outrun whatever was hunting her so silently.

Birds chirped and snow fell, the sudden rumour in the forest having caused a flock of birds to set off. Perfect for the deer, as their flight made a soft powdery curtain fall behind her tail, her trail temporarily hidden from her perpetrator. Her scent, however, was not hidden. Nor was her heartbeat; now loud as a war drum in her furry chest. With her small hooves she landed on yet another icy patch, its menacingly slippery mirror reflecting hell as it lapped at her ankles.

But, by a fickle sliver of luck, she got away again. Her perpetrator had also slipped and with the thunder in her heart she raced on, legs scrambling and eyes wild.

Move, move, move! Run, run, run!

Having now lost track of her herd, she felt that same strange buzz in her veins. Like she was possessed. And the spirit inside her whispered; “Go to the light!”

Full sprint she set off to where the trees cleared out, the hunt leaving no moment to ponder and hesitate. The fairy spirit inside her now took over, her long legs stretching in large leaps, near making her fly as a merry chuckle danced through her twitching ears. Here more sunshine managed to break through the canopy, its rays glowing warm and yellow over powdery snow.

When she reached the final trees, a beastly growl was heard behind her. Her perpetrator was obviously not happy with this new direction. Would he maybe shy away? Break off the chase? Had this fairy saved her?

She had no time to wait and see. And thus with restless hooves she jumped into the open field. A field which wasn’t a field at all. It was a garden. Large terraces were layered over a hill, with on the very top a castle that was long past its glory days. And despite that, it looked like heaven’s gates, the sun casting a warm hue over the mossy stonework, snow glittering on its window sills.

“Go, go, go!” The fairy ushered, spurring on the deer to run on. Higher and higher. Deeper and deeper into the garden. Until finally she reached the gates to this heavenly hell.

“Good!” The fairy cheered. “And now you die!”

‘Hahaha..oh like you would.’ Belle cooed, teasingly rubbing her foot up the Master’s leg, their chairs settled next to each other before the fire. In their laps lay books, but they had long been forgotten as the two bantered on.

‘Do not underestimate my..-’ The Master’s scoffing words halted as he flicked his head away from her, eyes looking up and over Belle’s shoulder.

‘Is the castle falling to ruin yet?’ Belle chuckled, unaware of what the Master had picked up on - it happened on occasion that his attention would fly off like that. His head tilted up to the ceiling as he kept scanning for the source, thereby presenting something Belle had not spotted yet. Beneath his carefully tucked cravatte two angry looking marks appeared. Bite marks. Purple and blue, little veins around them bruised and broken.

‘AI!’ Belle shot up from her chair, book left in the seat as she rushed to push the white cotton further down. ‘You are hurt!’ She exclaimed, the Master’s heaven blue gaze now turning back to her. With a hesitant swallow he nodded, arms reaching out to pull her into his lap, ears continuing to prick and look for more strange sounds.

Belle still didn’t notice much of any foreign presence, her fingers looping around the knot of the cravatte to untighten it. ‘You should have told me.’ She chided softly, fingertips grazing over the edges of the broken skin. ‘Tis nothing.’ The Master brushed off, but Belle’s expression made it clear that she did not believe a word of it.

‘If it were nothing it’d have healed by now.’ She retorted, referring to the Master’s ability to heal at a phenomenally fast rate. ‘Let me at least clean it for you!’ And with that she hopped off his lap, skirts flying out of the library in a flurry. Grumbling the Master followed, eyes taking one last look over his shoulder, finding the library’s contents still slumbering.

What was it he was hearing? Was it his staff pulling a prank? The icy wind outside? He thought he had lived here long enough to know every single one of the sounds in this castle.

Turning his attention back to the long hallway, he followed Belle, eyes not leaving her again as he admired her slender frame. It had taken weeks for her to finally accept and wear the great many gowns his wife had left behind. But here she was. Wearing a particularly enchanting, silverish white dress, her hair put up nicely and lips curled in a rosy smile. She looked like an angel, and he couldn’t help but think of what his wife had been like. But Belle was more. Not only was she here. She was livelier…. Happier.

Happiness. It was a strange emotion to feel again. Even now the crooked pull of his lips felt awkward, foreign. But the pretty maiden before him didn’t seem to mind, her large brown eyes looking back at him as he trailed a few steps behind her.

‘Are you gonna hunt me down?’ She teased, eyebrow quirking with a challenge before she upped her step, dainty feet speeding down the long hallway. The Master chuckled.

Happiness. It was strange indeed.

‘Oh, you look at that.’ Plumette sighed dreamily, watching as the Master caught the giggling maiden before capturing her in a sweet kiss. The grandmaster clock grumbled something indiscernible, receiving a little gasp from the feather duster as she gave him a scornful look. ‘Say that again.’ She demanded, glaring at the clock that was close to a slumber - least to her amusement.

‘Time..’ He mumbled, before his eyes fully closed.

‘Time.’ She repeated, huffing slightly. “Time this, time that! ‘Tis a tale as old as time’ he says.” Ladieladiela! PFFT!’ She swivelled off to follow the two lovebirds as they hooked their arms around one another.

‘Well. I say it IS time.’

‘Time for what?’ The little teacup joined her from the kitchens, his porcelain body cleaned off and ready for a new serving. The duster eyed him as he panted to keep up, his porcelain foot hopping with great effort to follow her fast feather feet. With a dramatic twirl she halted and turned.

‘Oh..just look at how pitifully you run, dear boy!’ Her long lashes looked down upon him as the poor teacup shyly looked away, embarrassed by his inability to do what any young boy should be able to do. ‘I say, dear boy, that it’s time we get rid of this darn curse, that’s what!’

‘But ..but how?’ He asked desperately. He had long accepted that he would be a failure when it comes to young boys. He couldn’t play, couldn’t run, couldn’t climb trees. All he could do was hop and talk, hop and talk.

‘Well boy! It’s a curse! Curses can be done..and undone!’ And with that she turned back to watch as the Master tenderly folded a rogue hair back behind Belle’s ear, the sight making a small smile tug at Plumette’s pretty duster lips.

Well. That’s how.

‘We are cursed!’ The butcher rose his fist in the air, making the crowd in the great hall of the Les Comtes roar in agreement. ‘First the drought. The hunger. Then the killing of Ismael’s men in the woods…’ He pointed at the seat where a dark haired lady sat, the Grandmaster’s chair next to her empty. ‘..and the sudden death of our Grandmaster!’ - ‘AYE’ - ‘Tis true.’ The gathered men wholeheartedly agreed. More fists rose in the air, before the room calmed again, the mysterious raven maiden standing up from her seat to walk into the middle of the hall, attracting the men’s attention.

With cool eyes she looked around her, the roars dying down until the hall was quiet as mice. She was a beauty to behold and it had been only weeks since they had taken her on as the grandmaster’s wife. With the sudden demise of their good grandmaster, they were left with this calm apparition of pure divinity, her looks closer to that of an angel than of a woman made of flesh and blood. Slowly her long sleeve rose, a pale hand appearing from the burgundy robe.

‘I grieve!’ She chanted, her chest rising deeply before she turned her eyes towards the butcher, his lips falling open ever so slightly - enchanted. ‘So now. What do you suggest we do, good sir? How shall we avenge my dear husband’s death?’ Her voice played her role of grieving wife perfectly, though her cool eyes sparkled with danger.

The butcher swallowed back a lump and stepped in, eyes searching his fellow men for agreement. ‘I’d say..fair lady..’ He bowed his head slightly. ‘..we must avenge him indeed. But first we must find our lord. Ismael! He shall lead us on, as ever he has done.’

The men didn’t chant quite the agreement he expected, his eyes nervously peering left and right as he heard timid whispers about. Finally one man stepped forward; ‘Say nay, is it not strange, that he is not here? Where is he?! Our Grandmaster?!’

The long sleeved arm rose up again, silencing the roaring whispers. ‘We know not.’ She raised her chin slightly, as if the next news was cause for more grief. ‘He is not in his rooms. His bed is unslept. I fear..’ She lowered her gaze to the floor. ‘..he was taken as well.’

‘Tis like the fires!’ A scrawny man with wild eyes stepped forward. ‘The beast is coming into our homes, stealing our wives..children..and now also our new grandmaster!’ The crowd roared in agreement, but then a woman appeared from behind broad backs, her face scowling and voice straining to silence the crowd. ‘NO! SAY NO LIES!’ The rowdy men halted their loud chants. ‘Me and my children were SAVED, not stolen!’

And with that she gave a menacing look at the scrawny man who huffed in annoyance. Another few voices mingled in and before long the whole hall had erupted in another loud quarrel. Nobody was quite sure who was right, and what had been the Beast’s doing. But they sure were ready to avenge themselves, one way, or the other.

Halting his step for a moment the Master looked back over Belle’s shoulder, the long hallway before them soon to reach the entree hall. With a mindless lick of his bottom lip he pricked his ears, still not quite sure of what he had heard just now. It had most definitely not been his staff. An..animal perhaps?

Belle’s curious eyes looked up at the Master, her lips still curled in a soft, relaxed smile. ‘What is it?’ She asked gently.

‘A..deer..’ The Master frowned. ‘..or something like it.’

It was unusual for deer to get this close to the castle. They knew well that a predator lived here. And one would only go to a predator’s lair if they were young and naive or..hmmm…Or..Or chased..

Fuck.

Like the devil heard the Master’s inward grunt, the front door was barged open, icy winds spewing a whirl of snow into the entry hall.

FUCK!

Without thinking twice the Master lifted Belle in his arms, his long legs making a sprint for the first room to his right, his brain not even thinking of blocking the doorway; they needed to get out of here. Now.

Was it back? Was it back?!

With all the speed he could muster in his legs he ran into one of the windows - which thankfully were on ground floor level, his shoulder turning forward to brace for impact as they ran straight through the thin glossy pane. Belle yelped in terror, her ever-present smile having melted like snow before the sun as a thousand small shards of glistening daggers now brushed past them, licking their skin. It was a near miracle that the cuts left them unharmed, before the Master landed onto the soft snow outside.

With bewildered eyes he started running, away from the castle, his gaze noting that he hadn’t been wrong. There was indeed a deer before him, her swishing tail pointed up as she too ran for her life, long legs bouncing through the powdery white.

A terror clenched in his heart as he made his way down the many garden terraces, his feet knowing blindly where all roots and bushes were hidden in this fine maze of natural traps.

Behind them the loud growls of a beast were heard, also just as he expected. A deer and a beast, right here in his lair. What was going on? Was he about to lose his domain? Right now, in the broad daylight? FUCK.

He wasn’t the only one whose curiosity peaked. Sweet Belle had finally overcome the initial shock of the sudden chase, her large brown eyes daring to look around as the cold wind cut into her expressive eyes. Tears started to well - be it of shock or the icy air - and as she looked over the Master’s shoulder, all she could see were blurs. It was as if death itself was chasing them, a dark menacing cloud jumping out of the busted window, the cold wind licking at its feet.

‘Sshh.’ The Master hushed, twisting his tiring arms so she could no longer see. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was feeling so sluggish, but with Belle twisting like this in his arms, her weight seemed even greater. Just his luck. On the very moment of a great chase his veins pumped lead and his feet weighed like marble. And no matter how hard he tried to speed up, his pace just wouldn’t quicken.

With a light pant escaping his lips he looked at the deer, the animal now slowly losing ground on him as her legs were far less familiar with this terrain. Her glassy eyes stared back at him with a strange gloss. Almost blue in hue. As if possessed. Strange.

What was going on?

Growling deep in his chest the Master hoisted Belle a little bit higher in his heavy arms, teeth gritting as the deer now finally lost on him, his long legs managing to surpass her before they reached the treeline. Everything in his body seemed to object. Where usually a sprint like this costed him a little effort by daytime, right now it felt like he was running in a fever dream. Pushing hard, but barely moving. Perhaps the sun was particularly strong today - their rays hidden by a thick white nothingness. And perhaps it was the deep snow he was plowing through. Or the cold. Or ..Belle.

He had to admit he had started feeling strange these past couple of days. Especially when near her.

Looking down at the fair maiden, shivering and shaking in his arms, he couldn’t even think of asking her to run for herself. No. If really he wouldn’t make it, he’d stop and defend them as best he could. Even if he felt like a bag of bones. Weak and shaking from running just a half a mile.

After what seemed like the longest few minutes in their life, the Master and Belle managed to escape. At least, for now. The Master’s pace immediately dropped to a slow jog, his complexion no longer its usual smooth marble. With a delicate finger Belle traced the heated blush that had crept up his skin, the sensation so foreign as his lips parted in deep exhausted pants. Her cold monster was running hot.

That never happened before, did it now?

Looking back ahead she noticed where they were heading; the Le Comte estate. Which confused her. Why would the Master seek out human interaction, especially now as they were being hunted? Why was he leading them here? Quietly she wrapped her hands more tightly around his vest, the cold biting harshly into their clothes. Perhaps he just wanted to hide out here. Use the presence of humans as a distraction.

But it wasn’t that.

The Master leaped over the small straightshorn bushes and hedges, the garden a pretty geometric pattern of white, before he slowed his pace even more. His long legs stepped onto the main path that led up to the..front door. The front door. He was moving to the front door.

Staring in bewilderment at the Master she wondered if he was as possessed as that weird deer they had seen moments earlier.

‘Master..’ She squeaked, pulling on his vest as he kept heading straight for the door. ‘Master what are you..’

A lacky appeared, opening the door for them, eyes looking down on their slightly disheveled attire and blushing cheeks. He raised his eyebrows, but the Master was quick to respond, lips curling in an apologetic smile. ‘Apologies for being late.’ The Master slowly settled Belle down, her eyes immediately flitting back to the forest - but no movement was seen. ‘I’m afraid the poor lady sprained her ankle and..’ He babbled on, but Belle didn’t listen, her eyes keeping a razor sharp focus on the treeline.

Why had he taken them here? And why were they .. “late”? What did he know, that she didn’t?

‘But of course.’ The lackey smiled, feet stepping back to make way for them to enter, his arm gesturing into the left direction, where the grand hall was situated. ‘They just got started.’ And with that Belle and the Master let out a soft sigh, the heavy front door being closed behind them with a firm shudder.

“O, my offense is rank, it smells to heaven;

It hath the primal eldest curse upon ’t,

A brother’s murder. Pray can I not,

Though inclination be as sharp as will.

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,

And, like a man to double business bound,

I stand in pause where I shall first begin

And both neglect.

What if this cursèd hand

Were thicker than itself with brother’s blood?”

The new king spoke after his counselor wished to discuss the matter of his late brother’s sudden demise.

Belle turned in her seat as the Master let out a small cough, eyes wishing to look away from the mouse trap and broom stick, who played rather convincing roles as King Claudius and Polonius. After years of begging, his staff had finally managed to get the Master to sit down and watch, the Hamlet play now being performed in full for the both of them.

With tender fingers Belle brushed over his hand, but his eyes once again evaded hers, his gaze instead turned to their entwined hands.

‘What is it?’ She asked softly, the scene now changing as more characters entered the stage.

‘A good play’s all.’ He curled his lips, but the smile didn’t shine in his eyes.

‘Can we continue m’lady?’ Hamlet asked.

Belle raised her finger, requesting a moment, eyes searching the Master’s frowning appearance.

‘Tis fine.’ He shook his head, eyes finally looking back at Belle. ‘Truly. Do continue.’

A brother’s blood. Only as they now walked through the hallways of the Le Comte estate, did the similarities click in Belle’s brain. She knew he was a Le Comte. But as they passed by a few stately portraits, the features were uncanningly close to his. It was near frightening.

Their arms entangled as they made way to the grand hall, where loud roars and cheers erupted from what appeared to be a large crowd. It made for a perfect, quiet entrance, as all attention was aimed at a pale skinned lady that stood in the middle of the hall, arms raised high in the air. ‘...His bed is unslept. I fear..he was taken as well.’

The crowd started shouting again, before another woman stepped in, her appearance easily recognised by the Master, whose breath choked. The woman he saved from the fire.

‘NO! SAY NO LIES!’ She spoke, breaking through the loud ruckus. ‘Me and my children were SAVED, not stolen!’ She roared, her eyes shooting bloody murder at the man who had stoked the disquiet with such disdain. He huffed as two more men stepped in to pull him back into the crowd.

‘YOU!!!’ A new voice boomed through the air as people were roughly shoved aside, their loud yips and groans following the path that was cleared through the crowd. An enraged man had worked his way to the centre of the mass of people, dark hair hanging before his face. With a loud groan he straightened his back, broad shoulders squaring as a hand rearranged his hair. It took everyone by surprise to see who this wild man was.

Ismael.

‘Do you not see?!’ Ismael snarled angrily, the whole room gasping as they slowly took note of the terribly disheveled state of their Grandmaster. His eyes were bloodshot and veins were drawn blue on his pale skin. ‘HE’S HERE!’ And with that he pointed at the back of the crowd, straight at Belle and the Master.

Instinctively the Master grasped for Belle’s arm to pull her back, but she was ahead of him, feet stepping forward as she spread her arms wide, shielding him instead.

In seconds the whole room was staring at her..and the unfamiliar man behind her.

‘Leave him be, Ismael.’ She bit, her lower lip trembling as the whispers started again.

‘Is that Belle?’ - ‘Wasn’t she dead?’ - ‘Who’s that?’ - ‘Where’s the monster?’

Belle swallowed harshly as a new, wide path was created by the people, a lane of emptiness stretching out between her and Ismael’s feet.

‘Or what..pretty Belle?’ Ismael tilted his head, hands folding behind his back as he straightened his shoulders, returning to his usual haughty upright. ‘Are you going to run again?’ He taunted.

The Master snapped his eyes at the taunting smile of Ismael, lips wishing to curl up in a snarl, tongue already flaking out to ...to..He licked his lips again, then more specifically his teeth. Tooth after smooth tooth, they were all there. But different. Furrowing his brow he now realised why he had felt so out of breath in the forest. He was..he was..

With slow, measured steps the young Grandmaster started his way to Belle and the Master, chin tilted upwards and red burning eyes telling of the hellfire he had come walking from. He looked like a dead man walking, jaw tight and eyes deep in their sockets. Positively sickly.

As he slowly narrowed the space until there was just a few feet between them, he quirked his head again. The movement felt so unnatural. Almost as if he was possessed. The Master felt a shiver run down his spine, the worst of his nightmares coming true.

History repeats. History repeats. History repeats.

Belle didn’t notice him. Her eyes were instead transfixed on the strange being that Ismael had become. His nose inhaled, as if he had just stepped outside and the flowers were abloom, his lips curling in an empty smile.

Click.

It clicked in her head. This was exactly like the Master had been when she had just met him. Strange. Inhuman. Obsessed with smell. He was one too. Ismael was one too. And from the looks of it he had some trouble hunting, his skin as deadly pale as the Master’s had been after the long week without feeding. She had to run. To get away. To…looking around she saw all the people. Gruff bakers, butchers and clergymen, all staring at her with bafflement. They probably still thought she had something to do with the curse. No. She shouldn’t run. Not this time.

‘Looks like I’m not running.’ Belle finally spoke, the words escaping with a pent up little sigh from her chest. The crowds had gone quiet, whispers finally silenced, as none wanted to miss a single word.

‘We should go.’ The Master’s fingers melted around her waist, begging for her attention. But from the way she swatted away his hand, he knew that she was a lost cause. And he understood. Ismael had taken everything from her. From the night at the feast, where he chased her until bloody and broken. To the condemnation of her father, who now lay cold in the ground. And then there was the here and now. He was chasing her again. Wishing to take away what little she possessed.

Her sweet rose.

There was little the Master could do, his limbs heavy and feet nailed to the ground. The whole world seemed slow. Dull. Strange. He had lost it. He must have lost it. And now all he could do was hope that Ismael would make a mistake. Make the people turn against him. He did look sickly after all.

‘Did you take something that was not yours, milord?’ Belle cocked her eyebrow at Ismael, her pretty face a mask of calmth.

For a moment the Grandmaster didn’t seem to respond, death staring in his empty eyes. Or perhaps it was hunger. The Master knew that sensation all too well. He had been there. He had smelled the rich delight of fresh blood, he had heard the loud beating of a hundred hearts around him. To remain calm and composed in such a moment, was near impossible.

And so it was.

The young Grandmaster awoke from his contemplation, lips pulling back in a slip as long fangs were revealed. In a whirl of seconds the whole atmosphere changed and Ismael had chosen his fate. People gasped in shock and feet started to flee in all directions, wishing to get away, whilst others tried to find weapons.

The Master also chose his fate - hoping this would not be the day he’d regain life, only to lose it again so soon. Again he tried to pull Belle away, but she stood her ground, head shaking one solid “no”.

FUCK. Fucking stupid stubborn..stubborn...ARGH! His mind reeled at the sight of his Belle, her eyes feraly staring back in Ismael’s vampiric gaze. It both alarmed and aroused him.

Oh..Why after a long life of unmeasured strength, did the Gods choose for him to be weak as of right now?!

With widened eyes he sprinted off to a fireplace close-by, hands grabbing for a hot poker that lay abandoned in the roaring fire, feet evading the many people who ran to and fro in a messy hurry.

In the meantime Ismael had lunged forward, closing the distance between him and Belle, evil hands grasping at her face and hair, wishing to pull her jaw aside so he could go in for a taste. But Belle was fierce and headstrong. And definitely not afraid. With stomping feet and gritting teeth she fought back, nails digging into whatever facial feature she could reach - hopefully Ismael’s eyes.

And it wasn’t just the people that had started to become restless. Also the room itself seemed to fill with a certain disquiet. Windows trembled, before finally they swung open, long curtains drifting high in the wind. It was something out of a beautiful horror story, the vampire trying to sink his fangs in buttery skin, as long streams of heavy red velvet danced on the icy winds. Like blood. Flowing. Dancing. Licking.

Too busy with the struggle with Belle - and her smell - Ismael had lost sight of the Master as he hurled himself at his fellow vampire. Near ready to strike his fangs into her porcelain skin, a loud cry erupted from his lips instead.

The Master appeared from behind Ismael, the hot poker shoved mercilessly between cold ribs, aiming true. A vampire may be strong. But not invincible. And so as daylight lay dust to Ismael’s skin and blood bubbled on his screaming lips, Ismael let go off his tasty snack, poor Belle dropping in surprise from the dying vampire’s grasp. Anguish shrilled through the air as the monster yelped in pain, the hot iron firing straight through his icy heart. Ending his reign of terror. Ending his attempts at pouring poison on the lives around him.

For a long moment the world seemed to have gone mute. The people gawked at the heap of limbs and bubbling, foaming blood that dripped onto the stone, their young Grandmaster no more. And the wind continued to blow, though now far less menacingly, the heavy velvets drifting aimlessly through the curious crowd.

In a mere few weeks the people had lost not one, but two Grandmasters. And how! The first one drowned in his own bile. And the other? The other was a monster...a monster! And a dead one at that, his crimson lifeblood now seeping slowly onto the floor as slow whispers started to travel through the crowd.

Things started to click for the people as well. Gaps were being filled and questions answered.

Ismael had been the beast! It made sense! As of late he had been acting strange. In fact..vile! He had spoken in strange tongues, spat his wine at guests, gnarled like a wolf and roared like a storm. And before that he had lead his people in the wrong way on multiple occasions, the most vivid memory being that of the night of the fires.

And as the whispers circulated, the saved woman from the fires stepped forward again, hands pushing aside the crowds to get to Belle and the Master.

‘TIS YOU!’ The woman cried, her arms instinctively wrapping around his shocked frame. ‘Tis you. OH may God be with ye good lord.’ She looked up from her tight embrace, eyes watering. ‘You saved us.’ The Master swallowed awkwardly, not sure how to respond. He hadn’t been hugged by a stranger in..well..literally centuries.

‘Twas you who grabbed us from the fire, no?’ The woman then asked, realising she might be mistaken. Slowly the Master nodded, blue eyes looking down at her blushing face. ‘It was..I. Yes.’

‘OH blessed be!’ She exclaimed, her next attempt at hugging failing as a new person entered the little get together.

The fayen woman with the raven hair.

Her piercing blue eyes studied the Master as she pushed aside the last of the men who were standing in her way, her lips falling apart in a gasp of exaggerated surprise.

‘MY SON!’ She exclaimed, confusing the Master even more as he immediately recognised her as Morgana.

She was no woman! She was a witch!

Searching for Belle, he quickly pulled her into his side, her large brown eyes looking between him and Morgana to realise that he knew this strange vixenous woman. Fighting away from his grip yet again she stepped forward, brows furrowing as her finger pointed out at the Master’s “mother”.

‘You are his mother? You?!’ Her eyes lit with fire, and Morgana looked in amazement at the fierce little thing.

‘And who might you be?’ Morgana asked, her head quirking in bemusement.

Belle lowered her finger and balled both hands into fists, tongue flaking over her bottom lip. She had to try her best not to fly into the woman’s hair at once.

‘The one who didn’t abandon him.’ She growled.

Morgana smiled, then looked back at the Master. ‘Tis true then. You have returned from the dead and I embrace you warmly.’ She swiped past belle and hugged the Master, long neck stretching as she reached her lips out to whisper in the shell of his ear. ‘What sweet rose you bring.’

Belle watched in bafflement as the devious devil woman let out a theatrical shrill of joy, fingers tracing over her “son’s” cheek. ‘I lose one son, but welcome back another. What cruel faith this day brings. But oh, how joyous am I to embrace you again. You see..Such tragedies have befallen us…’ Slowly she disentangled her branchlike fingers from the Master’s mane, her attention now aimed back at the crowd.

‘..but no more!’ Her eyes trailed to the heap of limbs that had been Ismael - his mouth foaming with blood. ‘Today the tragedies end. And I say we celebrate!’

It was like time hadn’t passed. Like Belle was again at that party a few months prior, the whole village cheering and dancing because the beast was gone. And yet, everything was different now. Looking to her left it was not her father she saw. It was the Master, his eyes giving her a sympathetic smile as he listened to an endless stream of words that erupted from the woman he had saved from that fire.

And looking to her right, to the hallway where she had ran off the last time, there was again a light trail of blood - though this time it was Ismael’s blood, not hers.

She hadn’t felt like dancing then. And she most definitely didn’t feel like dancing now.

Even as the villagers deemed her and her handsome saviour as trustworthy, welcoming them with pats on the shoulder and small smiles, the atmosphere felt off. Like..something lingered here still. But maybe that was also just her projection. Her not daring to believe that it was over. Done. The happy end. Book closed.

Finally, the woman from the fires was pulled away for a dance, leaving the Master’s arms open for Belle to slide into, their feet not opting to dance, but to stay, her head leaning into his warm chest.

Warm..chest. Wait…

Settling back a little, Belle looked back up at the Master. In all the fuss and stress, she hadn’t noticed what he had noticed. Hesitantly brushing her finger over his cheek she could feel the gentle warmth that spread there. She could smell him. He had a smell about him. Which was both new, and refreshingly nice. The Master’s lips curled in a careful smile, allowing her to study his changed appearance, fingers touching and eyes studying.

And then, finally, her finger moved to the corner of his lip, her eyes searching his for confirmation before she carefully pulled it up. A gasp escaped her rosy lips.

‘It’s done.’ The Master nodded, his smile growing.

‘But..how?’ Belle frowned, the question remaining unanswered as the raven haired lady returned. Her sly act of motherly warmth not yet dropped as she procured a scarlet rose from her long sleeve, the crowd around them now starting a dance circle. People smiled, feet jumped, patterns whirled and the music whipped. But Belle, the Master and Morgana had little eye for them, as the three of them shared looks.

‘I beg you forgive me for our logy meeting, earlier.’ Morgana curtsied. ‘I do speak in honesty when I say you must be the most beautiful of the land. And, I understand wholeheartedly why my son has taken a liking to you.’ Her lips curled in a smile, but jealousy laced her words. Then, with a controlled force, she offered the rose to Belle, the poor girl yelping in surprise and pain. Its jaggedy thorns ripped through her palm, hot blood oozing from the wound.

‘Ai!’ Morgana expressed, not half as surprised as it was probably foul play from the start. With fascinated blues she watched as the Master grasped for Belle’s hand, soft lips kissing and soothing where it ached, the rose falling discarded on the ground.

So it was true. The curse was lifted.

With a wry smile she looked at the rose as it fell to the ground, blood glistening on its petals.

Too bad that..

‘What is this sorcery?’ The Master whispered through gritted teeth, his dark gaze aimed at her, disturbing her thoughts. Morgana chuckled, then shrugged her shoulders. Sorcery? Did he mean the curse she had lain on him? The deer she had sent his way? Or the ..rose?

Just as the thought whirled through the branches of her wicked brain, she watched as Belle started to wobble, her hands grasping for the Master’s chest as dainty legs gave way. Such a loss. Such a pretty girl.

Too pretty.

With a theatrical gasp Morgana watched as the Master caught Belle in his arms, her body hanging limp like a sleeping corpse.

Much better.

With Belle held in a tight embrace and tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, the Master looked back up at Morgana. The question he posed earlier couldn’t have had a better timing, Morgana mused.

‘Tis love.’ Morgana sighed, making the Master cry out in anguish.

Nothing could ever end well, could it? One moment he regained life. Only to lose it again a moment later. Feeling up Belle’s throat her heartbeat was but a whisper, face calm and restful like she was in a deadly sleep.

‘Hahahahaha.’ A sudden burst of laughter erupted from Morgana’s cherry lips, making the Master’s anguish greater. ‘Oh hush..my son.’ She taunted, then sighed. ‘I just required proof, ‘s all.’

The Master blinked in horror at the wicked witch. The whole world seemed to be unwilling to see what a grievous bitch she was. SHE was the monster. And she made her lair wherever and whenever it suited her. With a snap of her claw-like fingers she could enchant any and every man and woman. She did as she pleased. But he wasn’t sure why. Was she truly vile? Or had she good reason?

‘Proof of what?’ He bit through his tears.

‘Hmm..you know..what.’ Morgana gave him a cold stare, the laughter of seconds earlier melted away, making place for her true nature. With a click of her tongue she eyed Belle. So pale. So frail. So cold. ‘So..very pretty.’ She tutted.

It was then he had enough. With a careful bow he laid Belle to the ground, eyes having a hard time to break away from his dying love. ‘You killed her.’ He whimpered.

‘Well. Then bring her back.’ Morgana also lowered to her knees, head tilting in fascination as the Master’s watery pools of misery looked at her.

And the people? They continued to dance. Like enchanted. No. Possessed.

With a long sniff of the nose, the Master retraced his finger over Belle’s cheek, her heartbeat no longer to be found beneath her marble skin.

‘No..’ He trembled. ‘No please. Please Belle.’ Anguish tore through his breaking heart, his next movement rash and unpredicted. With a deadly force he picked and pushed the rose into Morgana’s chest, its sharp thorns cutting like knives into her pale skin.

‘You keep your vileness...mother!’ He spat.

In the initial wave of shock Morgana couldn’t help but laugh, the irony not lost on her before her laughter too died. With awkward sputters of her luscious lips she reached for slurred words, that were hard to hear even if you leaned in real close. ‘Tcan’t be.’ And with that she sank to the ground too, her face melting into one of eternal sleep.

So lost in his pain and tears, the Master did not notice how the people around him were unleashed from their magical chain, the whole world sighing with relief as the witch had been defeated.

No, all the Master could do was cry. His lips whispering wordlessly, he begged for Belle to come back. With rubbing hands he wished to warm her skin, wake her. But curses were evil. Hard to break.

Was she truly dead?

After centuries of agony he found his love, only to lose it by the prick of a fucking ROSE?! ARGH!! NO! No...no…

‘Belle..’ He begged, his hands lifting up her sleeping form, wishing to keep her as close to his shattered heart as he could.

‘Tis a witch!’ A voice cried behind him, making the angry anguish burn up in his chest. But when he looked up, he noticed what he had not noticed earlier. The body of Morgana was now no longer of lady-like form. Twisted and evil, skin wrinkly and warted, she looked as picture book perfect a description of a witch. Cursed by her own trappings, it had caused her demise.

More voices erupted from the disenchanted crowd, people rushing to come to aid, hands pulling away Morgana’s corpse to get to Belle.

Blinking away some of his tears, the Master looked back down at Belle. With a tender brush of love he kissed her cooling lips finally, one last time.

The poisoned rose crumpled and a clock rang.

It was a tale as old as time.

A tune as old as song.

For centuries he had felt the long minutes melt into hours. Into days. Into aggravating months, years, a lifetime. But time reminded him also of how precious it was. Or had been. The lone years had been forgotten so simply when he stood there one day in the forest, only to hear a sweet voice tinkle through the trees. For a moment he did not exist. He was like a bird on the branches. He watched her as she spoke, rosy lips curling in one of those dream-haunting smiles.

That day he finally reinstalled that darn mirror in the hall. Just one mirror. The rest still locked and stocked away. One mirror to remind him that he existed. That he was no ghost. He was real.

That day he looked upon his form for the first time in centuries. Sharp and pale. Fanged and broken.

Bittersweet and strange

Finding you can change

Learning you were wrong

Without fail he would listen to her then everyday. He would re-read her words in his lair. He’d even go out and trade with merchants far and wide to retrieve as many copies of her book as he could get his hands on; he would have them all if he could. At some point they stacked up high in his room, alongside the many other books he had read in hope that he would learn more about the female heart...and soul.

His every waking hour - which were many - was invested in learning. Reading. Reclaiming what little hold he had of life. Belle was his anchor, his lifeline. She brought a fickle sliver of hope back in his lonely days. She brought him a soul.

‘Please.’

Certain as the sun

Rising in the East

‘Please..’ A finger grazed up his cheek.Two large brown eyes looked up into his tear bleeding eyes and he wondered if he was dreaming, his eyes starting to blink furiously, but the eyes before him remained. What..? OH! OH my! She is awake! With a tremble of his lips he felt his dying heart revived, her lips curling a sleepy smile.

‘Anything Belle.’ He smiled in disbelief. She sniffled, still slightly hazed, before pulling his hand to her thigh, making his cheeks flush in mild embarrassment.

‘Belle..we are..’ He wished to alarm her of their audience, to which some people chuckled, whispers erupting in the crowd. It had always been a weird girl, that Belle.

And then the Master realised what she wanted him to find; his fingers felt the outlines of the book beneath her skirts. Of course. The book. He smiled and reached down her pockets - receiving some silent gasps from the crowd - before retrieving it. The people laughed even louder. Oh! And Belle and her books!! Oh, Belle!

Tale as old as time

Song as old as rhyme

‘You want me to read?’ The master chuckled.

‘No.’ She slowly shook her head and smiled. ‘Twas just that I was right.’

Beauty and the Beast

Church bells rang in the morning air, but for once they did not hurt the Master’s ears. In fact, he couldn’t imagine a more welcoming sound at this very moment. With sure strides he walked down the path, the crowding numbers on the square indicating just how packed the chapel had to be. Their faces smiled, and napkins waved in the air, as people wished to bestow gifts and well-wishes. But they would have to save that for later. With a practised, but well-felt smile, their new Grandmaster thanked them, his cheeks glowing with a thrilling buzz.

Before him the large wooden doors to the chapel arose behind side-stepping people, the path to his future cleared as the January sun warmed the back of his tailcoat.

Outside a grumpy old man awaited him, hand folded around his hip as beady eyes peered from beneath thick grey eyebrows. He smelled of wood and grime. ‘Twas about time!’ The man grumbled, tilting his head, gesturing the Master to step inside. ‘Thank you..grandfather time.’ The Master chuckled, offering the man a teasing wink before finally stepping inside.

‘Okay..GO GO GO.’ Lumiere’s wig bounced somewhere at the altar, the small man quick to spur the little orchestra into motion, a soft music warming from their strings and bells.

The Master smiled, halting his steps to allow his ever chaotic staff a moment to get a hold of the situation. They were still not entirely used to their regained human form, but the gladness did beam off their glowing cheeks.

And then, with a grounding breath, the Master prepared himself for the first day of the rest of his life.

It was time, indeed.

‘Are you catching up with that?’ Belle sniffled after their staff left the room. Soft candles casted a soft glow around their shared bedroom, a fire burning in the hearth.

‘What is that..wife?’ His smile grew even wider, making Belle chuckle. Without further ado the Master stripped himself of his shirt, the planes of skin and hair underneath unveiling a new life. Like Adam stood before Eve, he stood before Belle, her appreciative eyes travelling a long way down his muscular physique. A very naked physique. He had changed so little, and yet so dramatically. The shapes were the same. But the touch was different. He was no longer hard and marble, but soft and warm.

Though not soft, mushy soft. He made sure to flex his muscles teasingly as she looked back up his large biceps.

‘Very well..HUSBAND.’ Belle grinned and got up from the bed, her long hair falling in soft brown waves over her night gown. ‘I’m just saying that you haven’t stopped smiling since.-’

‘You.’ The master interjected.

The both of them laughed.

‘Ai.. Henry.’ His name still tasted so new and sweet on her lips as he had only dared to share it so recently. But he could keep no secrets from her. No more. They now shared everything. Heart, mind..soul.

‘Tis so.’ She smiled, breaking through his thoughts with a brush of her gentle fingers, Cupid’s wings fluttering in his heart.

And with that they kissed sweetly, until death did them part.

The End.

Roll-credits reading music: Le Sextet à Claques - Laryngo-rhino-phraryngite

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @elinesama

Vampire!Henry Tagsquad: @i-cant-remember-my-old-login @wednesdaybraids @othersideofforty @starstruckkittyangel @strangerliaa @omgkatinka

If you want to be added to or removed from my tag lists, shoot me a message!

Final author’s note: Thanks for reading my loves! Are you feeling the post fic reading buzz/blues? Here’s a few things to keep you entertained:

Listen to The Monster’s Lair Playlist

Check out my vampy mood blurb that inspired this fic

Read the original version of Beauty and the Beast: Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche

Make Lumière proud and read some Hamlet by ye good ol’ Shakespeare

Read another vampire!Henry long fic: @viking-raider‘s Fangs Deep

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fluff #vampire!henry #beauty and the beast au #long fic #angst #adult fairytale #dark fairytale #its finished yo

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not-majestic-bluenicorn · 3 years

Text

Crescent || Chapter 5

Fandom(s): ATEEZ

AU: Treasure Hunters

Genre: Action, Fantasy, Sci-Fi

Relationship: Everyone x Everyone, Established Hongjoong x Yunho

Language: English

Status: Ongoing

Chapter WC: 5,789 words

Warnings: Character Death, Stabbing, Fighting, Blood, Aliens, War, Funerals, Kidnapping, Attempted Kidnapping, Mentions of Child Abuse / Child Work, Explosions, Murder Attempt, Robbery, Homeless/Runaway Character, more will be added.

Chapter Warnings: Robbery, Homeless/Runaway Character

Summary:

"My name is Jung Wooyoung..." He looked at the sword and then back up, locking eyes with the man. It was overwhelming to know this was one of the people he was destined to be with, now pointing a sword at him. "What is your name?"

"Kang Yeosang."

AO3

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Tagged: @angel0taiyo

Wooyoung had arrived at Sonne U-28 about a week ago. He had managed to locate the port Captain Hongjoong's ship had sailed from, but nothing more. No one knew where it was headed, and he hadn't had any more prophetic dreams since then; he had also been too afraid to use the necklace the Interpreter had given him. Since he didn't know where to leave, he spent the week trying to figure out more about Hongjoong and his crew from the people that had built the boat.

He didn't get much out of them though, both because of confidentiality and because they didn't truly know who Hongjoong was, just that he was well off. Wooyoung already knew Hongjoong was wealthy from what he had gathered in his dreams, after all, Hongjoong was a prince. But he needed to know where they were headed to.

The options had long run out and he was left with only one choice, to try using the necklace or to give up on his mission, and that wasn't an option to him. Wooyoung spent the whole day preparing himself mentally to use the necklace. It was fairly simple, he just had to sleep with it on. His body would be able to draw on the power of the necklace by itself and his soul would take him where he needed to go in order to progress.

When the night came, Wooyoung sat down on his bed with the collar in his hands and observed it, making one last attempt at calming himself down before attempting to use the necklace for the first time. It was nerve wracking. Still, he knew he didn't have much of an option, so he put it on and laid down. It took him longer than usual to fall asleep, even with the smell of syndesia working to calm him down.

As soon as he entered the dream world, however, he could tell he was no longer in his own mind. The place felt foreigner to him. It was wild and full of raw, uncontrolled energy, and Wooyoung had no idea who it could belong to. He only figured it out once he stumbled upon another man, roughly his same height, but lean and with a certain roughness around the edges.

There was no doubt in Wooyoung's mind that this man was the owner of the dream. Even though he looked calm and composed, there was a certain fierceness in his eyes that left him no doubt about it. As Wooyoung approached him, the space transformed around him into an enormous ship, and once Wooyoung was standing close enough, he noticed this was one of the men that had appeared in his vision next to Captain Hongjoong and Yunho.

"Who are you?" The man asked once he noticed Wooyoung, immediately pointing at him with a sword. Wooyoung knew it couldn't hurt him, but he still put his hands up.

"Kang Yeosang," The man replied as he put the sword down, looking at Wooyoung with a certain confusion. "Is this a dream?" He asked, and Wooyoung nodded, a little bit too enthusiastically. "Are you part of my dream?" Now this question was a little bit more complicated.

"You could say so,yes." Wooyoung nodded, apologetically. Yeosang didn't seem to know what he was, and it felt like telling him would only make things more complicated. "Consider me an omen."

Yeosang smiled, chuckling softly. He had a pretty smile, Wooyoung noticed, immediately slapping himself mentally for it. Sure, he was supposed to eventually end up together with him, but this still felt a little too early. Yeosang didn't even know yet he was a real person! Still, his smile was pretty.

"Sure, if you say so." Yeosang put the sword away. "Why would an omen appear in my dreams?

"Well, naturally, because there is something you should look forward to in your future, don't you think?" Wooyoung tilted his head. He liked that Yeosang was playing along with him, because truth be told, he had no idea about what he could or couldn't do while in someone else's dream.

"Then you're not an omen." Yeosang smiled suddenly, approaching him. "Omen sounds creepy and scary, you're more like a..." Yeosang's hand reached forward to touch Wooyoung's hair. His eyes were so focused, wondering how any of this could be real. "Like a very cute sign or prediction." He finished, looking Wooyoung in the eye.

Wooyoung coughed softly and pushed Yeosang's hand away, embarrassed. It was ridiculous how much his face could blush even in a dream. The fact that Yeosang was laughing again didn't help much either, but made him feel even worse. Was this how it was supposed to go? Was he supposed to be flirting with Yeosang like this? He had no idea.

"Omens can be good too!" He retaliated, for a lack of a better comeback.

"Okay, okay, you're an omen." Yeosang raised his hands in defeat, placating him. "Now, why is Mr. Omen visiting my dream? What are you here to warn me about?"

"There's a ship and some people you should find." Wooyoung explained. "The ship is not very big, made of very dark wood and white sails, it has a crescent moon on its sides, it's called Crescent." As Wooyoung described it, the image of the ship he had seen in his own vision and in the pictures he had been able to get in Sonne U-28 materialized in front of them. Yeosang gasped.

"How are you controlling my dream?" He asked, eyes wide open as he admired the beautiful vessel.

"Omen things." Said Wooyoung, which was code for 'I have no idea either'.

"And why do I have to find them?" Yeosang asked, still not entirely convinced.

"That... I cannot tell you." Wooyoung shook his head. "I have to go now though."

It was clear that Yeosang didn't know what he was yet, and Wooyoung didn't want to scare him away by telling him he was destined to meet seven men and recover a legendary treasure most people didn't even believe to be real. Honestly, Wooyoung was only doing this because he fully believed in the mission and abilities of his people. If he were in Yeosang's position he would have probably refused outright and called the Interpreter crazy.

"Alright, I guess that's part of your 'omen things'." Yeosang chuckled. "Will you come again if I need more guidance?"

"Probably." Wooyoung nodded. At least he hoped so, since he still had no idea of how to fully control his abilities and the necklace. "Sweet dreams Yeosang." He smiled at Yeosang, and when he opened his eyes again, he was awake.

Yeosang regretted it immediately when his eyes fluttered open, as the dream he had just had was reduced to only a few figments. Two things remained in his mind though, Jung Wooyoung and The Crescent. He had never before had such a vivid dream in his life, and he regretted not being able to remember it more clearly, especially because Wooyoung had felt so real he wanted to believe it hadn't been entirely a dream.

He let out a deep sigh and looked around. The bridge he had been living under ever since running away from his house was usually void of other 'residents'. It was easier if you didn't have to fight for space with other homeless people, but when there wasn't a community with a sense of loyalty to watch out for your back, it put you in pretty dangerous situations.

The good thing was that Yeosang wasn't stupid. He lived day by day, watchful eyes paying attention to the movements in the street so he could choose a new target to steal from that day. He was good at this, and the fact that soldiers assigned to his planet barely cared about it was a huge benefit. He spent part of his fortune on food and water for the day and hid the rest to save until he was able to buy himself a passage off that damned planet and go find his father.

He remembered the last fight with his mother clear as day. She had never been quite the same after discovering his father was an asshole cheater and had turned to vices to try and heal her broken heart. Yeosang loved her dearly, and had tried his best to remain by her side and help her get through it, but she was so angry at him everyday. The abuse had become too much and when she yelled at Yeosang to disappear, he left.

There was nothing in his possession worth taking with him, so he pushed a couple of clothes into his backpack and left after a particularly nasty fight that had ended with a cut on his cheek. Yeosang did regret leaving her a little, so he passed by his own house everyday, trying to see how she was doing. Her anger had seemed to dissipate now that there was no one to be angry at, but she cried almost every day and it shattered his heart to pieces.

Yeosang wanted to find his father and bring him back so maybe his mother could get some sort of closure and go on with her life. The planet they lived in, Tebos, didn't help much either. The resources in Tebos were scarce, and since it wasn't a main producer of the Kim Empire, it had been left almost forgotten. Yeosang had wanted to get out of there for the longest time, but now he wanted to even more.

Thanks to the poor support of the empire, the guards were underpaid and it was easier for him to steal his way out of the city. Of course, even though he was good at it, he wasn't the best. Some people in his town already had his eyes set on him, but Yeosang slipped out of their grasp every time. He just needed to hold on as long as he could until he was able to leave that place.

San looked at Hongjoong as he mumbled Thisa's poem to himself for the nth time. The two of them were alone in Hongjoong's quarters while Yunho took care of things outside, every once in a while someone would come in to check if they needed anything but would leave after only a couple of minutes after noticing Hongjoong hadn't even touched his food. San wondered if he should kill him now.

It would be so simple. Hongjoong wasn't paying attention to him and he knew no one would come check on them in a while. The question was, was it worth it? San wasn't particularly appreciative of his life, but he also didn't want to die for a cause he didn't believe in or care for. Still, if he didn't kill Hongjoong, he'd be killed by his own boss. This was a loss-loss situation.

Just as he was trying to make up his mind, the door opened with a quick motion and Jongho stepped inside, slightly panicked. Hongjoong raised his head, and as soon as he took in the other's expression, he stood up and left everything he was doing behind. San followed behind them, a little confused.

"What happened?" Hongjoong was quick to ask.

"The fuel tank is damaged and we're losing fuel very quickly." Jongho explained.

"San, check the coordinates to the nearest planet and send them to quarterdeck." Hongjoong was quick to order, his thoughts racing.

"Yes, sir." San went back to the table and got to work.

"Jongho, go back to the fuel tank and figure out if there's a way you can patch it up temporarily, you can take someone with you if you need assistance." Hongjoong instructed.

"Yessir!" Jongho exclaimed and left quickly, taking a couple other crew members he found on his way to the maintenance room.

Hongjoong rushed out of his quarters and to the deck, where Yunho was directing some other crew members on what to do. He didn't even stop to ask him about it and just made his way to the wheel, the coordinates for a planet named Tebos were already there, waiting for him. With quick precision, Hongjoong stirred the wheel and changed the direction of the ship. Tebos was almost in the complete opposite direction they were going in originally, but it was the closest planet to where they were, so a little sacrifice would have to be made.

"Someone contact Tebos and inform them we will be doing an emergency landing!" He yelled.

The crew mobilized immediately and Hongjoong centered himself on directing the ship. He needed to make sure that they made it to Tebos so they could get more fuel and continue with their journey. If they ran through the fuel, they could be rescued, but the ship would need to be towed and they would just lose too much time.

"Captain! We're approaching Tebos!" Siyeon informed him.

With the velocity they were going at, it wasn't long before they were right outside Tebos' atmosphere. The fuel levels were dangerously low, but Hongjoong didn't have much of an option as he had to slow down before they came in. He pressed a couple of buttons and activated the protection field which would keep the ship safe from the effects of breaking through the ozone layer of a planet.

A patrol ship that had received their emergency call was already waiting for them, and helped guide them to the nearest port. As soon as they had landed, Hongjoong told Yunho to check with the patrol guards and he ran to the maintenance room to look for Jongho and the crew members that had helped him deal with the leak temporarily. He found them easily, all of them sitting on the floor covered in oil and whatnot and looking completely defeated.

"Are you alright?" Hongjoong asked, paying no mind to the mess as he approached to check on them.

"Don't come close Captain, you'll get dirty." Jongho warned him, holding his hands up in an attempt to stop him.

"As if that matters," Hongjoong scoffed, taking Jongho's hand instead and helping him stand. "You all did an amazing job here, go get clean and changed, we're having a meeting on the main deck shortly." He ordered, yet his voice was gentle.

The crew members obeyed without making any comments and Hongjoong stayed back to inspect the mess for a moment. He wasn't an expert in ship mechanisms, but even he could tell it looked bad. As he walked back to the deck, he thought that maybe he should ask Jongho to teach him a little bit about it. He should, at the very least, know how to take care of his ship properly.

"What did the officers say?" Hongjoong asked Yunho once he was outside, standing next to him.

"Well, we explained the situation to them, and since our documentation is in order, they said it was fine." Yunho explained, pointing towards the patrol ship that was just leaving.

"That's good," Hongjoong nodded. "Do me a favor and get everyone here, I'll go change my clothes."

Yunho agreed and Hongjoong went back to his quarters. San was still there, looking at the poem that Hongjoong had left behind to deal with the emergency. He only looked up when Hongjoong cleared his throat.

"Oh, is everything alright Captain?" San asked, a little bit startled.

"You know, it's fine if you call me Hongjoong when there's no one else around, I feel like through all this map deciphering we've gotten close enough." Hongjoong shrugged.

"Ah..." San stared at him wide-eyed, at a loss of words. Great, this was exactly what he needed: to get all friendly with his target. "Okay..." Hongjoong looked at him expectantly and San cursed himself inside. "Hongjoong."

Hongjoong hummed happily and proceeded to walk towards the part of the quarters that was his room. It was separated by the rest by a wall, giving him some sense of privacy. Yunho and him slept together there, even though theoretically Yunho wasn't supposed to be there, but that was no one's business.

"I'm gonna get changed, you should go meet the others at the deck." Hongjoong hair popped out from behind the wall. "Unless you want to wait for me?" Hongjoong asked playfully, his hands already unbuttoning his shirt.

"I'm going!" San turned around without wasting a second and left the quarters.

San left the room and joined the others on deck. He threw his 'cool' image outside the window and messed up his hair until it was standing in all sorts of directions, muttering to himself at the same time. The other crew members who were already on deck looked at him strangely, but didn't ask. Everyone found San slightly intimidating, and while they didn't see him much because he was always helping the captain, the fact that they didn't know him did the opposite of helping.

"Is everything alright?" Yunho asked him, eyebrows raised as he observed San try to fix his hair again.

"Yes, everything is fine." San regretted only slightly the way his voice sounded a little too sharp.

"Did something happen with Hongjoong?" Yunho insisted, and he knew he was right when San's voice rose one octave and he tried to deny everything.

"No!" San almost yelled, but he quickly composed himself and cleared his throat. "No, nothing happened with Captain Hongjoong." Unconsciously, he accentuated the word captain, feeling better after putting some imaginary distance between him and Hongjoong. "He'll be here shortly."

Said and done, Hongjoong joined them after a couple of minutes, changed into a clean set of clothes. He greeted everyone with a smile and began explaining the situation to those who hadn't heard during the ruckus and had simply followed orders. He then let Jongho detail the status of the ship.

"It's not too bad that I can't fix it, we won't need to buy a new fuel tank." Jongho concluded.

"That does take some weight off of out shoulders." Hongjoong smiled. "The next pressing issue is that we need to get more fuel..."

"That might be a problem." Siyeon spoke, gathering everyone's attention. "Tebos is a very poor planet, it might be expensive to find fuel. We could potentially refill the tank enough to get us to another planet and buy from there." She suggested. Hongjoong hummed and considered it for a few seconds.

"This sure looks like home, then." San muttered to himself, but Hongjoong heard him and looked at him for a moment before continuing with the discussion.

"Let's try to find us a good deal in fuel, if we can't do that then I'll ask San to find us the closest planet so we can calculate how much fuel we need to get there." Hongjoong concluded, and everyone else nodded. "I'll take Yunho and Siyeon with me to barter for the price, Second Mate?"

"Yes sir?" Hwanwoong asked, although it was more of a formal exchange, since he already knew what Hongjoong was going to say.

"You're in charge for the time being, make sure Jongho has everything he needs to fix the ship." Hongjoong ordered, briefly smiling at Jongho. "If something is missing, let us know and we'll buy it."

"Alright, sir." Hwanwoong nodded.

"Let's get to work then!" Hongjoong clapped his hands twice and the ship went back to life as everyone mobilized.

Yunho and Siyeon followed him off the ship and into the port, where they would try gathering information on where to get fuel first. Yunho immediately approached Hongjoong as they descended, grabbing his arm to pull him close and whisper to him. Siyeon, way too used to these displays of affection, just ignored them and walked a little bit ahead of them.

"What did you do to San?" Yunho asked. His face looked serious but his voice was playful, so Hongjoong knew there was nothing to worry about.

"I did nothing!" Hongjoong exclaimed, looking offended.

"He looked really...flustered, when he came out to deck." Yunho explained.

"Oh really?" Hongjoong smiled. "I told him to call me only by name when there's just the two of us, since we spend so much time together and sometimes I need a break from hearing the word Captain, you know?" Yunho hummed in understanding.

"Was that all you did to him or...?" Yunho pressed, still not satisfied with the answer.

"Okay, maybe I did offer him to wait for me while I changed clothes..." Hongjoong continued. Yunho opened his mouth in a fake gasp and Hongjoong punched him on the arm for it. "I was behind the wall! He couldn't even see anything." Hongjoong rolled his eyes.

"He's gonna report you for unwanted sexual advances." Yunho joked.

"Oh shut up! Don't even joke about that." Hongjoong groaned, shoving Yunho away.

"I'm sorry, it was in bad taste." He smiled sheepishly and put his arm around Hongjoong's shoulders. "Won't do it again." He kissed Hongjoong's temple and Hongjoong pushed him away softly.

"Alright, alright, but we're in public Mr. First Mate, let's keep things professional." Hongjoong warned him. Yunho let go of him but not without scoffing.

"Professional, sure."

Yeosang had been wandering around town for the day, stealing petty things to trade with other homeless people or sell them for a few coins and get himself some breakfast or lunch. He was just biding his time. He had overheard some guards talking about the cargo ships that were coming in that day and he had already planned out what he would do to ensure he could get a good bounty.

If he did well enough, he might be able to buy the cheapest ticket out of this planet and make his way elsewhere, look for better opportunities. If he did complete his goal, he would need to go back home to get all his documentation. He didn't really want to see his mother again, afraid that even glancing at her would make him want to not leave Tebos, but he knew it was a trial he would need to overcome by himself.

As he went around the main plaza, he glanced at the clock and noticed it was time for him to start moving towards the port. He was a little bit nervous, as this was the biggest robbery he had attempted so far, but he had studied the place carefully to ensure there would be no mistakes. Plus, he had invited some others to his little heist. At best, they would all get a good bounty and go on with their lives; at worst, Yeosang could use the distraction and escape to safety.

He knew it was cruel to think of the others as a distraction, but it was something they all knew would happen if it came down to it. It was, as some would say, survival of the fittest, and they would all willingly drop each other if it meant getting out unscathed. Yeosang tried not to think too much about how that mentality was wrong, because if he did, he would be easily left behind by the others.

The path he followed towards the port was dark and small. His town was full of tall, crooked buildings that extended towards the sky and were too close together, making perfect alleyways to escape from the soldiers or to lure inexperienced people. He had spent his childhood memorizing them, and now they had become his temporary home.

As he walked, others joined him on his way to the port, taking slightly different routes to make it less suspicious. When they finally arrived, there were several cargo ships lined across the port. The guards supposed to be taking care of the security were scattered around, lingering with no real intention of doing much. One or two ships had their own security, but they seemed from one of those cheap private agencies.

While they scanned the ships and planned how to divide them and what they would do, Yeosang's eyes fell upon a different, smaller ship that seemed out of place among the cargo ships. Something about it felt familiar to him, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. The ship was gorgeous, and it also looked quite expensive, so he felt the need to check it out.

"I'll take that small ship over there," he informed the others, who looked at him like he was crazy.

"That's not a cargo ship." One commented, feeling the need to state the obvious.

"I know, I still want to check it out." Yeosang insisted.

"That is not what we agreed on, you're alone on this one." Another person commented, and Yeosang shrugged.

"I don't mind that." For some reason, he didn't want to bring them with him. It felt like that ship was only meant for him, and he felt okay not getting their help. "Let's go."

"You look upset." Yunho told Hongjoong as they waited for Siyeon to come back. She was the best at bartering from the three of them, and she insisted on doing it alone or they would slow her down.

"Yeah..." Hongjoong nodded, but was too lost in thought to reply.

"What is it? Maybe I can help." Yunho insisted softly.

"I'm just thinking about what San said, that this place was much like home." Hongjoon explained, letting out a long sigh.

"And it bothers you to think that he lived on a planet like this one." Yunho complemented.

"Just look at this place! This planet is part of the Kim Empire..." Hongjoong huffed. "I wasn't sure at first but I recognized the uniforms of the patrol soldiers, what is my father doing?" His voice was low but Yunho could tell he was in a bad mood.

“And what do you want to do?” Yunho asked.

“I don’t know, I’m not sure there is something I can actually do right now, since I am undercover.” Hongjoong sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. Yunho grabbed his hands tightly and pushed them down. “We don’t have money to help a whole planet, which shouldn’t even need help.”

“Alright, we can’t help them now, but as the Prince, what can you do to help them in the future?” Yunho continued, helping Hongjoong think things through.

“Remember them,” Hongjoong said with certainty. “I can remember them and take note of the things that need to be changed, and then present it to my father.” Yunho smiled and nodded.

“What a smart Prince.” Yunho squeezed his hands softly. Hongjoong smiled and took a deep breath.

“Thank you for helping ground me.” Hongjoong said.

“Anytime,” Yunho pressed a kiss to his forehead and let go of his hands.

Hongjoong took a few deep breaths and made a mental note of everything he had observed about Tebos so far. At that moment, Siyeon returned to them. Her face indicated that she didn’t bring the best of news, but they kept their hopes up.

“The least expensive place so far, but still pretty expensive.” She sighed. “Plus, I heard some bad news.” Hongjoong groaned.

“What is it now?” He asked.

“Now? Did something else happen?” Siyeon raised an eyebrow, but Yunho shook his head.

“I’ll fill you in later, what happened?” Yunho insisted, not wanting to stress Hongjoong out again.

“Apparently the amount of robberies has gone up recently, and some people heard rumors of a group stealing from cargo ships.” Siyeon explained. “And we’re surrounded by cargo ships today.” Hongjoong sighed.

“Let’s head back,” the Captain said. “Let’s make sure everything is in order and then we’ll deal with the fuel.”

—

Yeosang approached the beautiful dark vessel with white sails carefully. He was mesmerized by it. Something about it called to him, and it felt almost familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was. He paced around the ship for a moment, admiring it, before he focused on finding an entrance.

He recognized the ship model from a ship his father had worked in previously. Everything he knew about ships was thanks to his father, even if he somewhat hated to admit it. Still, he had to admit that his father had given him the dream of becoming the captain of a ship. This particular model was refined and less common, since it possessed very high specs and it wasn’t particularly cheap to produce.

Whoever owned this ship was a person of fortune and power, exactly what Yeosang was looking for. If he remembered correctly, there was a little entrance close to the propellers, made for ease of access when they needed maintenance in space. It wasn't a strong point of the vessel, since it was necessary to ensure that a person doing maintenance wouldn't be locked out, but it was also well hidden due to this. Yeosang passed his hands around the ship over and over until eventually he found the little latch and pulled on it.

"Got it," he grinned when he noticed it hadn't been locked from the inside and the door opened to the maintenance area of the ship.

Someone had probably left it open from a previous maintenance check and had forgotten to lock it. That was a beginners move. If things went well, maybe they could learn a lesson from their stuff being stolen by Yeosang; if not, well, Yeosang would have more important things to worry about than teach them a lesson.

He pressed his arms against the floor of the ship and pulled himself up, trying to keep his voice quiet as he struggled to lift his own weight. He hadn't been eating properly for days so it was difficult to make use of all his strength, but eventually he made it in. After some careful consideration, he decided to close the hatch and just hope it would be unlocked when he came back, since living it open could attract other burglars.

Slowly, he made his way around the maintenance area of the ship, paying special attention to any noises that could indicate someone else was there with him. It was a risky move, truly, since when else would be a better time to perform maintenance on a ship than when at port, but it was also his best shot. The ship was dead silent however, and as he gained confidence, he started moving quicker with his goal set on the captain's quarters.

"Stop right there." A cool voice said.

Yeosang turned around as his hand went towards his belt, where he kept a dagger he had been using during his life in the streets. His hand didn't make it that far, however, as he stopped as soon as he felt the tip of a sword pressing against his neck. In front of him stood a man, eyes dead cold and expression serious. His stance was flawless as he held the sword perfectly still against Yeosang, and he knew that this could only come from years of training. Whoever was on board this ship wasn't just any rich merchant if they could hire people with these skills.

His expression went blank, giving away nothing as he stared the man down with a similar glare, almost daring him to go further. Yeosang's hand inched little by little towards his knife. He knew he couldn't win against an electric chimera with a common dagger he had found among his dad's left behind belongings, but he wasn't going down without a fight either. Just as his fingers grazed the handle of his dagger, another voice spoke from behind him.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you." Said the voice, as the mouth of a gun pressed against his back. Yeosang sighed.

"Don't bring a knife to a gun fight, or so they say." Yeosang moved his hand away from the dagger and raised both of his arms, admitting defeat.

"Wise choice." The man in front of him said, but his sword pressed more against Yeosang's neck, prickling him sightly. Yeosang hissed.

"Don't do that San!" The man behind him sounded scandalized as he moved the gun away and forced Yeosang's arms behind his back, easily holding both wrists with one hand.

"Sorry, I am not kin to people stealing on my ship." The man named San said as he sheathed his sword.

Yeosang noticed they were putting nothing on his wrists, so he made an attempt to pull them away and run, but the grip only grew tighter, making him yelp. How could someone be so strong? He turned his head around as much as he could, trying to take a glance at the person holding him down, but all he got was an uncomfortably kind smile and a shrug. That made no sense.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you, I don't want to accidentally break your wrists." The man warned, looking only slightly apologetic.

"We should tie him up and take him to the main deck," San suggested, turning around. "I'll go look for something to tie him up with, keep an eye on him."

San left and the two of them stood in the middle of the little hallway in uncomfortable silence. This was, by far, the most humiliating thing Yeosang had gone through since he had started living on the streets, stealing to make his days. How could someone hold him down so easily with one hand? He knew he wasn't the strongest, and he certainly wasn't in the best shape due to his situation, but it still felt like a little too much.

"Who are you?" The man asked him. Yeosang could tell there was curiosity in his voice, but he remained silent. "I guess not telling me anything about you might be better for you..."

"How are you so strong?" Yeosang asked instead, exasperated because he couldn't move.

"I've been doing heavy work since I was young?" The man replied, but he didn't sound very certain.

They stayed in silence after that until San came back and changed places with the other man, who held him down while San tied up a complicated knot around Yeosang's wrists. He tugged at the knot but it didn't shift even slightly, which raised his suspicions that San had definitely been trained as something. Just who was the owner of this ship?

"Let's go Jongho, the Captain will want to see him once he gets back." San ordered, and the other man, Jongho, nodded and pushed Yeosang towards the main deck.

#kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #8makes1teamnet #kpopscape #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez fanfiction #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop fic #kpop fanfiction #crescent #bluenicorn writes

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setsuna-maru · 3 years

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Chapters: 6/? Fandom: 半妖の夜叉姫 | Hanyou no Yashahime | Yashahime: Princess Half-Demon (Anime), InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rin/Sesshoumaru (InuYasha) Characters: Rin (InuYasha), Sesshoumaru (InuYasha), Setsuna (Hanyou no Yashahime), Naraku (InuYasha), Jaken (InuYasha) Additional Tags: Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

After his fateful third encounter with his half-brother, Sesshoumaru meets, not a human girl, but an involuntary time-traveler. Determined to right the path he would've strayed from, the course of history is changed. Years later, an intoxicating scent blows in with the cold gust of a new spring and Sesshoumaru will cross paths with the woman who would've shaped his future.

And possibly still could.

Chapter 6

Sesshoumaru hasn’t seen or heard of the spider hanyo since they left him in pieces years before but he knows that tell-tale miasma stench anywhere. The fact that Naraku managed to survive is somehow less surprising than the fact that he’s confronting Sesshoumaru in person, rather than using a puppet. Or sending one of his detachments.

Everyone is coming out of the woodwork, he mentally scoffs. First he catches wind of that human's scent and now back comes Naraku and his whole bothersome existence.

That human woman was turning out to be just like her would-be daughter; a bad omen.

"Naraku," he acknowledges his newly-reappeared enemy. Sesshoumaru tries to keep his voice as neutral as possible while still maintaining an aura of obvious contempt. Jaken immediately springs into action, cursing the spider and making threats on behalf of his master.

"I'm surprised you've decided to show your face again.” A face that had not visibly changed since their last confrontation. Other than being healed and fully-intact, Naraku looked much the same from the days when Sesshoumaru had become entangled in his complicated web. The one that included Inuyasha and his companions, among countless others.

“When I, Sesshoumaru, and Kirinmaru of the Dawn confronted you years ago, you fled with your tail between your legs and did not return."

Sesshoumaru had never believed Naraku defeated for good. They had only succeeded in chasing him back into hiding. Inuyasha and his band of friends had attempted to hunt him down and finish what the two daiyokais had started but with no luck. Whatever crevice the threatened spider wedged himself into had proven too dark and deep to find.

"Only one of us here has a tail, Sesshoumaru," comes Naraku's reply.

Sesshoumaru smirks. "You'd think with all your downtime Naraku, you would have better comebacks prepared."

"You’re one to judge, Sesshoumaru,” he scoffs, then chuckles. “Why—You famously have a way with words."

"How dare you insult Sesshoumaru-sama!" comes Jaken’s squawking defense. "He is a man of brilliant eloquence. That you’re ignorant of that is only based on the fact that such a great yokai would never waste his oratorical gifts on the likes of you!" Jaken shakes his Nintojo at the spider demon during his speech for emphasis.

"Oh?" Naraku responds, skeptically. "And who does he share them with? You, little yokai?"

Jaken sputters as he tries to come up with a response.

"Well, there's uh...uh...there is no one truly worthy of my master's poetry, you see! No one with whom he can converse on his own level—"

"Jaken!" Sesshoumaru interrupts him, having had enough. "Silence."

The imp stiffens and ceases his useless chatter.

"Naraku; should Kirinmaru and I need to deal with you again? Is that the reason you've returned from whatever sinkhole you crawled up from?"

"Threatening I, Naraku with the superior Beast King?"

The spider's tone is ruthlessly mocking and Sesshoumaru narrows his eyes slightly as he imagines his claws bursting out the back of that boned armor.

Where did this vermin get off, having that attitude? Like he hadn't been scared into hiding for all this time. Like they hadn't had him on the verge of death.

"Go, Sesshoumaru," he teases. "Tug on Uncle Kirinmaru's hakama and tell Father's friend he needs to fight a battle for you again. I'm sure he's in a charitable mood."

"This coming from one who so often relies on manipulating others into doing his dirty work for him," Sesshoumaru counters. “Aided or not, you were confronted with raw power and strength. Not detachments and trickery.”

"Trickery'" Naraku repeats. “Manipulation of others.” His tone is placidly condescending. ‟You are no stranger to these, Sesshoumaru.”

"It’s true,” Naraku admits. “I, Naraku, will use anyone and anything as a tool. But you, Sesshoumaru, are a great daiyokai. Shouldn’t you have more faith in your own abilities?"

“You’re correct that I’m a daiyokai,” he responds coldly, masking his rapidly dwindling patience with this interaction.

“Unlike you, I don't derive my power from thousands of demon parasites. But all that means is that you have no right to say anything to me. You’re a disgusting thing, Naraku." He adds, "Like all hanyos.”

Naraku is undeterred by the pushback. Being much too aware of Sesshoumaru's insecurities, he moves to a subject he's certain remains a sore spot.

"I see you still don't carry Tessaiga at your hip. Am I to assume your half-brother, Inuyasha, retains possession of your father's fang?"

Sesshoumaru’s mouth tightens. He hears Jaken gasp; appalled by the audacity of invoking Inuyasha’s ownership of the Tessaiga.

"So it's me you've come to first to announce yourself, and not my hanyo brother," he points out. "Should I be flattered? Am I, Sesshoumaru, your new obsession?"

“It was curiosity that brought me to seek you out first," Naraku says. "Was it not a human woman I discovered you conversing with the other day? It seemed like she had an awful lot to say to you.”

Sesshoumaru fights to keep his face impassive. Unless Naraku had used a puppet, he should have been able to smell him or any of his detachments if they had been that close. Just what form of Naraku had been watching—And from where?

“Humans are numerous and unavoidable, even to this one,” he responds, careful not to protest too forcefully.

Naraku persists. “She approached you without fear or hesitation.”

“Are you really expecting I, Sesshoumaru, to explain the behavior of a human?” Again, he treads lightly, measuring his response. He will use no more words of explanation than necessary. For a moment, he wonders why. It's not as if he's trying to protect her.

He’s not.

Sesshoumaru thinks back to the encounter by the river. The damn woman had been so eager to talk . Would she talk to Naraku?

On the chance that she did, whether willingly or by force, what of it? Even if she told him all about Setsuna, she was entirely unaware of the girl’s true nature.

And if Naraku managed to surmise that information regardless...well, it might actually work to Sesshoumaru’s advantage.

Let the spider think he’d found a weakness of his to exploit. Let him try to use it against him. Sesshoumaru would stand proud, smugly belittle him for having such a ridiculous idea and show the fool just how little he cared.

Sesshoumaru's hand goes to the battle sword at his left side. In one swift, fluid motion, he unsheathes Sōryūjin and makes a swipe at Naraku. His target dodges the blade and floats into the air.

"Run to Uncle Kirinmaru," Naraku taunts him, his dark curling hair rising in a curtain above his pale head. "You'll find I, Naraku, will be ready for him."

With that, the spider hanyo flew away, drifting off into the horizon.

"Why, the nerve of him!" Jaken huffs.

His vassal looks up at him, radiating with outrage. "Sesshoumaru-sama, will you go after Naraku? He's getting away!"

"No, Jaken," he says to the imp's consternation. Sesshoumaru needed the opportunity to consider what action to take. Naraku was nothing but a pest, and if he was going to insist on infesting their lives once more, Sesshoumaru would destroy him for good. With or without the Eastern Lord's help.

Sesshoumaru asked Setsuna no further questions and ceased any appearance of cordiality. As far as he was concerned, this is where his business with her ended. He told her so, and in language he imagined to be as devastating and offensive as the situation deserved.

(Years later, he’ll try to recall what exactly he said to her. He’d wanted to make it brutally clear just how he felt about the existence of half-demons but, for some reason, he hadn’t really wanted to insult her personally. In the end, he can’t remember if the generic condemnations he’s thinking of are things he’d actually said to her or lines he’d taunted Inuyasha with around the same time.)

Tainted blood courses through your body...A hanyo whose mother is a human is a disgrace to all our kind...Don’t come near me again, stick to humans—It suits you...Infinitely vulgar beings...I won’t fall to a weakness of the heart...What can half-demons do? You’re useless to me...

His contempt for humans and half-demon’s had stock phrases.

Sesshoumaru had needed something to keep his mind occupied during long days of fruitless hunting for the Tessaiga. It was easy to become fixated on what had left him in that situation in the first place.

For her part, Setsuna seemed deeply unimpressed.

His cruel rejection of her is met by vacant boredom. If anything he had said had gotten under her skin, her face denied it. Inuyasha would have called him a bastard and made several clumsy attempts on his head by that point. Again, he was forced to recognize part of himself in her stoic refusal to be baited into a reaction.

“Are you finished?” she asked, after one last condemnation of her as existential terror.

“Do you understand that we are not to come into contact again? That you are to act as if we have no relationship to one another?”

“It’s not as though that’ll take any getting used to," she replied sardonically.

“Kirinmaru,” he reminded her. “Leave him to me. You’re not to seek him out for any reason.”

Setsuna shrugged. “He’s no business of mine. I already told you; I declined that offer.”

“Then there’s nothing else to discuss. We should not cross paths again.”

With that, he turned his back on her. As far as he knew at the time, that might be the last he'd ever see of the girl; her back against the tree, arms folded, her face defiantly expressionless.

Would she ever make it back to her own time, to her sister? Sesshoumaru certainly wouldn't be worrying himself with such concerns. The only thing he cared about was that she stayed out of his way and didn't draw any attention to herself.

Farewell, Setsuna; you're on your own.

He wondered once more if he should go the extra step of ending her life. It would be the most convenient thing to do. He decided against it, telling himself it was because she still possessed pertinent knowledge of future events. Things it would help to know but hadn’t yet occurred to him to ask about. Never mind the fact that he’d just deliberately set that bridge on fire.

His rationalization complete, Sesshoumaru’s thoughts turned to what to do about Kirinmaru. He wasn’t sure if it would be wise to confront him. Damn Inuyasha—The Tessaiga was wasted on him. What use did the hanyo have for such a powerful sword? What had their father expected his eldest to do if it ever came time for him to confront the Lord of the East?

His desire for his own powerful fang was stronger than ever now. Totosai, the old geezer, would still refuse to forge him one. There were other swordsmith’s—None as good as Totosai, but Sesshoumaru wielding would more than make up for any deficiencies in craft.

He wondered if his Other had ever succeeded in taking Tessaiga from Inuyasha. Or had that demoralizing failure only pushed him even further from his intended path?

Setsuna might've known the answer to that; if he had thought to ask about it. But it doesn’t matter and it’s not worth dwelling over; he's already returned to the correct path; the roads have already diverged. He was the real Sesshoumaru and it was what he did from here on out that truly counted.

All the same, the image of Setsuna's face lingered in his mind; it’s fine details memorized against his will. Pieces of their conversation play back to him and the voice that says "we’re complete strangers" with nothing indicative of caring is her own low one.

He thought back to Tessaiga; that sword meant to be inherited by a half-demon; the sword that had protected Inuyasha's human mother. It's the only semi-rational explanation for what his Other had done but...perhaps, Setsuna’s birth had been an experiment. A last ditch effort at taking Tessaiga for himself.

Lack of compassion for humans was supposedly what had repelled Sesshoumaru from wielding it with his own hands. Would he really have gone that far in pursuit of his father’s fang? If the experiment had proven to be a failure then, that would explain why his other self and his progeny were strangers.

There was a part of him that would like to believe in that scenario but, ultimately, he can’t. (Hanyo or not, he would never abandon his children.) But again, it doesn’t matter. Whatever the reasons for what the Other had done, that future wasn’t his anymore.

Regardless, as things stood then and there, Tessaiga remained stubbornly outside his grasp. He still would need a blade sufficient enough to battle any opponent; from his lowly half-brother, to Naraku to, potentially, Kirinmaru.

Sesshoumaru had a notorious swordsmith to seek out. Kaijinbo would craft him an impressive blade, he was sure of it. He just needed to locate a suitable fang.

#SessRin #SessRin Fanfiction #SessRin Fanfic #bye bye butterfly #bye bye butterfly chapter 6

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charlottemadison42 · 4 years

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On Good Omens and Faith

Here follow personal thoughts on what Good Omens has meant to me as an Exvangelical. There’s a lot of healing & hope here, but it gets a bit dark first, as worthy stories do.

CW: I wasn’t badly spiritually abused in church, but I’ll be discussing things that are spiritually abusive: purity culture, sexphobia, queerphobia, abortion, mild self-harm, failure to treat mental health appropriately, ableism -- plus the special ways church authority makes all of these especially hard.

I’m personally an atheist but this message is not an argument against faith itself, rather against the specific subculture I grew up in. If you are a person of faith you’re welcome here.

I grew up in the American Evangelical subculture of the 80′s and 90′s, in the Keith Green/DC Talk/Left Behind/Veggie Tales era. I got saved at a Carman concert in sixth grade, and re-pledged my faith just to be extra sure every year at summer camp and youth group retreats.

This upbringing is not unusual. Doesn’t make me special. But its effects were real.

I’m finally engaged in a reckoning with it, in the “I should maybe talk this over with a support group or therapist” sense. I was a worship leader and youth leader at a Vineyard church when I left my faith abruptly in 2007*. It took me ten years to tell my family and friends that I was an atheist. For that decade I didn’t think about it -- but when I confessed to my loved ones two years ago, the processing began in earnest.

If you came up Evangelical, you already know how literal our belief in angels and demons can be in certain strains of the church. Until I was 26, I believed they were real entities genuinely and invisibly at war all around me. The End Times were real and we were in them. The Antichrist was whatever high profile democrat could be weaponized at the moment, the Rapture was nigh, and Armageddon was imminent (which explained why tension kept building in the Middle East).

My church community regularly discussed friends and neighbors’ problems in the language of demon possession or harrassment: depression was a demon, addiction was a demon, promiscuity was a demon. I was part of casual and formal exorcisms and the occasional healing. No holy water, but there were hours of fervent prayers and tears, speaking in tongues and anointing with oil. It’s like a fever dream looking back at it now.**

Shout out to my other teens and tweens of the Frank Peretti era, forbidden from reading books of fantasy any later than Lewis or Tolkein -- Xanth was forbidden, Hogwarts was demonic. We were given instead (retrospectively) horrifying books about spiritual warfare, Christian takes on historical fiction, and end times fantasies. But they weren’t sold as fantasy to us, it was all real. Adults in positions of power confirmed it over and over. Narnia might be allegory but This Present Darkness supposedly illustrated spiritual truths.

I remember telling a trusted church teacher at age 10 or 11 that sometimes I would get scared at night, in the dark, and feel a palpable terror that kept me awake. They told me with no hint of comfort, “That means a demon is visiting you and sitting on your chest, trying to oppress you with fear so you will sin. Don’t wake your parents or read a book, instead you should pray or read only the Bible until the demon is compelled to leave, either by an angel or the presence of God.” This adult was affirmed by amens and mm-hmms.

I took this teaching to heart. I also understood, by implication, that if the bad feeling stayed with me then I was praying wrong -- that no angel would rescue me that night. I knew that my fear as it compounded in the dark was itself a sin that made God harder for me to reach.

These are not things that should be told to children.

Then there were the prophecies. (read more if this resonates with you, if not I’ll clip it here so I don’t take up your whole screen)

Anyone could prophesy in most churches I attended. Dreams were prophecies, visions were prophecies, vague feelings were prophecies. (That gave nightmares / being hormonal / being really hungry an awful lot of sway at Bible study.)

I had a woman prophesy over me weeping, with her hands buried in my hair, that she felt overwhelming grief for my future child. I was 23.

I have no child, and I harbored the secret at the time was that I didn’t want one -- a rebellion for me as a married woman. I feared she was prophesying an abortion in my future, and I was inconsolable for months at the damning choice that would visit me someday. (As of this writing at age 38 I’ve never been pregnant, for which I give all thanks to modern birth control.) I still wonder what happened to that woman’s child, or pregnancy, or perhaps her desire for a child, that this was her prophecy for me.

I heard much darker things prophesied over other people. I remember career changes (ill-advised) and marriages staying together (they shouldn’t have) and mission trips undertaken (that assuredly should not have been) because of prophesies.

Last, of course, I didn’t know it yet but I had many queer friends at the time. Some of them didn’t know it. We had no context in our small town -- and no corners of the internet to hide in and learn context, because the internet didn’t do much more than access our local library catalog at the time. I was told that demons sat on my chest to oppress me as a child, but I was shielded from understanding what a lesbian actually was until I was sixteen.

I remember feeling vaguely guilty when we prayed over this or that person in youth group, entreating God that they could resist their base urges. We prayed that they could choose a life of abstinence if they had to, rather than enter sexual sin and be cast out. I felt guilty but I still joined the circle to pray.

I’m sorry. I was wrong. Part of me knew it at the time. I wish I had listened to that part of me because that it was correct. There are fragments of my former faith I still treasure, but those prayers were rotten to the core.

Sidebar: Luckily that feeling of guilt bloomed quickly into rejecting queerphobic doctrine. By age 20 I decided I could only attend churches that did not preach homophobic takes on scripture from the pulpit, and that did not advocate/imply advocacy for any particular political party. The reason I mention this: if YOU are currently a person of faith in this position, uncomfortable with what you hear from your leadership, go find a church that’s queer-affirming, gives to the poor, and advocates for immigrants. Live in a conservative area? Create or join a home church. That’s what the early church looked like anyway. Don’t shrug off this responsibility. Shine a light.

Anyway. Several years later, I fell.

I had to step down from multiple church leadership positions in one day. My entire life changed in two months; marriage, job, home, friends, everything uprooted when I could no longer pretend to believe. I didn’t tell my family why everything fell apart, even as they let me crash their couches.

I had wanted to be a good believer. I read apologetics, the mystics, eschatology, theophostics. I taught and attended study groups, I took troubled teens out to coffee, I served the homeless, I waited til marriage. I was in church as many as thirty hours weekly. When I first felt my faith slipping I said “not yet,” and I read the entire Bible straight through twice, in different translations, while journaling through “My Utmost for His Highest.” Then, unsatisfied, I read and annotated the New Testament in interlinear Greek. I gave it my everything.

What could replace all that?

Time, it turns out. And freedom.

Freedom to not think about it was perhaps the kindest freedom. The constant labor of self-evaluation and thought policing that goes into Evangelical Christianity is exhausting. Letting it go of it felt like getting my mind back. Or owning it for the first time, since I never knew this freedom before. I had even been seeking counseling because I was hearing multiple voices in my head at once, all mine, often arguing. That problem vanished the hour I deconverted. I heard only one voice anymore, and it was my own.

For ten years I was free to just not think about it.

When I decided to remarry I realized that I didn’t want to explain to anyone why my ceremony would not include prayers or communion. So I told my loved ones at last that I was an atheist, a decade late. They received it graciously, and I’m sure they had known-but-not-acknowledged it for a long time. I hope they don’t worry about me or pray behind my back for my salvation. But if they do I can’t accept responsibility for it anymore.

Since that confession I’ve finally felt compelled to back at what all actually happened in church. It seemed so normal to me at the time. But wait, it wasn’t:

I exorcised people. I laid on hands for healings. I encouraged episodes of religious rapture, falling out, and speaking in tongues, and as a worship leader I knew the music cues to bring them about (yes, there are certain chord and tempo changes for that). I was present for prophecies that changed people’s lives and might have issued some myself, I don’t remember. I alienated people who didn’t fit in, whether because they were queer or just because they didn’t conform to church culture. I witnessed abuse and had no language to report it or even comprehend it. I hurt people. I was hurt.

I was told there were real demons in my room and I had to pray them away all by myself.

The work of undoing this mindf*ck (sorry friends of faith, that’s how it felt) suddenly turned urgent after being ignored for a decade. I can’t afford therapy, but thankfully Twitter chats and message boards and podcasts exist (thank you, @goodchristianfun and @exvangelical).

And then -- out of the blue -- along came my own personal angel and demon, along with Frances McDormand herself. I watched it on a whim. (Actually no, David Tennant’s hair made me.)

Apparently Good Omens had a few things to say directly to my mindf*cked subconscious:

1) Are you scared of demons in a pathological childhood trauma way? Here, have a helping of this amalgam of your favorite Doctor and scariest ever Marvel villain tearing it up as the demon Crowley.

2) Does your mild bookish personality and respect for the culture you grew up in keep you reflexively deferential to authority, even as it gaslights you and hurts others? Enjoy some Michael Sheen as the angel Aziraphale.

3) Are you stuck still mentally assigning a male gender to the god you always claimed was beyond gender? Boom, meet Her in all Her ineffable wisdom.

4) Are you terrified of the End Times, both as a Biblical horror of childhood and as an adult who reads the f*cking news? Let’s fantasize awhile about a solvable apocalypse (because what would that even look like, yo).

5) Do you keep reflexively binarizing good and evil? Still giving in to the temptation to characterize humans as righteous or fallen, especially celebrities and political prospects? Spend some time on Our Side with Adam, the utterly human Antichrist, as he makes choices that matter -- some goodish, some baddish, all with mixed consequences, because that’s what humans do.

6) Do you need more queer love stories in your life? Yes you do. Yes. YES. Here it is. The good stuff. Whether it’s gay, trans, genderfluid, asexual, agender, metaphysical, whatever (I’m enjoying reading all these takes and more on AO3) it’s a hell of a love story.

Good Omens was a f*cking revelation.

I’m not sure why the show hit me as hard as it did in the Exvangelical feels. It’s not that it’s a perfect show, but it was the right thing at the right time for me, and it brought a truck full of dynamite to the excavation I was just beginning with a trowel and a makeup brush. I finished watching ep 6 and thought “why do I feel like I’ll be thinking about this every single day for years?”

And then I looked down, and lo and behold I had an open chest wound -- inside of which I found the banished memory of a child trembling and praying in terror in a dark room.

There was a lot that I forgot about in the ten years it took me to hike away from Evangelical life. It all came rushing back.

I had forgotten the sweat and cries during exorcisms and the heat of laying on of hands. I had forgotten fits of ecstatic tears of self-hatred and self-denial so strong they were almost blissful, as I sang and chanted mantras like “I am nothing, You are everything.” I had forgotten giving away ten percent of my income until I was 26. I had forgotten the constant mental effort of Being A Proverbs 31 Woman, about submission and complementarianism and feeling responsible to guard the virtue of men by never tempting them. I had forgotten the pressure to not even masturbate before marriage and to become a sexual athlete the night after.

I had forgotten the hours and hours of daily prayers. Every phrase was carefully carved in language my superego ran by my doctrine, to make sure no hint of rebellion ever bled through. I washed words of need and doubt and frustration from my mind so they could never slip between me and my Heavenly Father. I didn’t just want to hide thoughts God wouldn’t like, I would have cut them out with violence if I knew how. As a result I picked and ticced and cut and exhibited symptoms of OCD.

It hurt to remember all of this at once during a BBC Amazon Prime miniseries. It confused me. It confused my spouse. I looked at all these feelings, exposed and piled in a massive dirty heap -- and I spotted the straps I used to haul it around with me for decades. Who knew I could carry all that? The weight of faith?

But I don’t have to pick it up again. I had a new story to help me frame my story. I felt equipped with a flaming sword to face my past and a new syntax to describe the old ideas I'm ready to let go of.

I got to recast Heaven and Hell. I was invited to ask myself whether a cozy cluttered bookshop doesn’t beat them both hands down.

I got to reimagine angels and demons, good and bad, intentions and consequences. I was invited to live in the reality that we’re all of us humans in between, and that I’m probably still overinvested in the value of Good and Bad as yardsticks.

I got to reimagine western history. The show’s perspective of history is very limited and Eurocentric, but it’s also the version of history I was taught at an early age, which made the story a useful lens to deconstruct what I learned before I knew much about critical thinking.

The opening of Episode 3 in particular f*cked me up. First Aziraphale lies to God and She vanishes, then Crowley starts poking holes in the story of the Flood, then at the Crucifixion -- I started breathing hard on my first viewing, experiencing a real physiological threat response. I was loving it, of course, but distressed panicky love.

The second time I watched it I realized what was happening: I was going back to Sunday School to revisit ideas I absorbed before I was fully sentient, and examining them in the light of fully formed adult secular morality. They look different from here.

When God withdraws Her presence from Aziraphale in the first few moments of Ep 3 as he prevaricates (well, lies) I remembered the one great fear of my faithful life: that I could sin a particular sin and as punishment I would be cut off from God’s presence. As a believer in the End Times, that meant the Rapture could occur at any moment and I might be rejected, be left behind to experience the Tribulation.

Now, from some remove, I realize that I always had one fear larger. It’s a thought I never allowed myself to entertain consciously. Good Omens unearthed it like a vein of flowing lava:

If the Apocalypse as my church describes it is real, how could God want it to happen? And if God does, is this a God I want to worship? If I don’t, but I’ll be damned for that, is my faith freely chosen?

Whose side could I really be on, in the End Times, if not Heaven’s or Hell’s?

These are not small questions.

I’m relieved that I answered them a long time ago for myself.

But even after the answering, there’s fallout; a million little knots to untie and ideas to unlearn. We all get to spend our lives doing this sort of archaeological dig through our childhood baggage, I suppose. My Stuff is certainly not unique. It’s just a lot. Same as everyone’s.

But once in awhile a story comes along and helps us with the process. A sharper spade, a better tool for the work. In my case, through Good Omens I received demolition-grade explosives. It gave me a framework, characters, and a personal shorthand to speed my own digging and contextualize what I find.

If your history is kinda like mine -- whether you’re still in the faith or not -- be sure to talk to someone about church stuff from your past. The weird stuff, the dark stuff, the things you did/people did to you that now seem “off.” Even if you’ve grown past the point of “mental illness requires an exorcism” there are still dangerous ideas buried like land mines in our moral matrices. Self-hatred, intolerance, fear of abandonment, fear that failure is damnation, presumption that “we’re” on the “right side” of everything and “they’re” not, fear that we the apocalypse Is Written by powers above and so we can’t change it.

I’m so happy I know a story with an Our Side now.

I’m so happy I know a story in which the true test of devotion to God’s Ineffable Plan is turning away from the dictates of Heaven and turning toward the World.

I’m so glad I met Aziraphale -- so like me, still seeking Heaven’s approval far too late in the game. I’m so grateful he found the courage to walk away, and I’m so glad I did too. I love that I know Crowley now, self-pwning lovelorn disaster demon of minor inconveniences and imagination and free will. I’m so happy Crowley was there to tempt his friend with questions from the start, and to receive him when he was finally ready to break away.

I’m so proud to know Adam and the Them and Anathema and Newt, inept humans trying their hardest against unstoppable cosmic forces, getting it right not just despite their flaws but through and because of them.

I’m so grateful I’ve finally managed to completely swap to female pronouns for God (thanks, Frances). I still love stories about Her, I still enjoy talking theology and religion. And after 20+ years of insisting God is above gender but masculinizing him, it’s about time I switch to thinking of God as Her for a spell to even things out.***

I’m so thankful for the nicest fandom I’ve known in ages and all the glorious queer beautiful amazing body-positive art and writing growing in this fabulous garden.

Confession accomplished.

P.S. I might not have the time/resources you need to chat with you if you’ve had similar experiences or want to discuss. If you need help be sure to reach somewhere healthy to get it. If you witness abuse, online or in church or otherwise -- report it, block it, mute it, shut it down, whatever is in your power.

P.P.S. If you have words of rebuke for me from a churchy place, and/or critiques about gender or politics, sorry, don’t give a f*ck. This is my story to tell and I am secure in my spiritual status. I am free indeed.

++++++++++++++

*Re. Deconversion: Or rather, I had my faith zapped out of me in what turned out to be the truest rapturous religious experience of my life. It happened in a church service; I almost fell out and spoke in tongues with the tingling power of understanding that I was truly and finally faithless. It’s an interesting deconversion story if you're familiar with charismatic church stuff, ask me sometime over tea. It felt like this.

**Re. Exorcisms: Most disturbing was the regular practice of exorcising people who clearly needed professional help for their mental health. I was present when prayers against demons happened over cases of depression, manic depression, epilepsy and other seizures, addiction, schizophrenia, and psychotic episodes. My particular church did acknowledge the role of modern medicine, but felt that the true core of these issues was spiritual and that medication ultimately could not solve a problem of demonic infestation. Looking back now I shudder and weep to think that this happened, that I was part of it once, and that it still happens daily at churches everywhere. It can be unspeakably damaging to the people being prayed over. If this practice happens in your church, leave. If it happens at a church where you’re in leadership, end it.

***Re. God as She/Her: I encourage you to find your own appropriate pronouns for God, whether you believe in Them or not. For me personally, still reeling from the Proverbs 31 upbringing, She/Her is very healing for now. But gender is a construct etc. etc.

#good omens #good omens analysis #aziraphale #crowley #exvangelical #ex-christian #neil gaiman

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iwhumpyou · 4 years

Text

The Recompense (Part 1)

Masterlist. Wergild.

Taglist: @whumps-the-word, @swordkallya, @whumpy-daydreams.

~#~#~#~#~#~

The compound was blackened and burnt, but the remains of the walls stretched out from ash and Clarissa stumbled her way through the hollows of her home.

She was searching for – for something that may not even be there, a last, desperate hope.

Her sister was dead.

The peace was ruined.

The forest was destroyed.

She didn’t know how many people – how many people she’d killed. She didn’t even remember killing them.

She remembered rage. She remembered the burning satisfaction of unchaining her powers for the first time in her life. She remembered the desire to make the world outside match the blackened ruin of her heart.

It was apparent that she succeeded.

Nerali was dead.

She was dead. She was never coming back. She was dead.

Her little sister. The sister Clarissa swore she would protect at all costs.

Clarissa paused to lean heavily against a jagged stone pillar, curling in the hopes of lessening the vicious ache in her chest, the hollow that threatened to devour her heart.

She couldn’t stop. Not here, not like this. Not until she found a way to fix it. Not until she made a way to fix it, if none existed.

“I told you,” the voice was hoarse, rasping, sorrowful, “I told you that you were a tsunami trapped in a teapot. I told you to never remove the lid.”

“Too late for that.” The words came out stuttering.

“Too late,” the wise woman of the well agreed.

“I destroyed everything,” Clarissa said, numb.

“Not everything,” the wise woman stared deep into her pool. Ash had drifted upon it and she was carefully catching the dust with her hands and clearing the water. “The shapeshifters, to the north, went unscathed. The shadow-makers to the west. The people that live beyond the desert. Not all the roots are shattered. Not all those burned are dead.”

“I destroyed the peace.”

“Yes,” the wise woman said, looking up. “I warned you. I told you – first self, then clan, then the others. I warned you – in that order precisely. I warned you. But you did not listen.”

Clarissa crumpled to her knees and twisted her hands into fists.

“Will you listen this time?”

Her face twisted. “There is no time. There’s nothing left. I had peace, I had it in my hands. And I destroyed it.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the whisper of water lapping at grass.

“I told you, when you first came to me, when you first asked. Do you remember?”

Clarissa dredged out the memory, trying not to think of Davina’s tears or Aidan’s fear. She had been a child, a few months into her friendship with Jace, and her parents had narrowed their eyes when she started talking about an alliance.

“I asked you about peace.”

“And I told you that peace is patience,” the wise woman said, “I told you that it is the seed you plant in the ground, the one you nurture, protecting from predators and ills, raising slowly and steadily. I told you that you will need to stand by it for the rest of your life. I told you that you will watch it grow but never see it bear fruit.”

“You said that the first seeds will fail,” Clarissa said hollowly, remembering the fable she’d gotten when all she’d wanted was a yes-or-no.

But the question wasn’t a yes-or-no. She had asked – ‘is peace possible?’ She had wanted – ‘will I accomplish it?’

“The first seeds always do,” the wise woman said, “We make mistakes. Otherwise, how will we learn?”

“Nerali is dead,” Clarissa said hollowly.

There was a long pause. The wise woman sighed. “I was fond of that girl,” she said. She didn’t sound surprised.

“Davina…” Clarissa stuttered, “Frances… Robin… Aidan is afraid of me.”

“Do you think there is a single thing left in the forest that is not afraid of you?” the wise woman asked.

No. No, Clarissa didn’t think so.

All her siblings had been aware of her power levels – her parents kept pushing for more and more and more and they knew that none of them could defeat her. That all of them working together couldn’t defeat her.

It had put a strain on their relationship when she became clan leader – slight, invisible, but there. She was never entirely sure whether they went along with her decisions because they were good ones, or because they had no leverage to disagree.

Aidan had provided a sounding board as her second, but their relationship had never quite healed after he had exposed her riverbank meetings, and she saw the way his eyes flashed whenever he didn’t press his point.

(He had spirited Nerali away rather than talk to her. He had walked into the arms of the enemy rather than disobey to her face.)

But Nerali hadn’t. She didn’t know the extent of Clarissa’s powers. She was never afraid of her.

And now she was dead.

“I can’t,” Clarissa said finally, hollow and aching. “I can’t do this.”

“Cannot?” the wise woman asked, “Or will not?”

Clarissa took a deep breath and held onto it for a long moment before letting it out.

“She was my baby sister,” Clarissa whispered, “She was – I tried so hard to build the peace. For her. To protect her. And I failed.”

More hushes of ripples through the pond. The surface was still covered completely by ash, even as the wise woman methodically dipped her hands in to remove another grain.

“Peace requires sacrifice.”

“No!” Clarissa bolted upright, “No. Not her. Never her. Not my family.”

The wise woman shrugged, “Sometimes we don’t have a choice in what we sacrifice.”

Clarissa balled her hands into fists and resisted the urge to set something on fire. She felt like she was holding onto control by the tips of her fingers. Her powers had surged to the surface, flickering in tune to her emotions.

“You knew,” Clarissa snarled and the wise woman didn’t even look away from her stupid, pointless task. “You saw this happening and you didn’t even bother to warn me!”

She struck the surface of the water, sending the ash particles swirling as the water turned cloudy. The wise woman watched and sighed, shaking her head.

“Time and fate are complicated,” she said as the waters settled. She resumed her task, even though Clarissa had just made it magnitudes harder. “And I did warn you.”

Clarissa slumped back, watching as the wise woman scooped up a handful of murky water and let it drain in her hands. She caught maybe a few granules of ash that she brushed aside before going for another scoop.

“You are never going to clear the well,” Clarissa said quietly.

“Perhaps,” the wise woman said, “Perhaps not. There is no knowing unless I try.”

“And you’re willing to try?” Clarissa asked, doubtful, “Willing to spend the rest of your life on a task that may fail?”

The wise woman stopped and looked at her, and there was nothing but calm in her wizened features.

“If I spend the rest of my life cleaning out this well,” she said softly, “Then it will be cleaner than it was when I started. That is not a failure.”

Clarissa looked away, unable to meet the wise woman’s gaze.

“I ruined the peace,” she said softly.

“Yes,” the wise woman said.

“I can never rebuild it,” she said, feeling the dull horror strike at her.

“Yes,” the wise woman said, “You can spend the rest of your life sowing the seeds, but you will die before they flourish.”

“Nerali’s dead.”

“Yes,” the wise woman said.

“I can’t,” she breathed softly. There was a crack in her heart and it was widening with every passing breath.

The first time, when Aidan had told her that Jace had killed Nerali, when the man she thought was her best friend failed to correct that assumption, she had –

She had refused to believe it.

And she had held out a last, desperate hope.

But there had been the peace summit. There had been something to divert her attention, to make her look the other way, to fail to realize the ramifications.

And then that dream. That awful, awful dream. To show her how meaningless her words were when it came to protecting her family. It was an omen of things to come. And she had ignored it.

She had been desperate and hurting but things had gone her way. They had so often gone her way. Nerali hadn’t been dead. The curse was gone (and how a part of her had screamed at that, at the shadows under Nerali’s eyes and the way her baby sister flinched whenever anyone got too close and she’d thought – so be it, because sometimes sacrifices had to be made).

Mirai had turned out to be alive. Jace – Jace hated her, but he was alive. Their peace was won.

And Aidan had taken Nerali but she would be healed and she would return and they would be a family and everything would finally be the way she wanted it to be and –

“You cannot protect people with pretty words.” Her father, scowling as she stumbled over the latest elemental form.

“One day you will stop living in dreams.” Her mother, eyes cold, a truth learned the hard way.

And now everything was death and ash, crumbling away before her.

“I can’t fix this,” Clarissa said, lurching to her feet.

The wise woman didn’t offer any more platitudes. She didn’t ask her to try. She painstakingly removed another grain of ash from the murky water before she looked up at Clarissa. “Then what will you do?” she asked.

Clarissa stared at her. She didn’t know.

~#~

Part 2.

#whumpfic #wergild #arc: the recompense #emotional whump #guilt #grief #i intended this to go somewhere #but clarissa angsted all over the page instead #(i sense this will be a theme)

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susanoosama01 · 4 years

Text

Midam Headcanons part 2

After they get out of the cage, Michael is pretty weak for some time. Adam is also wounded and unstable so they drag themselves to a motel and stay there healing for a few weeks without letting anyone else close to them. They don't even draw the closed curtains to let sunlight in. After two days, Adam wants to take a shower and eat. Since Michael's grace isn't recharged yet, he lets Adam control his body and silently observes the human. Adam makes sure to use lots of hot water and eat everything he likes half because he missed those trivial things and half to show Michael there are nice things about being human.

When they finally step outside, they find a flat immediately. Adam gets a job in the nearby cafe with a little of Michael's help faking all his documents. Michael doesn't understand the necessity of getting a job. He can materialise money after all. But Adam doesn't want to accept money he did not earn. Also he needs distraction. He needs somewhere to start if he's ever getting his life back. Michael doesn't get it for a long time but doesn't oppose the teen, instead simply observing.

'Why do you want to become a servant to get some paper? I can create it for you.' 'Michael I am not a servant. It is called working. And you can't just create money, that's not how life works.' 'At least let me create one of these buildings for you. You can hire other servants to work for you and earn your money.' 'Michael no.'

Adam tells Michael about every small thing he wants to know. 'Why do we have to change clothes so often?' 'Why does everyone stare at those screen things all the time?' 'Why can't you go grab food when you're hungry? Why do we pay for everything? God didn't create you like this.' 'Why does this man in the box pretend to be Lucifer? Lucifer doesn’t live in the City Of Angels anymore. He also couldn't care less about humans or their crimes. What is a nightclub? Why do you watch this ridiculous man?'

When Michael gets his own vessel he fakes his own documents with Adam's help. When Adam sees the fake ID he is frozen where he stands for a few seconds. He asks Michael why he did something like that when they had already chosen his fake name along with his fake parents' and his age. Michael just shrugs and tells Adam that 'Michael Milligan' sounds better than anything else and is more familiar.

Michael Milligan is 25 and he never went to college as he lost his parents at a car accident a few years ago. He works at the cafe with Adam.

When they fight it usually turns into a small battle. Michael wrongly pairs all Adam's socks and makes him search for a pair for ten minutes. Adam just wears some of Michael's and claims everything he wears once as his own. Michael starts stealing Adam's t-shirts and hoodies as counter.

Once Adam got really pissed and tried to eBay Michael for 50$. He wrote Michael's number there and watched with glee as Michael received numerous spam calls for the 'Archangel for Sale' for two whole days before he took pity on Michael.

They marathon Disney movies and other things about angels. Michael's favorite so far is Frozen. He likes Elsa because she reminds him of Lucifer. He also likes Good Omens.

Once when he was still not fully recovered from the Cage, Michael had some kind of angel fever. It was nothing serious or dangerous. Michael was just cute and grumpy for five days. Adam made sure to get as many photos of him sleeping on the couch with his Elsa blanket Adam got him as a joke as he can manage and fed him everything he likes.

Michael once lost Adam in the grocery store and couldn't find him because of the enochian seals in his ribs. He just went to a cash register and sat there for ten minutes sulking. In the end the cashier made an announcement for Adam Milligan whose kid was waiting there. Adam came runnig and laughing. They got him a phone of his own after that incident.

'You have reached the voicemail of-' 'What do you need my name for? Is this another strange human custom?' 'The person you have called can not be reached at the moment. Please try again later.' 'Who are you woman? Why do you have Adam's phone?'

Adam makes Michael listen to Christian Rock. Like Skillet or Flyleaf. Michael sings All Around Me for weeks.

They eventually go to Kate and Adam's house. Adam gets the place back but can't bring himself to move back in there. He rents it to a single mom with a baby girl for half its worth.

Adam studies through the nights on final week. Michael just sits on the fluffy carpet and quietly flips through the books Adam puts down. He sometimes helps Adam as he is perfect at algebra and organic chemistry. After Lucifer moves in, he helps most of the time instead of Michael because he is a better tutor according to Adam and he really wants to do something for the teen.

After Lucifer first came to their house, he tried to spoil Adam by snapping five star restaurant dinners and luxury hot tubs into the flat. Just like he told Michael, he tells Lucifer that he doesn’t need to constantly give or be perfect to earn love. In fact, love isn't earned. It just doesn't work like that. Like he guessed, Kate Milligan's exact words get to him too.

They play card and video games together. In the first week after Lucifer arrives, Adam suggests a game night for the brothers to spend time. They make snacks and sit down. Turns out Lucifer doesn't know poker. Even Michael learned it from the TV and internet. The two of them spend the night teaching Lucifer the game.

Adam asks when Lucifer was born. The younger archangel doesn't know his birthday. So Adam asks Michael and tells him to calculate exact date on the human calender. That year Lucifer gets his very first birthday party. Adam and Michael bake a big cake together and invite their friends. Gabriel and Raphael appear two. While the youngest of the four is familiar with the concept and immediately starts stuffing his face with cake, Raphael doesn't understand much. Sam isn't really too comfortable around Lucifer but still comes anyway. Dean grumbles something about how he wouldn't have believed it if he had been told that he would celebrate the Devil's birthday back at the Apocalypse. Castiel is almost as clueless as Raphael. Somehow they all survive the night without any incidents. Except Adam and Michael who got Lucifer a camera, no one remembers bringing gifts. It doesn't matter though. For the first time ever, someone told Lucifer that his existence is something to be celebrated and Michael is the happiest Adam has ever seen him as he hugs his brother. Adam discreetly snaps a photo in Lucifer's new camera of them laughing with arms around each other and Michael ruffling Lucifer's hair.

Michael's birthday is the same as Adam's. Theirs is after Lucifer's so the party is even better this time around. Even Raphael who doesn't like Adam very much softens when Adam pulls him in for a hug instead of the offered handshake because Michael joins and it is the first time that Raphael is emraced by his older brother. The four archangels tell their funniest stories all night. Like how Lucifer accidentally seperated the continents while secretly playing with Michael's sword or how a toddler Gabriel broke into God's work room once and created the most absurd animals while playing there. In the end, Michael too used to sleeping after months of living with Adam dozes of and all three of his brothers snuggle against him eventhough Raphael is a little hesitant at first. They make another perfect picture for Adams album.

Michael and Adam get a car after a year and a half of living together. Teaching Michael to drive is hard. The archangel just zaps the whole vehicle when they are stuck in traffic. He has no patience for that when he can just fly.

The neighbour's teen daughter has a crush on Michael. The girl hits on him a few times. Adam makes fun of Michael who is pretty oblivious for days once he notices. Jokingly he tells Michael that maybe he could get her something for Valentine's and ask her out. Michael asks about the specific holiday in all seriousty. Adam wakes to find Lucifer and Michael trying to make chocolate and arguing in whispers at 5 a.m. on the day. He just goes back to bed and pretends to not see them. The chocolate tastes awful. But Adam still smiles and thanks Michael because it's too cute how Lucifer ushers him into the living room and gives his brother a thumbs up when Michael wants to just change his mind. His gift for Michael is a little different. He gives him the photo album he handmade and tells Michael that he cherishes all their moments together.

They adopt a kitten. At first Michael doesn't want an animal in the house. One mere week later though Adam finds him sleeping with the small thing sprawled over Michael's chest. The little ball of fur ironically named Michelle by his previous owner never stops following Michael around after that.

Lucifer and Michael constantly go back between Heaven and Earth after some time. Just helping rebuild their childhood home. They take Adam to Kate's heaven. When the teen sees how peaceful and happy the place is, he also feels better. Kate's spirit has heard Michael's prayer back at her grave and she gives them her blessing.

They don't have a ceremony. They just change their documentation again and have a small celebration much like the birthdays with wedding cake and drinks. Sam and Dean give Michael the 'you break his heart, we break your face' talk. Raphael asks if he can make a speech and Lucifer carries their rings, turning the moment into some kind of ceremony anyway.

Michael introduces Adam as his mate to all other angels. The Heaven celebrates too. All the angels Adam and Michael helped have befriended the human after all.

Lucifer permanently moves to Heaven. Adam and Michael finally move into the Milligan house after their tennant finds a new job and moves to the other side of the city. With the new photos, Michael's Elsa blanket draped over the couch which ,Gabriel makes fun of non stop, the other archangels' leftover stuff the house becomes a home again.

Part 1

#Spn #Supernatural #Midam #michael x adam #Lucifer #Gabriel #Raphael #dean winchester #Castiel #Sam Winchester #adam milligan

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stopraidingmyheart · 4 years

Text

About the character!

Tagged by the oh so lovely @falloutglow

Your muse’s name: Loralei (Daughter of the chieftain)/Lo/Moody

One picture / faceclaim of your muse:

(Had to rush this halfway through because I wanted to finish this before I left for the day! Concept tattoos for everyone with one complete and one unfnished!)

Two headcanons you have for your muse?

She...actually has constant dreams of these strange looking creatures looking down at her and her home. Anytime she tries to leave, she can’t because there seems to be some sort of invisible wall preventing her from doing so. She wakes up in sweat because she’s screaming at everyone about what’s happening but no one believes her!

She gets cold super easily because she was spoiled by the canyons she grew up in that were constantly warm! She’ll usually have a jacket with her unless it’s straight up summer in the Commonwealth and will complain the entire time until the coldness is gone.

Three things your character likes doing in their free time:

Drawing/sculpting/tattooing! Loralei is a creative soul and looks for creative outlets. She has a sketch book filled with things from strangers to crushes and...some inner thoughts she’d rather keep personal. She’s also taken up sculpting small tiny statues from the trash/junk she finds throughout the wastes, it’s usually kept together with gum and is usually a horse. Then there’s tattooing! That’s right, she also tattoos. The intricate tattoos that she has, she didn’t do herself, she knows a guy at Bunker Hill who has a whole ass machine and found out a way to make colored ink. He’s her go to. Loralei doesn’t have a machine...yet, she does poke tattoos! Usually will only do small ones because she doesn’t have time for huge ones.

Listening to music/singing/dancing along with it. Loralei...also likes to sing. It’s a hidden passion that she keeps under wraps in fear of ridicule. Only those close to her will hear her small whispers of a song or if she gets swept up in a feeling. Often she’s singing ‘Begin Again’, the likes the melancholy tune and will often hum it while drawing as well. Dancing is much rarer to come by. This girl has great control of her hips. Dancing is such a popular element back at home, it's how they tell stories.

Fun fact...she likes to climb things. I guess parkouring is the word? Loralei has long legs and she has high ass agility too, maxed out. So often, she’ll want to find a quiet spot in the inner cities of the Commonwealth to just...think to herself. So often, she’s scaling buildings in hopes of a finding a good spot and...has anyone noticed the crows around here? Loralei has...they’re...strange. She doesn’t see life behind the eyes of, not like the other birds...she’s just being paranoid. Been around Tinker Tom for too long is all.

Seven people your muse loves/likes:

Deacon - Yes, believe or not...she loves this fool like her own brother...er...if she were close to her brother. They’ve had heart to hearts and she knows things of him that he hasn’t told anybody...and in turn he knows things about her that she hasn’t told anybody. They’re often partnered together because Loralei is able to reel Deacon back in when things gets a bit out of hand. She’ll be the first to tell him when an idea is garbage and yes...she did rip that dumb fake earring out of his ear. No, we’re not going into a raider base pretending that we’re “piercers giving out free cool piercings!”. That’s dumb! That’s stupid! And these raiders don’t deserve to be pierced by anything but a bullet! Plus Deacon helps her bleach her hair.

Glory - aka, Loralei's ’ huge crush. Loralei does develop crushes on women easily, just...be soft with her and you’ve caught her. Only difference between Loralei getting a crush on you...and Loralei wanting to date you is...well you have to be able to deal with Loralei at her worst. At her worst, she can be a challenge. She can be mean and snappy. She’ll out right refuse any help and would rather mope and suffer then anything. So she needs someone who knows how to give tough love while avoiding to step in a certain territory of abuse. Glory knows exactly what type and how much of tough love to give. When Loralei first started bumming around the railroad, after the second week was up, Glory was the first one to tell Loralei to get off of her ass. Gave Loralei this new motto of "Replace the bad memories, with new good ones.". It's why Loralei has fallen deep for her. Glory also helps Loralei shave the side of her head which is often since Loralei's hair grows so fast.

Old Blue - Loralei's soul, the reason she made it past 12. Old Blue is Loralei's big ass horse, he sadly is still currently back home. He's an old man of 23 and has been with Loralei since she was born. They share the same birthday and everything. He's a giant but an absolute sweetie unless you hurt Loralei then he's gonna try and kick you then stomp on you. He saved Loralei from a yao guai attack when she was younger and decided to hunt for the first time by herself. Plan for Loralei is to get a huge plot of land, build a farm there and live out the rest of her life raising horses and radstags. Loralei has a tattoo of him on her right leg.

Desdemona - Des was the one who even allowed Loralei to stay with the Railroad after her ex left her heartbroken. She felt bad enough for her and didn't even make her join. Was surprised when Loralei asked to be an official member. Figured that having a cruel ex who was a synth would be enough for that hate to start. Most people haven't met a synth and hate them. Then she notices the soft looks Loralei gives Glory and...well, that all makes sense doesn't it. Des will often get on Loralei's ass when she's having a particular bad attitude that day.

Tinker Tom - Tom is like an annoying little brother. His talk of aliens is grating to her sometimes, she just wanted to talk about her weird dreams without the "are you sure you aren't alien made? I mean, the fast healing, the blue blood-" but...she loves him like a little brother. She likes listening about his tinkering and is actually drawing her up something in hopes a making a tattoo machine. Safe to say that she does find him charming and someone she cares dearly about.

Freya (her mom) - most of Loralei's childhood is being ignored. She's always been labeled as someone who'll bring you down with her and for the fact that one of her eyes is blue instead of green...was said to bring bad omens. Was almost killed as a newborn but her father refused to ever let such a thing happen. Freya is the only person in the tribe that has the same mental issues as Loralei...but Freya would get caught up in keeping the tribe together and they just...never really talked. Loralei is like that with all her immediate family.

Lulu (older brother) - Lulu and Loralei get along better then the rest of their family. They're still kind of awkward and aren't sure how to show each other affection but when Lulu comes around for a quick visit then they'll often share a smoke together and just...talk about their lives together. One of them is supposed to take over the chieftain role when their parents no longer can but...neither one of them want to.

A phobia your muse has:

Would it be weird to say meeting the beings in her dreams? She has so many dreams of just beings watching over her tribe. Seeing them as toys...or pawns or...pets. Loralei isn't sure. Just...she doesn't want to meet them. Ever. She feels like she isn't even supposed to know that they're there.

This is a tag free for all! So if you're seeing this, do it! It's a great way to delve into your OCs!

#fo4 #fallout 4 #fallout ocs #fallout oc #fallout 4 oc #ch: Loralei #Finally!#Finished this on the way home #but there she is!

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angelofrainfrogs · 5 years

Text

Serendipity (Part 1/3)

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (but not the main focus)

Other Characters: Warlock Dowling

Description: Seven years after Armageddidn't, a boy wanders into A.Z. Fell and Co. and finds something more priceless than a first-edition novel- a reunion he (and his childhood caretakers) never thought possible.

Rating: G

Genre: General/Family/Mild Hurt/Comfort

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432192/chapters/48473378

Part 1

Aziraphale raised his head from his book as the bell over the shop door jingled merrily. The angel carefully set the book and his glasses on a nearby table, standing up with a small sigh. Today had been blessedly quiet and he’d hoped that it would remain as such- this was only his third customer and it was already mid-afternoon. Still, he knew that if he let whoever had just walked in wander aimlessly, they might feel the urge to buy something; it was best to check on the visitor and see what their mission was before they tried anything rash.

“Hello!” Aziraphale said warmly, rounding the corner of an overstuffed bookshelf to find a boy examining a section of Italian poetry. The boy was in his late teens, with a lanky build just a smidge taller than Aziraphale. He wore dark jeans and a V-neck t-shirt bearing the logo of some pop band the angel would never understand. His hair, a cross between dirty blonde and light, light brown, was cut short, save for the unruly swathe of bangs that fell in front of his bright blue eyes.

“Hey,” the boy replied, pushing his bangs out of the way to get a better look at Aziraphale.

The angel blinked as he was hit with a wave of strange familiarity. A slight crease between his eyes was the only thing that alluded to this; otherwise, he kept himself composed. Aziraphale had seen so many humans over the years, he got the occasional twinge of feeling that he knew someone passing by in the street, but it always turned out to be a double of someone he’d met long ago. This boy, surely, was no different.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, young man?” Aziraphale asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“No, I just… kinda wandered in to look around, honestly.” The boy laughed and Aziraphale couldn’t stop his smile from widening. The laugh, coupled with the boy’s American accent, triggered something deep within his memory, though he couldn’t quite reach it. “The Yelp reviews of this place are wild; I wanted to see what it’s like for myself.”

“Yelp reviews?” Aziraphale questioned, tilting his head. He’d heard of this before from some of the other customers. From what he gathered, Yelp was a platform where people could post reviews of places they’ve visited. Based on what Aziraphale had been told, his bookshop would be classified as having a “mixed rating.”

“Yeah, people have said all kinds of shi- er, stuff about this shop,” the boy replied, correcting his near-curse as he guiltily met Aziraphale’s gaze. Something told the boy that the shop owner wouldn’t appreciate that sort of language. Remembering a particularly interesting review, the boy’s face lit up. “Is it true there’s a giant snake in here?!”

“Ah, well… sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted, a bemused light in his eyes. “He tends to wander, though; he’s out at the moment.”

The boy’s face shifted into an expression of mingled confusion and curiosity. Aziraphale’s unneeded breath caught in his throat. The strange sensation pulsed in the back of the angel’s mind, the feeling that he definitely knew this boy. He wanted more information on his origins, but it wouldn’t do to push too hard, lest he scare the boy off- Aziraphale had been told on more than one occasion that he could be rather “ruthless” (according to a certain demon, though the phrase made the angel scrunch his nose up in disgust) when it came to gathering information he desperately wanted to know.

“We don’t usually get many visitors from out of the area; are you on holiday?” Aziraphale asked, busying himself with reorganizing a shelf of books that had been shifted out of alphabetical order. There had to be some connection- he’d probably met the boy’s family or long-distant relative on a trip to America many years ago.

“No, I’m going to college here- university, whatever you want to call it,” the boy replied with a shrug. “Well, I mean, I don’t have class today- I’m not skipping or anything.” Again, there was that guilty look, as if the boy was afraid of disappointing the man in front of him- which was odd, since the boy had certainly never met the elusive Mr. Fell before. “I’ve got a day off, so I figured I’d check out Soho. I never really got to just, like… explore England when I was a kid.”

The angel froze mid-task. His slowly turned, focusing on the boy’s face and really looking. Time seemed to fade before his eyes, the boy’s defined features softening into the lanky face of a pre-teen, then melting further into the chubby visage of a child with a smudge of dirt on his cheek from where he’d rubbed his face while planting flowers-

“You okay, Mr. Fell?” the boy asked, noting the slight tremor in Aziraphale’s hands. The angel blinked, quickly composing himself.

“Yes, I-I’m fine, young W-… dear boy.” Aziraphale caught himself as his voice slipped into an accent he hadn’t used for over seven years. He shook his head; there was absolutely no way this could be the same child whose bruises he’d healed with a loving kiss and a touch of divine miracle.

“…Okay.” The boy didn’t sound convinced but decided to let the matter drop. He’d heard that the owner of the bookshop was eccentric and figured that the hyper-focused attention he was receiving was part of the package. Although, the boy had to admit that, just for a second, the man had sounded terribly familiar.

An awkward silence followed, neither of the two knowing how to continue the conversation. Aziraphale’s mind was racing, trying to figure out if this really was the boy from his memory and, if this was true, why in the world he had chosen to visit the bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley had a discussion many years ago about whether they should try to reconnect with Warlock Dowling and had concluded that they’d already interfered in the boy’s life enough. His personality had seemed fairly balanced when they’d left, save for a tendency to be extremely blunt when speaking his mind. They had no idea what they'd really done to the poor mortal boy’s psyche and decided it best to leave him be and hope that he grew up as normal as he could from his eleventh birthday onward.

So, Crowley and Aziraphale stayed far away from the Dowlings for nearly a decade. They were so strong in their conviction of never going to see Warlock again that they hadn’t even entertained the possibility that the boy might find them.

No, it’s too much of a coincidence, Aziraphale thought, watching the teenager as he started looking through the poetry books in front of him. The angel glanced towards the ceiling, his lips pursed. Unless this is another part of Your ineffable plan…

“Hey, Mr. Fell?” The boy’s questioning tone brought Aziraphale back to Earth instantly. “I know you don’t, like… actually like to sell stuff, so the internet says, but maybe you could help me find a book for my mom’s birthday? I honestly don’t think she’d notice if I bought her a first edition Shakespeare collection or whatever, but… I dunno.” The boy shrugged. “I thought I could try something different and see what she thinks.”

The look in the boy’s eyes is what ultimately convinced the angel that his instinct was true. Aziraphale had seen that look much too often for his liking- it was a look of sad resignation that Warlock's parents, ever-distant and too wrapped up in the political world to raise their own child, didn’t care about him nearly as much as they should. A twinge of ice shot through the angel’s heart. He’d hated seeing that expression on a child’s face, but he utterly despised it now, knowing that things didn’t seem to have changed nearly a decade later.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the boy asked, seeing Aziraphale’s face slip into a strange expression. “You look-” He was about to say “weird,” but it was at that exact moment that the nagging familiarity that had also been gnawing away at his own mind came to the surface. He saw the face in front of him sporting a shining collection of bad teeth framed within a cloud of fluffy hair, though the mental image was skewed as if he had to look up from a much shorter height than he was now.

But, as with Aziraphale’s own recognition, it was the eyes that ultimately broke through the fog of childhood memories- the eyes currently gazing at Warlock full of more love than anyone should be able to comprehend. Without warning, Warlock felt tears prick at the edges of his vision.

“…Brother Francis?” he choked out in a small voice. Aziraphale smiled, and if Warlock had any remaining doubts about the man's identity, they were blown away like the shadows of night banished by the rising sun.

“Oh, my dear, dear boy,” Aziraphale said warmly, opening his arms, and Warlock fell into the hug without hesitation. They gripped each other tightly, and the angel realized what a fool he’d been for leaving the boy without a word. He and Crowley should have gone back after the apocalypse was thwarted, or at the very least written a letter explaining why they’d left; judging by the way Warlock held onto Aziraphale as if he were a lifeboat in the midst of a stormy sea, the angel realized that the boy must have missed them just as much as they’d missed him.

Aziraphale and Warlock stayed in the embrace for a while longer, and then the boy gently, almost reluctantly, unwrapped his arms and took a step back to give Aziraphale a proper once-over.

“What happened to you?!” Warlock asked, astonishment dripping from every word. Then, suddenly, a fierce frown twisted his face. “And why the hell did you and Nanny leave without saying anything?! Er, sorry, I mean why the heaven- ugh, you get my point!”

Aziraphale smiled again; this was the boy he used to know, attitude and all. Warlock always had a penchant for speaking his mind, a fact that was encouraged wholeheartedly by his Nanny. While Aziraphale didn’t want Warlock to stop expressing his feelings and asking questions either, he had been bothered by the boy’s increasing vocabulary of unsavory expressions, which the angel had tried to remedy by correcting him with more docile phrasing. Apparently, the instinct to do so still was still present.

“Hellooo?” Warlock said, waving a hand in front of Aziraphale’s face. “Brother Francis- Mr. Fell… whoever you are! This is really weird, and I need you to explain a lot of things!”

“Oh, I do apologize, my dear; I get a bit lost in my thoughts, sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted with a guilty chuckle. He hesitated for a second and then gestured towards the back of the shop, where a comfortable couch and coffee table resided. “Yes, we… we really should have a little chat. Please, have a seat and I’ll put on a pot of tea and join you.”

Warlock didn’t move, instead narrowing his eyes. Aziraphale blinked at him.

“…Would you prefer coffee instead?” the angel ventured. Warlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of him, slouching to the side in a pose uncannily similar to someone else Aziraphale knew.

“You literally just up and left me when I was eleven years old,” the boy explained, a scathing bite to his words that made Aziraphale wince. “According to the internet, you’re some weird cryptid- which I can now confirm, knowing who you really are, because you and Nanny were definitely not normal. How do I know you won’t just-”

And here the boy cut himself off, realizing how vulnerable finishing that sentence would make him seem. He knew that Brother Francis had seen all sides of him, weak ones and all, but that was many years ago. He’d still been a kid then; now he was older and much more practiced at hiding his true emotions, since the only people who’d had time for them disappeared after his eleventh birthday. Just because he’d found his beloved gardener and confidant again through some divine- or hellish, he never knew which to believe- turn of events, it didn’t mean that things would instantly go back to the way they were before.

Warlock didn’t think it was possible for Brother Francis’ expression to soften even more, but apparently it could. Slowly, as if afraid of spooking him, the angel reached out and gently brushed Warlock’s bangs out of his face, tucking them behind his ear before cupping the boy’s cheek in his hand.

“I’m not going to leave you again, dear boy, please believe that,” Aziraphale said, injecting as much truth into his words as he possibly could. “It was a rash decision and your Nanny and I should never have disappeared without a word. I’m just going to flip the Closed sign on the door and put the kettle on, and then we can talk, alright?”

Warlock nodded almost imperceptibly, but Aziraphale saw the gesture. He gave the boy’s cheek a light pinch and winked, earning a cry of embarrassment. With a laugh, the angel disappeared around a bookshelf, moving towards the front door. Rubbing his cheek and pouting, Warlock shuffled to the couch in the back of the shop. He’d forgotten how endearingly annoying his old gardener could be.

Aziraphale flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” and leaned back against the old wooden door, shutting his eyes. He was overjoyed to see Warlock again, certainly, but he was completely unprepared for this situation. What was he supposed to tell the boy? What excuse could he possibly give for Warlock’s closest companions abandoning him without so much as a “goodbye?”

Aziraphale and Crowley always regretted the way they’d handled that situation, but they had bigger concerns at the time- namely, the impending apocalypse and the fact that Warlock was not the antichrist they thought he was. Aziraphale grimaced, running a stressed hand through his hair; what should they tell Warlock about that? Should they expose him to the supernatural world he’d unintentionally been apart of for the first half of his life?

“…Probably best not to bring that part up,” the angel murmured to himself. He adjusted his waistcoat and steeled himself for the afternoon ahead. He would make Warlock a nice cup of tea, call Crowley to give him a warning on who awaited him back at the bookshop, and then bide his time until the demon showed up and they could have a proper conversation about what to do now that the boy was back in their lives. Yes, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.

So, of course, it was guaranteed that things would not turn out the way Aziraphale hoped. As the angel busied himself in the tiny kitchenette area in the back of the shop, the bell over the front door rang again.

“Angel!” a voice called, and Aziraphale let out a strangled yelp. He rushed out of the back room and was greeted with the sight of Warlock, standing by the couch slack-jawed and staring straight ahead. Trapped at the end of Warlock’s gaze stood Crowley, wearing an eerily similar expression of shock. The two of them gazed at each other questioningly for an agonizing few seconds, before Warlock asked, in a trembling voice:

“N… Nanny Ash?”

“…Ah,” Aziraphale said when Crowley turned his helpless expression upon him. Though the demon’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, Aziraphale knew they were giving him a look of utter confusion. “Crowley, we… we have a very special visitor.”

“Ngk,” the demon replied.

And then, suddenly, Warlock was in Crowley’s arms, holding him tight, and Crowley returned the gesture without a second thought, overwhelmed with a great sense of relief. The boy was shaking, obviously trying very hard not to cry, and the demon instinctively gripped him closer and grinned into his hair.

“Hey, little hellspawn. Good to see you again.”

***

Read Part 1. (You are here.)

Read Part 2.

Read Part 3.

#good omens #fanfic #fanfiction #warlock dowling #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #found family #reunions #serendipity #ao3 #phantomhivemast3r #midna3452

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justthefangirl · 5 years

Text

A Somewhat Unpopular Opinion... Or a Good Omens Prequel Ficlet Idea

Whichever title you like, below the cut is a ficlet (and actually part of a RP a friend of mine and I are doing) wherein Crowley was Raphael, and... Well, the rest is Spoilers. So if that’s not the headcanon you like, or if you have other ideas, then give this a skip.

You’ve had the warning. On to the ramble!

Now, much of the story you know already. Of an angel and a demon, a garden. The Armageddon that Wasn't, and other things. But to know what came after you must know what happened before. So we're going back to the beginning of the Beginning.

Or rather, the End of the Beginning.

For in knowing that you will understand why the two who met at the Eastern Gate were drawn to each other. And why there was no question in their meeting, or what would come after the Armaged-Wasn't.

In those days, God was just a single parent, with many children. Children of beauty, talent, and grace. Children who, as children are want to do, get jealous when the newest ones come around. So, Lucifer, jealous of Man (the Bun in The Oven so to speak) and that the Creator would want them to house the vessel of Light, the Son in the Trinity, someday, got together with others among the Heavenly Host who agreed that having these newest additions didn't sound like a good at all. But even after sending him and all the rest down to the Pit, there was one Renegade Angel whom elicited pity, and the greatest sorrow from The All Mighty.

Raphael. Arch Angel of Healing, the Rescuer, the Shaper of Stars. As he was brought before the Almighty for the first trial he would stand, and subsequently the last trial of an Angel that Heaven would see, he looked up to the Ones who had made him.

“You know...This is really just so much overreacting, isn’t it?”

“Raphael. My Physician.” When your Parent’s voice says your name when you’re in trouble, it is always equal parts scary and comforting. It does something in the depths of your bones that makes you really want to hug them, but also very much want to find a kitchen table to crawl under. If Raphael could have done either of these things, he would have (or if kitchen tables had been invented then). As it was, his arms were bound, and he was currently being held down by Micheal, forced to kneel before his Creator.

“I mean,” Raphael said, “I love the idea of Man! HUGE fan of ‘em! Really! Great thing to make; walks on two legs, smarter than most monkeys!? Brilliant! But why do they have to suffer?”

“I have told you why, my child,” The Creator said with infinite patience. “Suffering can build strength within the soul. It can call compassion into others; compassion that can topple mountains and make rocks sing out. It can inspire others to make greater progress. It can build Faith beyond imagining.”

“But why can’t they all just start out with that!?” Raphael cried.“Why’s it gotta come after Pain and Loss, and Disaster and all the other things you’ve got in your Big Plan?” Micheal pulled at his scarlet curls and made him hiss in pain.

“Gently,” The Lord said to The Warrior. Micheal released her hand from Raphael’s hair.

Their Lord’s voice then continued, “You question things beyond your scope, Physician. That is why you must Fall.”

“Do I really?” Raphael asked. He always needed to get the last word in, even when he knew he should be biting his tongue.

But his question caused the Great I Am to pause. The pause lasted longer than the gathered Host, all spectators in this trial, thought it would, or should. Then...

“Perhaps only in part,” said the Maker. “Perhaps there can be Salvation, even now...”

It was then that They who Made the Universe reached out a hand and plucked a star from space. If you want to think it came from Raphael’s many contributions, then it did. If you want to think he recognized that star because he’d selected it and all the rest carefully, then he did.

Then, the Maker reached another hand forward, into the very core of Raphael, who could only look in fascination and fear. When that hand entered him, he cried out, not in pain, but in realization of what was to come. And as that hand pulled back out from Raphael’s chest, it took with it his Heart. The heart that loved Mankind even as the first one was incubating in the clay of the freshly made Earth. The heart that had compassion for Life, wanted to rescue it from dark corners. the heart of an Angel is something to behold, but terrifying to conceive.

The Creator took that Heart and the Star, and shaped them in the same hands that had moved planets, risen seas, and hung skies, until a new Being was formed. This wondrous moment occurred, however, simultaneously to the destruction of Raphael, whose original manifestation contorted, writhed, and wriggled in it’s bindings. Scales peppered his skin, which seared against the sanctified chains that held him. His eyes, once the color of green fields with a sunrise turned into gold, flecked with fire and blood. His pupils lengthened into long black lines, and he saw out at his now Former colleagues with disgust.

How dare you sit on your arses and watch my judgement and pain? How dare you just watch me SUFFER?! Like I’m idle Sport?! As if I wasn’t HIGHER than ALL of you just hours ago?!

He nearly called out to them, the Host of Angels watching all these things, but his voice was silenced as The Lord spoke again.

“Behold.” The Being who was once Raphael turned and looked. The Being in the Creator’s hands had hair so pale it could have been made of cloud. Wings large, perfectly white, and pale skin that had never seen the center of The Sun or the farthest reaches of Alpha Centauri. The face, gentle as a summer wind, opened its eyes to look upward at the one who made it.

“Behold,” God said again, “My new Angel. My last Angel. Aziraphale. ‘From Raphael’. For you were born of his Heart. May his Faith, Compassion, and Love make you into something glorious.”

The new Being, named Aziraphale, turned his head and saw the kneeling Demon just a few meters from him. Aziraphale’s eyes were the color of the sky, and bright as the Star that had shaped his body.

Blue eyes locked onto Gold ones for the briefest moment.

The Demon wept.

The clouds parted beneath him.

He Fell.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley was raphael #ficlet #god do not let neil see this #i might get in big trouble

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fortunei · 5 years

Text

chaotic good apartment AU snippets 01

a/n: it’s just a simple thing for fun, easy, cheesy thing that I’d at times sketch or types in writerblock/just to cheer myself up

spoiler: it’s hilda/lys

Today is the supposed day when Hilda will be back from her business trip, if it is not rescheduled suddenly like before. No, it’s not like Lysithea is not used to have the space in the apartment all by herself, or that she missed Hilda’s noisiness—well, it is actually the latter, but she will never admit it, not in front of Hilda.

The pink-haired young woman might be a CEO of herself, but her span of businessventure (one of Hilda’s favorite vocabulary, check) would make her to go on places. Not to mention, Claude, her past employer when she was still active as a beautician, at times would get an opportunity for Hilda to be somewhere around the country, introducing her brands or holding a one-day seminar. All in all, Lysithea has far used with the fact that Hilda will be away for longer than she would ever take a trip out of the town, be it when they are living together below one roof or not.

Then again, this is one of the day when Lysithea can come to pick her up at the train station per usual, as a ‘guest’ bested her: Lysithea will sometimes forget that her workaholic tendency spells a bad omen, especially to her health. It might be those average cold because the season alternate between spring and summer, but if a virus made its way to her, she will need a longer time to recuperate.

Lysithea was adept on taking care of herself, but of course she knew that anyone else—especially Hilda—won’t be able to hide their worries. Too much worrying might become a nagging, but Lysithea was relieved every now and then to know that someone cares about her.

Hilda has been trying to call her since yesterday since Lysithea texted her that she was sick and couldn’t make it to pick her up. It’s not like she wanted to ignore the calls, she just can’t move too much to reach her phone when the call came. She is afraid to call Hilda in later time when she’s good enough to step out from bed and settle in the living room for quick food and medicine, afraid that the pinkette was busy at the moment that she might disturb her job rather than not.

“It is a fine Saturday too, Hilda may like it if we visit back the café for espresso before we got home …”

Lysithea mumbled to no one in particular.

Tucked in the warm sheets of the bed, she looked over to the curtain that she left half-open since two days ago when she was home with fever. The sunrays didn’t bother her, it provided more comfort than having to be using lamp around daytime. Her fever wasn’t that bad, the medicine helps so that she can take her rest, though sometimes the headache won’t leave so fast.

Since early in the morning, her head felt so heavy that she has yet to leave for a meal. Lysithea has timed inwardly that she won’t miss the medication as long as she can make it before noon, so she has been trying to build up strength while staying awake.

Her eyes peered to the wall clock. Hilda’s train would be around 8 PM per usual, then another half an hour by bus to reach their shared apartment. The day is still long until Lysithea can finally see Hilda again and the sick woman can’t help about it.

Their shared bed might not be so big, but it will feel empty if it’s only one of them alone sleeping on it.

Their rented apartment might only a single bedroom, clutters of their mixed belongings are everywhere that sometimes the space is cramped, but it will be awfully vacant as Lysithea tidied her stuff during her alone time.

Her phone has stopped buzzing since last night, perhaps she forgot on charging and it ran out of battery without her realizing it, creating a perfect silence bested the room.

Lysithea found herself rolling to the space where Hilda usually sleep. Hilda was one who’ll occupy all blanket sometimes as she slept messy, but Lysithea will find a way to wrestle it away – sometimes with a cost of Hilda hugging her instead in her sleep. It’s warmer that way anyway, Lysithea can’t complain.

It’s 9 AM. She can shut her eyes for another one hour before lunch.

By then, she heard a hurried unlock mechanism coming from their front door.

“Lys!”

That voice. Lysithea didn’t have to guess as the person showed up as quick as they came by the slightly ajar bedroom. Hilda was looking out of breath because of all the running, though Lysithea couldn’t lift her head for a better view. The pink is rather blurry, perhaps she’s one step on lulling to her slumber. She might have left her suitcase on the front door and maybe her shoes went to disarray as she hurried, but it is not the time for usual chiding.

Wait, wasn’t her train—

Lysithea couldn’t bring herself to ask as Hilda approached the side of bed, giving her a hug first and foremost. As much as Lysithea wanted to complain for Hilda to stay away so Lysithea won’t give out her germs, she relented. She missed Hilda.

“You okay? How’s the fever?” Hilda asked as she touched their foreheads together. Hilda’s was cooler than hers, it was soothing.

“Better, but sorry, I can’t answer your call.”

“No problem. At least I know from experience that you won’t be dying on me there.”

“Well,”

“Don’t make any self-depreciating joke or I’ll head-butt you instead.”

“Right.” She clammed up. Hilda removed herself from the bed, pulling the sheets up.

“Have you eaten yet? I can whip you porridge and help you with the meds,” Hilda snapped her fingers. “And, oh. I was from Fhirdiad. I bought you the signature Fhirdiad sweet caramel pudding. Surely it’s easy to ingest for your after-meal dessert.”

“Are, are you a goddess?”

Hilda snorted, “As much as I want to brag about myself, I’d save it for later when you can retort back~”

Chuckling, albeit weakly, Lysithea dismissed her, “Yeah, yeah.”

“Just go to sleep, darling. I’ll nurse you to health!”

“That’s … cheesy and embarrassing, but, yeah, okay.”

A porridge, doses of medicine and pudding later, Lysithea found herself being cuddled. Hilda has yet to change her clothes but she didn’t smell sweaty nor smoky from hitting the road. It was her own perfume blend, made with the same aroma oil that Lysithea remembered at their first encounter when Edelgard told her to be a sampler of Claude establishment’s service.

The wisteria provided to be calming, even so now, as Hilda silently watched her while holding her close.

“Wait, I should be the one who smells bad …” Lysithea pondered.

“I can wipe you later if you want.”

“Am I that smelly?”

“No, you didn’t?” Hilda said. “Perks at being static in aircon room, I guess?”

“Oh, that’s relieving.”

Hilda traced a circle with her hand on Lysithea’s back. Her smile was something that Hilda would wear over something nostalgic, a reminiscing smile. “Like, how long I’ve known you again to be accustomed with dealing your long-term sickness?”

“Sorry.”

“And for the love of God, you should stop apologizing for every time,” Hilda pouted.

“Sorry.”

“Not again.”

They laughed it off, anyway. Their nonsensical banter would always end with both of them laughing it off. They knew it was stupid, but they started and ended it all the while in a whim. Their laughter died not long. Lysithea relished on the soothing cold touches that Hilda provided every now and then, shuffling closer and lay her head on Hilda’s chest.

Lysithea might be taller but her thin frame and how she picked her heels would make her look smaller than how she is. Hilda, on the other hand, broad-shouldered with an ample amount of muscle mass. Perhaps it is one of her job requirement to stay in top shape and to be good-looking. Lysithea would find it hard to admit since it would only make Hilda glower, but yes, Hilda is really gorgeous. On the bed, though, the height difference would speak volume. Lysithea can envelop Hilda on her sleep but then Lysithea always feel that it is not enough comparison to Hilda since she’s so slim.

“Lys?”

Hilda ran her fingers along the snow white hair. Lysithea didn’t look up, rather, snaking her way up to meet the pinkette’s face once again.

“Can I kiss you?”

Lysithea was silent for a beat longer, “You wanted my germs so bad …?”

“No, I …” Hilda breathed. “I miss you.”

Hearing the soft voice, her heart churned. She could reply the same. She could narrate how vacant it was to be apart and how the fever made it even worst. She could tell she yearned for Hilda’s presence, how she is glad to have Hilda there. But then, Lysithea knew the line.

“But I’m—you’ll seriously get my germs.”

“I don’t mind,” Lysithea had expected Hilda would answer as such. “Idiots don’t get sick, remember?”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Heh, so you’ll flirt more when you sick.” Hilda’s reply was half scoff.

“I’m—I’m not.”

The pinkette surrendered with a sigh, her shoulders slumped but her smile remained still. She gathered her arms around Lysithea’s waist, pressing closer, tangling closer.

“Fine, I’ll wait until you’re healed; though you can’t use any excuse to stop me.”

Lysithea felt a rush of heat to her cheeks, but Hilda might not be able to discern it as a flush from fever or from an emotional blush,

“It’s a deal.”

#hildalys #chaotic good apartment AU #yes that's the AU name #wrt #hilda valentine goneril #lysithea von ordelia #AU prompt

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platonicone · 5 years

Text

Devotion - Story of the Oracle and her Shield

Chapter 6 - Sins of the past

Is it a crime to punish someone who does not even remember their crime? I wonder…

“I am delighted to see you again, my dear friend.” He said removing his hat and bowing down slightly.

“Do I know you?” Squall asked skeptically.

“This must be a jest. You don’t remember me?” He said, taken by surprise. After seeing no expression on Squall’s face, he said, “Oh, you are not kidding. I am Ardyn Izunia, your loyal friend and ally, at your service.”

“How do you know me? I have never met you before.”

“Oh, it breaks my heart to hear that after all that we’ve been through.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You, me, Griever and Ifrit waged a war against all the Astrals. You swept in like a hero and plunged your sword into the heart of Bahamut. Because of you, Bahamut is still recovering in the crystal. What a glorious battle that was. And you remember none of it? Pity.”

‘Gentiana never mentioned anything about this,’ he thought. Squall shook his head and said, “I don't remember doing anything like that.”

‘How interesting, did Bahamut remove all the memories of the last time?’ Ardyn wondered

“Squall, does the word Omen mean anything to you?”

He shook his head in response.

“Interesting. How about Stella?”

‘Other than the alias Lunafreya uses, no.’ He thought and shook his head again.

‘Hmm, so he does not remember anything from last time. Not even Stella? I wonder if he even recognizes who Lunafreya is.’ Ardyn thought while twirling his hat in his hands.

“Tell me, do Rinoa, Selphie, Quistis, Zell, Irvine, Laguna, any of these words ring a bell?”

“No,” he said.

‘My my, he remembers no one from his world either.’ Ardyn wondered.

Ardyn looked Squall straight into his eyes and said, “Why are you here, I wonder? Did the Astrals tell you anything?”

“It’s none of your business,” Squall replied.

“Now, now. Is this a way to talk to your dear friend? I am just trying to help you.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because I too am a prisoner of fate, just like you.” He whispered getting close to Squall’s ears. “I can help you find the answers you seek. Now tell me, why are you here?”

“I don’t know. All I am told is that my mission is to protect the Oracle on her journey and reunite her with her king in Altissia.”

“You are to serve as Lady Lunafreya’s champion?” He said aghast.

“I guess so,” Squall replied with a shrug.

‘Have Bahamut gone mad? After what happened the last time, why would he reunite them? It makes no sense.’ Ardyn thought.

“And what do you get for completing your mission?” He asked curiously.

“In return, I will be able to go back to my world.”

‘Go back to his world? That is not even possible. His world was destroyed a long time ago. Why deceive him?’ Ardyn wondered. ‘I need to do some research on all of this.’

“Squall, trust the Astrals at your own peril. They had betrayed you once, and they will do it again.”

“You are not making any sense,” he said with frustration.

Ardyn just waved at him and started walking away towards his car.

“Hey, explain yourself.”

“In due time, all will be clear to you. For now, just play your role,” Ardyn replied from a distance. He gave him a small bow and disappeared among the crowd.

‘What the hell is going on here? I don’t understand anything.’ Squall said, clutching his head.

He made his way towards the hunts. ‘Why am I here? Why don’t I remember anything from the past? How do I go back home? Why do people think that I was here before? Why do people talk about events of which I have no recollection of? Why do they know more about me than I do?’

Killing monsters helped him release all the pent-up frustration. He returned to the city as the Sun began to set. After finishing his chores, he stopped at the apparel shop to grab a new pair of clothes. It was a simple white V-neck t-shirt, black pant, and short-sleeved black jacket.

He grabbed something to eat from the food court and picked up soup for Lunafreya.

He quietly opened the door, not to disturb her. He kept the soup next to the one he brought yesterday and then walked up to her bed to check on her. She was still fast asleep.

Pryna was sitting by Lunafreya’s bedside as expected. Umbra had made himself comfortable in the chair.

By the time he came out of the shower, both Umbra and Pryna were gone.

“I guess it’s you and me again,” he said to the sleeping girl.

He reached her bedside to examine her. “How was your day?”

Not expecting any response, he started narrating his day, “My day was weird. It started with me arguing with the hospital staff as they refused to give me any chores because my arm is injured. I told them I was fine, but they wouldn’t listen. Eventually, they gave me some boring delivery jobs. I was just about to get started on it when a spunky girl literally ran into me. She offered to give me a tour of the town as a form of her apology. I have to admit it is a nice town, and it is bigger than it looks. She even gave me a gift at the end. And then I meet a strange guy named Ardyn. He claimed to know me. He thinks that I fought with the Astrals. Honestly, he wasn’t making much sense. I think he is just crazy,” he said, absentmindedly stroking her head.

“After that, I did a few chores and quests. Got new clothes. Grabbed something to eat. Brought you some soup and here I am now. By the way, the soup is really good, you should try it,” he recommended to the sleeping girl.

He sat down on the visitor’s chair and grabbed the remote. “You want to watch something?”

Before he could indulge in watching TV, he noticed a sudden drop in temperature. He turned around to see Gentiana walking towards him.

“I’ve come to warn you; stay away from Ardyn.”

‘How did she know?’ he thought, narrowing his eyes.

“I am aware of your encounter with Ardyn. I am junctioned to you, so I reside in your mind.”

‘Does that mean you can read all my thoughts?’

“I can only see those thoughts which you let me.”

“And how exactly do I do that?”

“Whenever you think of me is the only time, I have access to your thoughts.”

‘Creepy,’ he thought.

She laughed before apologizing. “I am sorry, I shall be very mindful of your privacy. I promise.”

“Whatever.”

“I can sense the turmoil within you. What is it that you would like to ask?” she said, cutting to the chase.

“I don’t know where to being,” he said honestly. “Let’s start with Ardyn. Who is he?”

“Ardyn is the Usurper. Propagator of chaos and scourge. He is not to be trusted.”

“Apparently, I fought by his side against the Astrals. He also said that the Astrals betrayed me.”

“Lies.”

“All lies stem from some truth,” he challenged.

“The truth is that it was Ardyn who betrayed you, not the Astrals.”

‘If only I could remember, I would know the truth.’ He thought with dismay. “How come I don’t remember any of this?”

“An anomaly lost in a timeless world wandering to find liberation. Neither past nor future has any bearings on you for the only thing that is yours is now.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Gentiana walked towards sleeping Lunafreya and gently placed her hand on her forehead. “She is alone and hurt, yet she puts on a brave face and bares it all. She is reluctant to ask for help, for she feels responsible shall they be hurt. She belongs to all yet she yearns for belonging.”

‘Umm, can we focus on me please?’ he thought.

As if reading her thoughts Gentiana said, “She will lead you to the answers you seek. Rather than worrying about the past or future; Focus on the present. This world differs greatly from yours. There is a lot you would have to learn to survive and succeed. Every step you take will be filled with danger so you would do best to be prepared for anything.”

She turned around and walked away from Squall. “We shall meet again, Squall,” she said and within a blink of an eye, she disappeared, leaving small ice crystals dancing in the air in her place.

‘That was not helpful at all,’ he complained as he placed his hand on his forehead.

Next Night

“Hello Lunafreya, how was your day today?” He asked as he kept another container of soup next to the one he brought yesterday. He emptied the old soup, but kept the Moogle shaped container.

He came closer to her bed to inspect her. “You are looking good today, they removed some of your bandages it seems. I had an eventful day as well. I went out with Iris today to rescue some refugees. Those refugees were so grateful when we arrived. This war has really taken a heavy toll on the lives of civilians.” He absentmindedly strocked her head while giving her his daily briefings.

He took a quick shower and returned to his favorite pass time, watching TV.

He sat down on his usual chair and started flipping through some channels before settling on the news channel.

Tonight, we will look at the history of Tenebrae and their royal family of House Fleuret. We will also take a special look at our endearing Oracle, Lady Lunafreya.

“Wow, you really are famous,” he said, looking in her direction.

Although he would never admit it, he was more interested in learning about Lunafreya than the history of Tenebrae.

After a brief history of Tenebrae the segment he was waiting for started.

Lady Lunafreya is a noble and dutiful woman who talks about her hopes and dreams and acts on her own initiative. She is always cordial and polite to those around her, but is also a political strategist who puts her duties and the well-being of her people above her own needs. Befitting of her duties as Oracle, she possesses unparalleled compassion. Lady Lunafreya can commune with the gods of Eos, the Astrals. The famous trident she wields is said to be a ritual tool bestowed upon the first Oracle by the Astral god Bahamut. As the Oracle, she has the power to heal those affected by the plagues of darkness, and people travel long distances to be seen by her. Lady Lunafreya works tirelessly to help any who seek her out, and she is highly revered by all across Eos. Following is an excerpt from her recent interview:

Lunafreya: Though I am still young, my blood is true. As my mother before me, I'll work to bring peace to one and all.

Interviewer: Is it hard giving blessings?

Lunafreya: It would be selfish of me to complain of my burden, when so many suffer in wait. I hope they trust I will not rest until they all know solace.

Narration: The world watched on with worry and wonder as the young girl grew.

Interviewer: I understand you have a message for us?

Lunafreya: If you know of any who are bedridden, or unable to come to me. Pray, send word, and I shall go to them. I follow my calling. I will not halt my steps for anything else.

Interviewer: Lady Lunafreya, your strength is an inspiration to all. What is your opinion of the treaty?

Lunafreya: When war has ended, so too will suffering subside. The treaty is a momentous step towards a brighter future. Let there be no doubt: we walk the path of true peace.

Once the excerpt from her interview ended, the host came back for the closing of the show.

We are very blessed to have such a pious Oracle in these dark times. Ever since taking up the responsibility of the Oracle she has traveled tirelessly to cure those afflicted by the curse. Her drive to make his world a better place is an inspiration to us all. On top of that, she does that with flair and grace like none other. Both her internal and external beauty is unmatched in all of Eos. I think she is definitely in the running for the most beautiful woman in all of Eos.

‘Hmm, now that you mentioned it, she is exceptionally beautiful,’ he thought still looking at the TV screen.

Once the program was over, he took his medicine and got ready to sleep. He went to her bedside and said barely above a whisper, “I hope you wake up tomorrow.” He slightly lifted her head to adjust her pillow. He pulled over her blanket and tucked it around her gently.

He sat in the visitor’s chair and stretched his legs on a small stool in front of it. The rhythmic beeping sound of machines soon put him to sleep.

Next Night

He emptied the old soup and placed a new container next to the old one in a line. “Dr. K said that you are recovering well. All your reports came out to be normal.”

He walked closer to her bed and examined the monitors measuring her vitals, “Heart rate, normal. Blood pressure, normal. Pulse, normal. Good work, soldier.”

He leaned on the railing of the bed and looked at her closely. “They finally removed Band-Aids from your face. Looking good Lady Lunafreya. I had a fun day as well. Umbra and I finished a lot of hunts today. Hunter HQ even gave me some reward for leveling up as a hunter. I am starting to get the hang of fighting with one hand.”

“I forgot to show you something,” he said, as he reached in his pocket. “I got a new cell phone today. I meet this strange guy named Vyv.” He recollected the events from earlier in the day:

“Thank you so much for coming to our rescue yesterday,” the refugee said, grabbing Squall’s hand in appreciation.

“It’s the least I could have done,” he said, freeing his hand from the man’s grip.

“The name is Lank, by the way,” he said, pointing a thumb to himself.

“Squall,” replied with brevity.

“We had one more caravan behind us. Last I spoke with them, they said they will be at the checkpoint by the nightfall,” he said worried about his friend and family who were in a different caravan. “I hope they make it here in one piece.”

“I am sure your friends will be fine. Few of us are going to the checkpoint to receive and escort them safely,” he said calmly.

“Thank you once again, Squall. You are a godsend,” said Lank as relief washed over his face. “I hope to see you around.” He waved before disappearing in the crowd.

“Ah! So, you are the new hero everyone is talking about,” said a stranger approaching Squall who had overheard the earlier conversation.

“I am no hero. Just helping when I can,” Squall said, downplaying the suggestion.

“Hi, the name is Vyv Dorden,” he said as he stood next to Squall.

“Squall,” he said, before adding. “But I think you already knew that.”

“Sorry to eavesdrop on your conversation, but I couldn’t help it,” he said with a laugh. “You gave him hope. After what happened to the crown city, hope is the best gift anyone can get.”

“Just doing what I can,” Squall replied with a shrug.

“Strong and humble, that is a rare combo,” Vyv said with a smile. “So, I was hoping that you can help me too.”

“Help with what?” Squall eyed him curiously.

“I am the owner of Meteor Publishing. I am writing a weekly article on a bestiary of Eos and this week’s article is about Griffon. I need its picture from up close. I have to submit it for publication tonight,” he summed up his situation.

“That’s a short notice.”

“Ya, I know. The last hunter I had sent failed to even close to the Griffon. I guess he was a noob. Because it’s such short notice, I’ll pay you good. So, what do you say?” He said, clearly hoping for a yes as an answer.

“I guess I have some time before I go to escort the refugees. But I don’t have a camera,” he stated his limitation.

“Hmm, I don’t have a spare camera right now. I gave the last one to that hunter,” he said, looking in deep thought. Suddenly, his emotions changed, and he said with excitement, “I got it. Here, take this,” he said, pulling a cell phone out of his handbag.

“You can take pictures with this. It’s the latest model from Lucis,” he said, handing over the cell phone to Squall.

“Okay,” he said, inspecting the phone.

“You know, I’ll sweeten the deal for you. Since you are out in the field a lot, how about you snap pictures of any beasts you come across? You can keep the phone, but in return, you frequently send me pictures of different beasts. The more dangerous and up close you are to the beast, the better the picture sells. More it sells, more you get paid,” he concluded his sales pitch.

“That is rather reckless,” Squall complained.

“I know,” he said with a laugh. “I was initially thinking about calling my company Lestallum Maniacs but thought that would be too on the nose so I eventually settled for Meteor Publishing.”

‘Travel around the world taking pictures. Hmm... why does this seem familiar?’ he wondered silently.

“Okay, I am in,” he agreed.

“Attaboy,” Vyv said, clapping.

“So that is how I ended up with this camera,” he concluded his story. "I am so tired from fighting with that Griffon today. I guess I’ll rest for now.”

“I hope you wake up tomorrow,” he said, tucking her in.

He fell asleep watching a documentary on Kingsglaive and Crownsguard.

Next Night

“I think I made a mistake by giving out my cell number,” he said, placing a new container of soup in line.

“This whole day the phone just kept on ringing. Squall, refugees need this. Squall, monsters sighted here. Squall, we are running low on medical supplies. Just no end to it,” he said, examining her by her bedside.

“It was a tiring day, but honestly, it felt good that so many people reached out to me for help. It feels nice to be Mr. Reliable. Now, only if Ms. Reliable here would wake up, it would be fantastic. The world needs their Oracle, but you still refuse to wake up. You are so stubborn,” he said, playing with her hair.

“Also, I meet Talco today. He is still a kid, but he knows a lot. He is a history buff. I think you would like talking to him.”

“I hope you wake up tomorrow,” he whispered.

“Let’s see what is on today,” he said, taking his seat. He watched a documentary, ‘A brief history of Accordo,’ before falling asleep.

Next Night

“Hey, I brought you something today,” he said, announcing through the door. “Something besides soup I mean,” as he kept a fresh soup container in line next to the old one.

“I brought two rubber suits. I went to EXINERIS today,” he said, putting the bag down.

He went up to her bed and examined her. “They finally removed the cotton gauze wrapped around her head. You are looking good today. I had an interesting day today. I helped Holly with some monster issue in EXINERIS and in return she let me have her rubber suit they use while repairing their electrical circuits. Since we will be fighting Ramuh next, I thought this would come in handy, don’t you agree? Have you seen their facility from the inside? It is huge. It is truly a marvel how they are extracting energy from the fallen meteor. Genius. We talked at length about how they should plan to spread this meteor-based technology across Eos as an alternate energy source. I will meet with her over the next few days to plan for the logistics of this project.” He said as he absentmindedly stroked her head.

“I hope you wake up tomorrow,” he said, tucking her in.

“Is it just me or does it get really cold in here?” He said as he leaned back on his chair.

Next Night

“I hate Dr. K,” he entered fuming as he placed a new container of soup in the line.

“It’s so stupid. Do you know what she suggested?” He said as he marched to her bedside.

He leaned against the railing and continued his rant. “First, she calls me up to her office, so I went thinking it would be some serious conversation.” He recollected the events from earlier in the day:

“Squall, her new reports came back today and the good news is that everything is normal,” said Dr. K sitting in her chair.

"Then why is she not waking up?” He said folding his arms.

“That is a mystery,” she said with a shrug. “At this point, we just have to wait for her to wake up on her own.”

“Hmm,” he reacted with a frown.

“There is one thing we can try,” she said sounding very thoughtful.

“At this point, I am willing to try anything,” he replied.

“Nah, I don’t think you have guts to do it. Forget it,” she said, brushing off the topic.

“No, tell me. I’ll do it, I promise,” he said reassuringly.

"I read it in a book recently that when a girl falls into a deep sleep, one of the ways to wake her up is with a true love’s kiss.” He could not believe that she delivered that entire line with a straight face.

He facepalmed, and she busted out laughing. “When you said, ‘I read it in a book’ I thought you were talking about some medical journal, not some children’s book.” He heavily emphasized the world children while she just laughed.

“Hey, nothing else has worked so might as well try it,” she said still grinning at her own joke.

“It only works in movies and fairytales,” he said sounding annoyed.

“How do you know it won’t work? Have you tried it?” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“No.”

“Then try it. You promised,” she was having too much fun poking at him.

“No. This is stupid,” he said with another facepalm.

“Oh, you don’t find her attractive?” she said, pushing his buttons.

“I never said that.”

“So, you do find her attractive, but don't want to kiss her without her consent?” She said with a raised eyebrow.

“I cannot confirm or deny that. You are so annoying. I am out of here,” he said, turning around ready to stomp out of her office.

“Wait, at least take his prescription,” she said calling him.

“What prescription?” he asked curiously.

She pulled out a prescription pad from her lab coat and scribbled something on it and handed it to him. “Here. Apply this on your cheeks. It would help reduce your furious blushing.”

“Can you believe it? That woman is insufferable. That was such a terrible joke. I hate her.” Even though he was angry, he could feel that he was blushing already.

To change his train of thoughts, he grabbed a book and made his way towards his chair.

“By the way, I got this book today, Cosmology. Would you like me to read it to you?” He said getting comfortable in his chair.

After finishing the short book about the history and lore of Eos and Astrals, he went back to her bedside. “I hope you wake up tomorrow,” he whispered.

“I’ve gotta tell Dr. K that at night it gets very cold in here, they need to relax with their AC. Actually, no. I’d rather suffer in cold than talk to her again,” he said as he leaned back on his chair.

Next Night

“Hey,” he said after putting soup containers in line as per his self-made ritual.

He walked up to her bedside to examine her. “You are recovering well it seems. All the bandages are taken off now. Only a cast on your arm and leg remains, which will take a while, of course.”

He leaned against the railing, lowering his head in defeat. “I had a bad day today. I helped people, did hunts and all, but mentally I wasn’t there today. I kept thinking a lot about everything that has happened until now. Without my memories, I don’t know what world I left behind and what world I will return to. Is there someone even waiting for me in my world? If Umbra found me from the time void, then doesn't that mean I don’t belong in the world I am trying to go back to? Even in this world, I feel like a stranger who does not belong here. I am constantly surrounded by people, but I feel constantly alone. Would anything change at all if I were to just disappear or die today?”

He shook his head as if to shake off those depressing thoughts. He stood up straight and looked at her once more. “Wake up Oracle, your world needs you.” After a long pause, “No, I need you. I feel at peace when I am around you. I hope you wake up tomorrow.” He made sure she was comfortable before returning to his chair.

He fell asleep cursing Dr. K for keeping the rooms so cold at night.

He could hear birds chirping in the background. Sunlight gently peeked through curtains. He adjusted the blanket and tried to shut all the stimulus out and go back to sleep.

Suddenly something registered in his subconscious brain.

'Wait a minute. I don’t recall sleeping with a blanket.'

He slightly opened his eyes to check if it was indeed a blanket he was covered with.

'Go back to sleep Squall, we can figure out the mystery of your stupid blanket when we wake up.' His mind retorted.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, he caught something in his peripheral vision. His perfect line of soup was broken. The container he brought last night was gone and only the lead remained in its place. His brain pieced things together, and he immediately bolted up in his seat.

He looked towards her medical bed, which was now in an upright position. The girl sitting on the bed waved at him.

“Good morning, Squall,” she greeted him with an angelic smile.

Author's notes:

Two new FFVIII characters were revealed in this chapter; Hope you caught them both.

The answer from the last chapter: Phoenix pinion is an item used to summon Guardian Force Phoenix in FF8.

This chapter's question: Who is Lank from FF8?

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