#never again. spare me from repeated tragedy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-weird-writer · 2 years

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would TTIGRAAS Diablo still love me if I was an eldritch being?

Bruh, you think Diablo wouldn't?!

Appearance checks last on Diablo's "worry" list. Lots upon lots of canon creatures live in TTIGRAAS. Mighty, weak, small, and colossal. Beings not entirely common, abnormal to the plane. Smart and eager, dumb and pathetic.

Before Diablo, Noir traveled quite long and often. His peerless years wear well, he is handsome beyond words and remains ever unaged. Curiosity miles wide, to find new worthy foes and the next new intrigue. The travels proved successful, if they were worth it however, can be argued. Wandered Earth, Heaven and Hell far enough to experience almost all types of horrors and epic tragedies. Things better unseen, unfounded.

You relate as one of those things. Immortal, remaining.

Unimmune, and just as unfair, life changes. Persistent. Thats how it is. How time moves, how space expands. Loud and constant, but silent as it takes. Like you. You're at the center of good and evil, in the void and the light whites of its invisible tears to the normal world, tears unreachable by normal methods. Floating within an empty river of screaming. The midst of the dark in-between nature and mass, you hear the noise and understand every mouth.

Every click of teeth and stretch of flesh and pulsing drums, with their strange tunes and tones. Flowing together, adapting whatever form life allows so, time feels irrelevant and sometimes surfaces back up, they bite dust and ash as a cruel result. Because none is immune to time, forward in the same direction all at once, everywhere.

You move beside it, just not in the same way mortal lifeforms do. Nonetheless they always try to twist it regardless of the consequences, it matters not if it turns dire, if it turns for the worst. Humans are desperate, caring little for price and only benefit. The confidence is admirable, but craft is worthless in weak minded idiots and value is wasted on the common fool. But it never matters, they all still go against it and each other, for power, land, authority.

They will move against time if it promises them extension, without sparing a second glance.

You never seem to stop moving, ever. As a singularity, as a bright beacon of ender and converting depravity, you do not for any particular reason. Solely because of just, it can be that simple, since you never remember. It fades, swallowed by the seconds, you give up.

Now you do…

…

Well, just.

You fly. You eventually tire of flying, memorizing the radiant gradient the fleshy ones below call 'skies', you float down. You fall, like dead leaves in autumn trees, shedding the last bits of their past homes. Twists and twirls, in motion like spinning tops. You walk or run, meeting the soil.

You breathe air, then space, then air again, only stopping to repeat. Despite needing neither, oxygen is a peculiar concept. You have to keep going, as it's all you can do and will ever desire to do. Go to move, move to go.

Because just.

No matter how much you fold yourself, or how many corners cut themselves from your ridges, or how many of those ridges then cut themselves next, you move and are moving. Not sitting, not pausing. Forever unstill, going on and on and on till your version of release catches you, as all ends soon do. Then after, you will change yet again.

Forever changing, you are change.

You are unstable, happily so. Unwitting to be stable, normal is impossible, a constant difference. A flowing river stream, endlessly running to the edgeless ocean. Casting seafoam, freeing vapor, memories of departure. Only to come back the way it came.

You define as an explorer, a rider of the stars following where the solar wind took you. You want to stretch, spread and expand. Go everywhere, see everything, do anything. See all space, experience all time. Anything that involves meaning. Because what are you meaningless?

What is a point with no meaning? You need change, you need point, you need meaning. Can't be raveled, purposeless and without goal.

Stay limitless.

Stay singularity.

Beings are chess pieces; people are roles. Playing by the universe's set rules on a chainless chess board, daring to break them. There are many methods, many ways to manifest in this world.

You hate it, the flesh contains you, bones bar you. No one likes prison. Not meant to be contained, jailed in your own unpleasant chaos. Organs adjust coldly inside you; still learning how much wiggle room they need. You're not used to being so outward on a physical plane all at once, amongst all the changes you always go through, you hate this shape the most.

You want to be you, spread far and wide, staying limitless.

As tortuous as it is, puppeteering something-painstakingly simple-you're not. Living somewhere packed with evolved organisms is easier like this, less bloody. And less weird. Even if 'weird' literally defines the main basics of your entirety. You were an eager camper, too eager, towards the little people ruling the recent space below (Always one to rush things, you need to work on changing that). You learned a long time ago that the weaker and more physical beings of colorful liquid and solid mass don't react too well to you,

the real you.

If the ear ripping screams of your unfortunate "accidents" was of any indication that these creatures (Humans and animals in all) aren't advanced enough to handle your whole self, and the rapid mind-numbing guilt that followed quick after, you don't know what a better lesson could've been.

No matter the shape your singularity-your own soul-chose, conversations with them were snuffed out, like candlelight. Gone with the wind, leaving only the smoke behind. Before you could finish sharing a simple syllable of your name, by then it was too late. The agony knocked and madness answered. You didn’t want to kill them, didn’t mean too, it was an honest accident. You would've lent a hand, help them come back to their losing selves. By lord you wanted to help so badly.

If you could.

What's in motion cannot be undone. What passed, passed. If the growing insanity of your ridiculous form didn't yet erase them out of existence, then your voice sure did. People loathed hearing it, for they aren't meant to. You heard them, tasted their nefarious fear and sorrows. Sobbed, wept for death. Noises unheard of from mere humans, random gibberish and muttering forgotten tongues. As they yelled bloody murder, raining more tears than they were actually capable of. Clawing their ears and insides out, trying to dig something out from the wet depths, their crude innermosts.

They don't know you, who are y̷̼͖̍o̷̲͆ü̵̩͚͝?̶̢͍̅͐

They claw deeper, desperate. To get you out of their heads, shaking fingers break and ribs crack and tremble. Red liquid, the gory essence violently leaks, pouring in various directions. Ripping the dire innards bit by bit, laying down on dirt, nothing to them like how you are. They don't want you to be their anything, it doesn't hurt like you do.

The bleeding worsens and they don't care, empty it all. Drain everything.

Anything to get away from you. To stop-kill-put an end to your horrible v̷̨̡̛̬̫͇̣͚̪̖͎̘̝̦͎̈́́̎̏̿̓́̀̄͆̀͒̕͝o̷̘̺̝̰͇͚̰̙̱̓̓i̶̦̮̤̘͇̱̍̒͆͗͜c̸̖̙͍̮̠̻͚̦̓̾̅͗̒̇̍͑͛̆͆̀̓̓̀̕͝e̶̢̺̺͉̥̟̬̞͉̖̓͑̆

You didn't stay, what happened next to those poor people you had a few decent guesses.

Guesses you wished weren't real.

Silencing yourself best, imagine your disappointment after when it actually wasn't much help, it didn't do much better than the latter. How unlucky, for you and them. Before you knew it, repair wasn't in reach. You damaged them far above anywhere they can sanely return from, your voice too overbearing, and the silence deadly.

You soon learned what it was like to hate your shape, for all the time you spent loving it.

You care not to melt the disheveled faces off of innocent people. Coming to find it unbearably messy, not to mention plenty unhinged. You doubt their Kings, Queens and supporting politicians take kindly to melting citizens, or ones collapsing in on themselves. Or loud screaming and frightful shouts. It's hard enough dealing with the ones of this planet, traveling as you are,

as you were.

His gaze, however, isn't what you're commonly accustomed to. You near grimace, warranted. His eyes stab daggers, his sharp void-ish lashes slices the air with each callous blink, each quirk of his brow. The red dots threaten, dares its prey to pounce, to move against its predator. Just shy of burning holes in the beach of your forehead.

His appearance shocked you to say the least, and not many surprised you, he popped out of nowhere, in a blink behind you. Not too far, not too close. Just enough to see you and for you to see him in turn. A figure of dark and malice, walking out of the home built of the looming shadows of tall trees and falling leaves.

You walked in a different place, foreign to the cities of humans and their normalcy, having heard of the inhuman homes housing in the vast great woods of Jura. Where the barks of numerous trees flourished as widely as its protective Dryads and other inhabiting monsters and grew evergreen, sprouting from the softest and greenest grass you ever felt. You didn't know what you expected from the inhumans of this planet, from how the humans of this planet described Jura and its people, they were true spawns of hell.

You are an unwritten distortion, and he sensed it. Saw it. You can't remember the last time you were taken so off your guard; the wind stolen under your feet in favor of his. This weird creature-Diablo he called himself-or well-specifically what his master "named" him-is a brand of strange rarely encountered even by you. You stared at him, same as he did, a silent acknowledgement, declaration; you admit it was creepy, but gods what an enigma.

You saw he was a lot of things, there were unsettling layers. He wore those layers on his face, and his face never stayed the same too long. It was frightful, and thats exactly what he wanted his foes and potential enemies to feel.

Fear, fright.

While he fought and killed monsters, demons alike, you are none he ever met before. He is a walking terror, a quaking rumble. A sinister sea, a nonstop flood that tears dams apart. If Benimaru is an immoveable wall of flame then Diablo is a rushing waterfall, whom buries mountains, the fall overcoming all in its path. Merciless in the name of destruction. A great demon, beyond normal forces. Calamity on Earth, without a care. Power feared and begging for release.

For all your eyes, that sees solar systems light years in distance, that could point out the nearest and furthest collapsed black holes in the space pot of never-ending phenomenon and dying stars. The stars and the nebula-outer space is unforgettable to you and the Void is most visible in nothingness; the emptiness occupying cups, ruined cities and artic hearts.

Despite all that, it would take years to observe everything his master's lovely nation offered, shake hands with all its different people, pick every glowing flower and hat off the racks. What Diablo himself offered in earnest, what else he could offer.

You were here not for an hour, not for a minute, and not even for a second. But you already dear the nation in your depths, you would cut off as many limbs-drive as many to madness as it would take to keep this wonderous city from the consuming fires of cruelty.

You already loved Tempest.

The monsters are numerous. Your body swarmed left and right, by the big and small. Moths to flame. Like hungry flies to trash.

Searching under every hole, every ripple of you.

Every nook and cranny, scattering wildfires. Rapidly buzzing in your ears, worried and questioning. But they are small kind creatures, you come to like the monster race. They are far more accepting of your odd edges then humanity was, assuming they ever did and lived long enough to tell your tales.

Questions, more questions and even more questions to those questions. Waves of recognition you're not sure you like being the center of it, they came from a place of warmth and heart. Never finished it seems to you. You grew used to being bombarded in frightened curiosity, overwhelming, and shunned by the masses that didn't bother.

But not him.

He values personal space, which you appreciated, and a clear view. Fairly cautious of newcomers, he is not blind, nor foolish. Diablo hated fools, annoyances and thorns. Unlike any other demon you crossed paths with, a unique product. If his superior complex wasn't insinuating that already. He sees-truly sees you, like your entire whole was served on a plate in front of him. His glance devoured you of any cover, of any shield. Your form, fully unmasked only once upon a time, is noticed.

You want to shake, fold onto yourself again. Fold so you're invisible. Invisible to his prying crimson, black holes for pupils.

Shrink in the soil, atoms shy in reveal, but Diablo could still see you. Would still see you. Somehow you knew he would.

Are you naked?

Might as well be. You definitely see him, hard to miss someone so intense, and casually near; no point in hiding, he tells, tells a lot of things you note. His mystery, carrying the weight of a dark ether, ablaze and ready to conquer once sent.

A tailing shadow, silent and transparent.

Threatening to cover, overlay you, intimidate. Only gone the instant his master needs him, rushing to answer every call, like the loyal servant he is. Power is no joke; he bites and insults, but he never barks, as that is uncanny. Instead, he slices. Cuts deeply and chops. Uses tools as meant to be, used to their prime, exhausted of their inches. People cowered before him in the past. And they still do. He is a proud servant; open about what and who he is.

You are jealous of that honesty; the carefree malice, how utterly open he is to the world. The ease of his whole. How free he is, even bound tight in contract with his great master.

Freedom of expression.

You're sure he knows of it. You can tell he takes pleasure in your unease. Smirk tight, smile unwavering. His eyes smile too, empty of humanity. The glare of a demon of demons. Sharp as knives and wide as trenches. Long lashes, deep voids, red and golden nebulas, centers of galaxies selfishly swallowing every ounce of the light for themselves.

Black holes for pupils, orbiting stars if that were possible.

He proves amazing at mindreading, though your thoughts are closed in reality, in a writing he doesn't need to understand. Outside of this land and the next.

Evil senses evil, purity senses purity. Angel senses demon, demon senses angel. Recognized relation, and like you, he is another ugly ancient. His body is a costume you know better than to believe as a true face. Not one to be underestimated, one with sins and shadows. Whom is mangled and has mangled weaklings, lesser lifeforms. Your ugliness is visible to his watchful demonic eyes, understandably wary (Protective because of the potential threat you pose to his master.) but overall wondering. What can he do to pick you apart? What should be irritation is instead fascination, beautifully laced with childish wonder. You slit gazes like his at the seams, just by existing in the same earshot, but he doesn’t tear a single bit.

In full view of your soul,

the ugliness,

the divine with all its uncanniness and insanity,

he never once breaks.

What kind of man do you take him for? Diablo is no troll, won’t mind warts or moles. He has more table manners than that, give him some credit at least. A primordial demon he may be, he is still a gentleman, one hell of a butler. Blood, exposed guts or extra pairs of striking peepers and sneering mouths don't disgust him, undeterred. Requires more than a simple ravaged vision to send him running tail between his legs.

Every bizarre part, bit and broken tear. The ripped-fractured-air along with it. There is unknown beauty in the misunderstood and the otherworldly mysterious, majesty. What humans see as hideous and abominable; Diablo sees as proof of how majestic and large this world really is.

He understands you, but also doesn't. You were a level of inhuman he couldn’t hope to ever achieve, nor every other fleshy person on this floating space rock. A realm of being not possible by normal means. He supposes that is the part of you he is practically envious of, he has his own greed to worry about.

This body isn't your true face like how you know his isn't. You're an expert on wearing differing faces, changing bodies and covering the aura of your soul. There is a sinister power, a darkness dormant, worshiping him like how nothingness follows you. You were similar a few too many ways, it was nice to finally have a friend you could open up to, only slightly out of nervous habit.

Just another manic Monday.

Feels cruelly keen. Focused.

Intrigued by your horrific cosmicism, Diablo comes, stalking. Seeking his own answers. Inquisitiveness is incredible, weirdly charming. Flattering. More importantly, his Inquisitiveness didn’t bore from fear. It bore from pure, genuine curiosity. Coming of a man who desires to learn more and more about this world, all its enigmas and hidden secrets.

Confusion isn't new, everyone longs for a basic level of understanding. Yourself included. Oddity is bound for attention, it attracts. And you are odd in every aspect; what piece of you is true to the light and fake to the naked human eye? How many layers of true flesh hide anchored beneath the lively valleys of bones and waving limbs, what secrets of the world do the lightless black voids of your countless eyes reveal that his does not? If you cannot exist, why do you?

Such a fascinating creature you are...

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husbandohunter · 3 years

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Moments of Despair #1 [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]

Synopsis: “The man who was on fire and realized it too late.”

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Albedo's despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death, graphic depictions of violence perhaps

(A/n): Had these ideas for a while after reading @/serensama To Mourn series of another fandom. So much sorrow and feeling I just was inspired to write 😫

_______________________________________________

The moment you fell lifeless in Diluc's arms, he wanted to disappear.

It was raining again, he had always despised the rain. How it trickles down the slope of your cheek, like tears falling from the heavens. The sight of it mixing with your blood creating a thin stream of red rivers flowing beside him. They patter down obnoxiously because time didn't care, the gods don't care, the world didn't care. You were just a small fragile person to their eyes but to him you were his light. A candle that used to shine in his dark world was now dissipitated by the waters of reality.

Many droplets have passed and he was still holding you. Diluc could do nothing but stare. He hadn't shed any tears nor could he make a coherent sound. Perhaps it was because his tears have long run out when his father was held in the very same way. Or it was because he was heartless. He's usually told for being cold and indifferent. But the pain clenching in his chest was proof that he still had one (proof that it was still beating), much to his dismay. It would be better if he didn't.

So why can't he just look away? Your wounds, your bruised features, everything now etched so deep into the back of his conciousness that is was starting to awaken his worst nightmares. They were the source of the bile growing in his stomach. The irony stench filling up his nostrils felt so sickening. He couldn't turn away. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. As if reality had yet to register, or maybe he refused to accept it, Diluc helplessly gazed down your body with blank and empty eyes.

"Master Diluc..."

Jean's voice called out to him pitifully. He rises up with his back turned, ignoring the stares given to him, "Leave. The knights of favonius are not needed here."

"But she's a Mondstadt citizen," The anemo user retorts, slightly taken aback by his impassive reaction, "It's my responsibility to ensure this case doesn't go unnoticed."

Unnoticed. Diluc scoffs in his mind, what a tasteless joke.

"It seems you weren't listening," he announces as his head was turned ajar so they could see the deep hatred glowing red in his eyes, "Leave. Now."

Jean's lips trembled before barely being able to say, "Alright" and retreating her knights back to the city. Kaeya narrows his gaze at his bother, the sorrow was evident through his pupils. He steps forward until he was arms length away from his brother. Too little too late, another failure was added to the belt.

Kaeya was a man of many words but for once he was at loss of what to say. No underhanded suggestions, no ideas taunting him to spill his thoughts, he simply asks Diluc, "What are you planning to do now?"

Silence. Kaeya couldn't predict what sort of expression his brother was making as he looks at your corpse. It brought a heavy weight of unsettlement upon him and here he thought he had already grown used to his brother's quietness.

Slowly, he turns around while letting the water pour down his face. Kaeya tightens his jaw as Diluc drags his feet towards him, stopping when their shoulders were parallel, "It's none of your concern."

"You're just going to leave her here?"

There was a slight pause which was enough of an answer. The Cavalry Captain sighs when he watched him walk away, what was the point of asking when Kaeya knew Diluc so well? He glances at your form before swiftly shutting his eyes.

It was his concern.

-------

A week later, the staff of the Ragnvindr household could hardly recognize their Master's appearance. They knew not to bother him when he decides to lock himself in his chambers. Diluc drowns himself with work from hours to no end as he connects the findings of the person that took your life. As expected, it was one of his enemies- a fatui member. The question was, which one?

"Master Diluc, I beg of you, please take care of yourself," Elzer pleads.

The pyro user didn't bother to spare him a glance or look at the tray of food he carried.

Food...you always brought them whenever he had to work overtime.

"I do not remember specifiying anyone to be allowed in my office," he voices aloud, "If it's related to business affairs simply leave that with Adelinde and I'll take a look at it tomorrow."

"I understand. But you've been working all day and night yet refusing to take any breaks in between. At this rate, you'll harm your health."

The feather pen in his grip kept dragging it's course, "This is beyond the duties assigned to you Elzer."

"That's because it was a request sent by your father," he adds, knowing that stepping over his boundaries may cost him, "If Master Crepus was still here, I'm sure he would have said the same thing."

Taking a deep breath, Elzer lays out his last card, "And also your wife."

The pen slows into a halt.

No one had brought you up until now. Elzer anxiously watches his Master shifting in his seat, his red bangs covering half of his face but he could still see the frown pressing firmly on his lips. It wouldn't be a surprise if Diluc suddenly bursted at him for mentioning such a sensitive topic, all that matters was his master's well being and Elzer was willing to risk everything for it. But nothing. Diluc turns his attention ever so slightly at the tray he carried.

"Fine, but I'm not eating that."

"What? Wasn't this was her favourite-"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Elzer furrows his brows before sighing, "...No, Master Diluc."

He exits the room while carrying the fresh dish of Once Upon A Mondstadt that you loved so much. The door closes with a soft click and he was alone again.

People found it strange how Diluc seemed so vacant to your passing. He didn't even show up at your funeral. Instead, he continues his duties as a Mondstadt nobleman like usual while taking care of business matters associated with the winery. Except those who were close to him could see the difference in his actions. Apathy, he was so mechanical in every task he did. Like a marionette attatched on strings, a doll without a soul. After all, his soul died the moment when yours did too. What remains was a shadow of Diluc and a being existing solely for revenge and duty. He was nothing but a remnant.

Fatigue begins to wash over him and he fights to stay awake. Because once he gives in it will all be over. Once he closes his eyes, he would see your face with a multitude of images from the past. He would hear your voice calling out his name from a distant space as it echoes off the walls of his mind. He would fall into a dream where you were still with him and as always, waking up to see that it was never real.

I should have pushed you away.

Because what hurt Diluc the most wasn't that you were gone, rather, it was how you were still here.

Then you'd still be-

Something breaks and it turned out to be the pen he was holding so tightly. Only now Diluc realized how fast his heart was thrumming as beads of sweat began rolling down his forehead. Focus. Don't waste time. He won't grant himself the liberty of anything when your murderer was still on the run. Every wound they inflicted on you was going to be returned in tenfold. He'll make sure of it. That's why, he refuses to think about you at all. Diluc occupies his mind with other matters since at this point, work was the only efficient method of keeping his sanity in tact.

She needs you to focus.

The door opens and Kaeya enters the room while holding a document, "We found the guy."

His reaction was immediate, "Where?"

"Hm, now that we meet, it's actually quite debateable," The captain notes wryly, "When was the last time you've gotten proper rest?"

"I don't have time for this, either you tell me or I'll do it by force."

Kaeya couldn't help but sigh, "Apologies but you don't seem to be in any state for a fight. I'm sure you know how it would end up if you were to face your enemy right now."

"..."

"Diluc, this isn't healthy," Kaeya asserts, it's been a while since he sounded so sincere, "I'm not here to prevent you from doing what's necessary however, perhaps it would be better if I finished it in your stead."

"No," Diluc stubbornly answers, "Hand that over."

"...Heh, then there's really nothing I can do to stop you it seems," he whispers with a sad smile, "At the very least, be careful."

"I intend to," The pyro user snatches the paper parchment out of Kaeya's hands before opening the window, "Also, if Elzer returns, tell him there's a few errands I have to take care of."

The night was a full moon and the sky was empty, Diluc leaps off the edge and disappears into the darkness. There was no telling of what could happen next. Since you weren't here, it was up to Kaeya to watch over him.

-------

The claymore dropped to the ground with a clang as it soaks up the blood of the fatui he just killed.

Diluc was tired, so tired.

He slumps down against the wall from pure exhaustion, all that adrenaline and hatred went up in fumes, leaving behind whatever was left in his heart: nothing. Two hours, not even that far from Mondstadt, the fatui hid in an abandoned building as he cowarded for his life. When Diluc arrived, he never expected this monster to be so weak. This was the person who murdered you? A pathetic nobody that was simply following orders? This was the reason why he lost you forever?

In the end, the only one to blame was himself, for being weak and unable to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero ("Darknight hero," you'd always tease), the rock that shields you just as you had been the warmth he longed for many years, did he give you enough? Was this enough? He thought avenging your death would grant him a peace of mind and the justice you deserved but deep down, he knew it will never be enough when it comes to his love for you.

"Diluc."

He closes his eyes, he hears your voice. He was so tired, it wouldn't be a surprise if he started hallucinating.

"Diluc."

"I'm sorry..."

The man lets out a trembled breath as he apologized to the image of you in his mind. I'm sorry I failed you. They were repeated like a mantra in hopes to reach you somehow. Of course that was impossible, his feelings, his emotions, love and sorrow altogether will never reach you again. And your arms that once comforted him and brushed his hair with a soothing voice, saying everything will be okay, where are they now?

"Diluc."

"Stop," he didn't want to hear your voice.

"Diluc, I'm here."

"Stop..."

"Diluc..."

He jolts his eyes open and lets out a yell, what was he saying? He doesn't know. All he needed now was to drown out the fake voices mocking in his head. Diluc grabs the nearest object and shatters it against the floor, the dam was broken and it flooded uncontrollably, breaking everything in it's way. The abandoned house was filled with loud cries of a man sobbing with agony like a broken-hearted child. He crumbles to his knees and falls to his side, lifting his forearms while clutching his face.

And screamed.

Archons, what did he do to deserve this? Why do the people he cherish get taken away from him? Diluc never wanted to be the Darknight hero if it meant having his father perish in his arms. He didn't want the feeling of stabs against his chest with every breath he took. He didn't want to feel cold while knowing it was because you weren't here to hold him. He didn't want your voice, your pictures or your memory.

He wanted you.

"(Y/n)..." he chokes. Rolling to his back, Diluc moves his arms to cover his eyes, letting the tears run down to his ears, "(Y/n)..."

For who knows how long, he lays there in the abandoned building and mourns. Diluc doesn't have the strength to move from his position, he found himself staring mindlessly through the cracks of the roof when his voice had gone hoarse. The corners of his eyes still burned and his head was throbbing with so much pain. Maybe he should just stay here but the thought of being in the same room as your murderer was unfathomable.

Picking up his claymore once again, Diluc drags himself out of the door. Where would he go? It's not like he had a home to return to because home was when he was with you. A doll without a soul, the marionette moves as if the strings have commanded him to do so. Where ever it takes him, he didn't care. He just knew he had to go.

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silkylious · 3 years

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“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.” (Lucifer x Reader)

fandom: obey me! shall we date?

pairing: lucifer x gn reader

warnings: angst, fluff (mildly lol), suggestive (nothing explicit though!), bittersweet, ambiguous ending (??), unedited

wc: 2.1k

“Lucifer?” you called out to him on a whim, eyes trailing the seconds ticking away on his grandfather-clock.

“Yes?” he didn’t spare you a glance as he worked methodically through his second hill of paperwork; a heaping stack of duties assigned to him by Diavolo, endless bills–a consequence of Mammon’s latest spending spree, you ought to talk to him about those soon–and the sort piled neatly on his pristine desk, slowly but surely decreasing in size as Lucifer burned through the tedious task with unwavering efficiency. You felt exhausted just watching him work. Lucifer? He hadn’t so much as blinked more than three times in the past five minutes (yes, you counted). Obsidian sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, hair perfectly framing his face with one strand slightly out of place–hot–and a gentle crease between his brows (the only observable hint alluding to the mounting stress on his shoulders). He looked positively delectable, nothing like someone who’s been working diligently for hours without any breaks. But that just served as a testament to the fundamental difference between the two of you, you supposed.

“I’m in love with you,”

That made his meticulous fingers pause in their tracks.

“Pardon?”

As it turned out, his ears hadn’t, in fact, deceived him. You repeated the confession as if it weighed nothing on your tongue. You were strangely calm given the words you’d just blurted out; he almost didn’t recognize you. An unfamiliar shade of desperation painted all over your face, and yet your voice bared to him a serene conviction, one he’d never heard from you before. Lucifer’s heartbeat stumbled in your wake.

Basking in your courageous display just a second longer, he sighed. Too bad he’d have to mutilate such a pretty sight so soon.

That didn’t go exactly as he’d planned. The harsh rejection barely deterred you, leaving only a petulant pout on your lips and a promise that you’d come talk to him later.

Lucifer was anything but stupid. He knew that he let things stray too far between you, knew it was his fault for not pulling away from your kisses and instead indulging you (and himself) to the fullest. His fault for ignoring the guilt that settled deep in his gut like hunks of steel when you looked at him like he’d never experienced before. Lucifer had lived for many millennia, had relished the warmth of countless passionate lovers and faceless hookups, none of which had ever set him alight from the inside out like your adoring gaze had. It terrified him how after all these years, watching humans thrive and collapse over and over again, he thought he’d seen everything there is to see, all that humans had to offer. And then you come along, reinventing what love meant right before his eyes, with a simple look no less.

He never intended for you to fall in love with him, and he never intended to reciprocate. Had he been mortal, maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated. But life dealt a cruel hand, and he wasn’t. A relationship like yours was doomed to crumble in heartache from the start, it was best to stop it before things went too far. That was the plan anyway.

You didn’t share the same sentiment.

With one last exasperated sigh, Lucifer focused his attention back on his duties. He didn’t know how long he could hold up against your persistence, and honestly he preferred not to dwell on it. Whatever outcome lied for the both of you in the near future, itching one step closer with each tick on the clock, he’d face it head on when it was time.

Meanwhile, you laid wide awake, in your bed, rethinking every decision that led you here. You didn’t regret your confession, nor were you keen on giving up, but Lucifer’s ruthless rejection, his vehement claim that a relationship between a human and a demon is destined to end in tragedy festered a bud of doubt in you. You noted pettily that he hadn’t outright denied any feelings for you. How could he? Lucifer was many, ugly things but a liar’s not one of them; you wouldn’t believe him even if he did lie, not with how delicately he holds your hand in his gloved one, not with how heartbreakingly beautiful he was when he lets you in at his lowest, stripped completely of his pride.

You knew though, that as much as Lucifer was a creature of the past, he was a creature of regrets.

Somehow, you’d managed to reach the heart of the Avatar of Pride himself, bestowing a porcelain touch on it and subsequently rocking the monotony of his endless life. Despite the acknowledgment of both your feelings, you weren’t naïve enough to dismiss how his heart drums thousands of years apart from yours and would continue to do so long after yours gave its last valiant pump.

He was a creature of the past you realized; humans intently watch minutes, hours, years approach because there’s only so much of them live out, there’s only so much to do in a lifetime. Naturally it would be counterintuitive to waste scarce time on the past. The immortal have no such concern. When time is limitless, and life is all but a blur of recycled events, its only instinctive to lose interest in what’s to come. And you guessed, maybe there was a strange comfort in the predictability of eternity, maybe that’s why Lucifer was so offput by the notion of something serious yet temporary, especially romance.

You decided. You wouldn’t let him look back and ponder what ifs in that stubborn head of his, not while you were still breathing. With regained determination, you glanced one last time at your countertop alarm and entered a dreamless slumber.

Not even two days later, three consecutive raps on his door made Lucifer rub at his temples for the nth time and begrudgingly called for you to enter. Piled on his desk were several stacks of papers (as was the usual), though, that night he was in a particularly sour mood. Ever since your confession, he’d been feeling uneasy, Diavolo hurling more work at him last minute was only pushing him to his wit’s end.

“Lucifer,” he hummed in response, not bothering to conceal his growing agitation. “we need to talk,”

Ah, there it was. He was wondering when you’d confront him again.

“I believe I made myself quite clear last time,” he sighed, dropping his pen and finally meeting your eyes. “If this is about your feelings again then I’m sorry but I can’t–”

“But why? Can you really say that what we have isn’t special at all?” your lower lip quivered just a bit and Lucifer had to fight the immediate reflex of holding you close and hushing your worries. His impassiveness quickly arose frustration out of you. “God Damnit, Lucifer! All I want is to be with you while I still can! To die with no regrets, knowing you’ll be there with me, but it’s very fucking hard to do that when you’re too scared of the future to do something about–about us!”

It was a low blow to go after his pride, you knew that, but he wasn’t giving you much to work with.. Rubbing salt in a ghastly wound had certainly done the trick, the dimmed crimson that pooled just below his pupil began to shine scarlet. You would have found it gorgeous had it not been imbued with near murderous intent. Lucifer’s poker face was rapidly breaking, a horrid mix of anger and melancholy sat heavy in his throat. He was looking straight at you, but his eyes were somewhere else, some time else. He was staring hundreds of years behind you at an unhealed, poorly bandaged cut. An everlasting guilt he carried with him everywhere.

“What would you know about regret?” he breathed out the words like they’re bullets, whatever restraint he’d managed to scarp together deteriorating. He stepped closer, each stride bigger than the last as he closed the distance between you, a perfect diamond manifesting on his forehead and you could see the beginnings of black feathers sprouting from his back. “Do you have the slightest clue what a blessing mortality is? Do you have any idea how agonizing it is to live with your regrets and not be able to die with them?”

“You’re right. I don’t,” you stood your ground. “But, do you really want to live with one more regret to bear?”

He kissed you. He kissed you like he hated you, animosity and anger and pain and, most prominently, pining spilling from his lips. Lucifer parted from you just as quickly as he’d initiated the kiss, taking the time to let his irritation bleed out of him, until he was left grappling with (frankly terrifying) longing and adoration. Just this once, he’d take a leap of faith, he’d break his own rigorous code and take the risk of undying heartache in the future to be with you in the now.

One kiss turned into many, and soon you found yourselves stumbling your way from his office to his bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of you, the thought that some day he would be deprived of you broke him and made him yearn to cherish you just as much. Precious things aren’t meant for longevity, he learned. All the more reason to treasure them when given the chance. You were pushed onto his bed and not once did his hands and mouth and breath leave your skin; he couldn’t bear sever that connection.

Before long, your hands were pined to the mattress, fingers tightly laced with his as if he was petrified the moment will break and a thousand years would pass you by the instant he let go.

“I love you. Truly and deeply.”

Neither of you heard the clock strike midnight.

Lucifer was well-acquainted with sleepless nights. He was no stranger to the prick at the corner of his eye, excruciatingly familiar with midnight’s cold, lonely touch. But this one was different. Where usually lied a cool emptiness in his sheets, your warm, inviting body was just in reach. Where the corners of his mind were usually plagued by past mistakes and sorrowful repentance, you were all he could think about. He reflected on your words now that the high of emotions had worn off. He still disagreed with you on many things and, if he was being true to himself, it would take more than one night to abandon his reluctance, much more. But he was willing to put in his fair share of effort. He was willing to do many things for you, he mused. You were right about one thing though, regardless of whether or not he acted on his feelings, your parting would hurt all the same. Part of him was still resentful that he let himself fall so deeply in love with you, and a part of him knew it couldn’t be helped. You’d carved a home for yourself out of his heart, invited yourself in and declared pompously you’d be there to stay, and he’d be damned to hell all over again if he said he didn’t like that.

Pulling you closer to leech off your warmth, for the first time in forever, he dreamt of the future, a future with you.

Snapping out his reverie, Lucifer refocused his vision on the framed picture before him. It’s been a couple dozen years, the pain dulled into a hollow longing, and yet not a single regret weighed on his back. He was astonished, how you, who had lived but a fraction of his own lifetime, had such impeccable foresight. He lays in bed every night and morning thanking you for not giving up, knowing that if you had, he’d be spending the rest of his infinite days in self-loathing regret.

All Lucifer could ask for now is a little guidance. What was he to do now? Was he even capable of falling in love again after you? Would he allow it? All questions that began frequenting his head since you’re no longer there to occupy it. He only knew is that he’d love you, and love you, and love you until this world fell apart. He toyed with the idea of reincarnation. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; he saw you in everything he did. Strange how you’d taught him more about appreciating every day’s mundanities than he had in the many eons he’s been alive. Lucifer wonders about the possibility of you donning the same white wings he once had back in the Celestial Realm. If you ever did, he wonders about the complications that would arise from that, he wonders if you’d even remember him. All Lucifer was left with was a simple truth. If you ever came back, whichever form you may take, he’d welcome you back into the adobe of his heart without a second thought.

He ran his thumb over your smile, a bittersweet acceptance in his own.

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.”

Obey me! taglist: @katsucookie @strwbry-m1lk (you wanted to be tagged in this one lol) join my taglist here! <3

#obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x y/n #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #lucifer x y/n #lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer #obey me #obey me shall we date #lucifer angst

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years

Text

Enchantment

Rowaelin Month, Day 20

Playing with Magic @rowaelinscourt

Rowaelin Month Masterlist//Main Masterlist//Fluff//1462 words

“Where in the world could she be?” Aelin asked frantically, running her hands through her hair anxiously.

Rowan shook his head. “Aelin… I’m so sorry… but I don’t think we’ll ever find her. She’s gone for good.”

Aelin gasped. “She can’t be. Don’t give up, Rowan; she’s our little girl!”

A mournful sigh left Rowan’s mouth. “Fireheart, I know you love her, and I do too, but we have to be realistic.”

Aelin covered her face with her hands. “I miss her already.”

Rowan’s lips twitched, and Aelin knew he was holding back a laugh. She pressed her own lips together to keep her face as melancholy as possible.

“Me too,” was all he could manage, hand going to his mouth to cover a snort.

Aelin grinned. “This is all your fault. If you had never suggested hide and seek, we never would have lost Nora in the first place.”

“My fault? How could you?” Rowan clutched his chest dramatically.

Aelin turned away, crossing her arms. “I don’t think I can stand to look at you anymore, you bastard. Leave me be.”

She watched in the mirror she was facing as Rowan sent a wink her way. “As you wish, my queen. I’ll pack my things immediately.”

Rowan turned and started for the door. Instead of passing the pair of shoes sticking out from under the bed, he paused. “Are these…” He paused dramatically. “Nora’s shoes?”

“All we have left of her,” Aelin replied, sniffling.

A muffled wheezing sound came from under the bed, and Aelin and Rowan exchanged a smile.

“I better get them, dear. If we leave them here, someone could trip over them.”

Aelin finally turned around. “As you wish.”

Upon hearing that the shoes were going to be picked up, they retracted farther under the bed, frantically trying to disappear. But Rowan was too fast for the shoes. He grabbed them, pulling a squealing child out from under the bed.

“Nora!” Aelin cried. “My gods, I thought we’d lost you forever!”

Nora, still on her back with her shiny red shoes in Rowan’s hands, stuck her tongue out at her mother. “No you didn’t, Mom, you’re the worst actor ever.”

Aelin gasped in indignation. “You slanderous little worm. Why, I’ll teach you to speak to the queen in that manner.”

She marched over, suppressing a grin once more as Nora squealed again and wiggled her feet free from Rowan’s grasp. She tried to stand, but Aelin swooped down on her and picked her up effortlessly.

“What will the punishment be?” Aelin asked in mock reprimand. “A visit to the dungeons? One thousand push-ups? Chocolate for dinner?”

“Mm, that last one sounds pretty good to me,” Nora said thoughtfully, dangling in Aelin’s arms.

“Mala spare me,” Rowan muttered.

Mother and daughter sent matching smirks to Rowan, only smiling harder as he said something along the lines of, “I hate it when you two do that.”

“Well, now that hide and seek has brought us the tragedy of thinking our daughter was gone forever”—Nora stuck out her tongue again—“why don’t we find something else to do?”

There was no pause between Aelin’s question and the squirming little girl saying, “Oh, we can practice magic. Please? Please, please, please?” Nora stared right into Aelin’s eyes. “Please, Mama,” she whispered.

Aelin laughed. “Of course we can. But we better get out of the castle, away from collateral.”

Nora nodded seriously, probably unsure of what “collateral” meant but too stubborn to admit it.

Aelin set her daughter on the ground. “Race you down to the courtyard,” she said.

And Nora was off, sprinting out the door and down the stairs.

Rowan chuckled. “She’s a handful, alright.”

“But she’s our handful,” Aelin said primly.

Rowan snorted. “You’re so cheesy.”

Aelin flashed a smile. “Race you down to the courtyard,” she repeated in a soft murmur, a flirty undertone in her voice.

Both of them knew the fastest way was not the stairs, as Nora had gone, but out the window and straight down. Rowan could fly, of course, so Aelin made sure to swing a foot out and knock him off his feet before jogging to the window. She smirked to herself as Rowan cursed her name.

Aelin may not be able to fly, but agility was second nature to her. She kept herself in shape, always training with Rowan, working for every muscle on her body, pushing herself to get better. Aelin hadn't quite been prepared for the pregnancy with Nora, and she’d had many days where helplessness had wracked her brain until the only thought in her head was that she was weak.

After all, some scars never heal.

But she’d finally given birth to the joy that was their daughter, and Aelin had started training all over again. She and Rowan had discussed more children, and firmly decided to wait a while longer until Aelin was ready again, which is why they only had the one child, nearly eight years old.

And the past eight years had made Aelin more physically able than she’d ever been, a feat of nature. She may not have wings as her mate did, but the way she climbed down the many stories, hanging from terraces and dropping from ledges, could almost be considered flying.

Aelin was nearing the bottom when a white-tailed hawk sailed out of the bedroom window. She went as far as to raise her middle finger before dropping the last story and a half, rolling, and rising with ethereal grace.

Aelin was too busy smirking at her husband as he dived to the ground to notice the little munchkin charging her way. One minute she was mouthing loser to the skies, as immature as ever, and the next a small form was clinging to her side.

“I almost won!” Nora yelled, desperate for some form of credit.

Aelin grinned and ruffled the short silver locks she’d inherited from her father. “Yes you did, dear.”

“I want to set something on fire,” Nora declared blatantly.

“Just like her mother,” an amused, but slightly concerned, voice said from beside them. Rowan had shifted back into his Fae form.

Aelin sent him an innocent smile. “What do you want to set on fire, Nora?”

“Don’t answer that,” Rowan cut in immediately. “Let’s start with something… unlikely to be needed in the future.”

Aelin snorted. “Boring old man,” she said, and Nora giggled, earning a faux wounded expression from Rowan.

Aelin pulled something out of her pocket.

“Tell me that’s not Darrow’s latest decree,” Rowan said in exasperation, already knowing the answer.

Aelin shot him a smile. “Something unlikely to be needed in the future, exactly as you wished, my darling.”

Rowan shook his head, lips twitching slightly.

Aelin unrolled the scroll and held it out, stepping away from Nora. She sent a nod her daughter’s way.

Nora got into defensive position—her parents’ child for sure—and furrowed her brow. She’d played with her magic plenty of times before, but she was still learning how to control it, particularly the small amount of fire she’d inherited from her mother. She had a far greater amount of ice powers from Rowan, and better control over them as well—which made burning things all the more fun, in Aelin’s opinion.

Nora stared holes into the parchment, but nothing happened. Rowan came up behind her and bent down to whisper something in her ear, and the tenderness of the gesture melted Aelin’s heart. Nora nodded in determination once Rowan was done and squinted.

Her focus seemed to have improved with Rowan’s instruction, for smoke started rising from the paper. Nora smiled in delight and the whole thing burst into flames without warning. Aelin grinned and held the scroll as it turned into ash in her hand.

“Lovely, Nora.”

Darrow would not be pleased. What a productive day this was turning into.

Nora clapped her hands excitedly. She spun around, the ground starting to turn frosty at her feet. The wind whipped, and Aelin shared a proud look with Rowan as ice scread across the courtyard.

Nora’s power was limited, and the ice couldn’t quite reach the edges of the courtyard. Aelin felt Rowan’s ice freeze the whole thing over thicker in addition to expanding it, and all of a sudden, they were standing on their own little ice rink.

Nora squealed, quite possibly unaware her father had helped out. She laughed—then yelped as she slid onto her bottom. Nora quickly got back to her feet, just as capable as her father and persistent as her mother.

Aelin slid lazily over to Rowan, still watching their daughter spin and skate around. “I love you.”

He smiled, lifting a thumb to Aelin’s cheek. “I love you too.”

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

#rowaelin #tog #enchantment #my writing #rowaelinmonth

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hopespeak-hs-hostclub · 3 years

Text

Dirty Little Secret- NSFW Yasuhiro Hagakure One Shot

TW:// NSFW! 18+ ONLY.

Word Count: 1,510

One shot and request below cut!

Can you write a oneshot featuring Yasuhiro Hagakure practicing self bondage please? you can decide how he'd tie himself and what toys he'd use. But I'd like it if he was butt naked, his mouth covered by a multilayered cloth gag, was orgasming non stop, and he was unable to escape his bonds. I guess I'd like this to take place before the Tragedy when everyone was living normally. What if he did this in a closet in an empty classroom at Hope's Peak. He do it thinking that no one would be there. So he gets stuck in bondage and hears some of his classmates of your choosing enter the room. They wouldn't discover him but it does put him in a panic as he tries desperately to stay quiet and not orgasm.

Hopes Peak. A school that traditionally doesn’t care if the students actually attend class, or even learn for that matter, but actually encourage the students to “practice their talent” rather than get an education. Yasuhiro Hagakure is no exception that that by any means. His favorite times of the day are the classes he skips. He loves just sitting in the dining hall, goofing off, scamming reading his friend’s fortunes. But today was a little different. Hiro skipped his first class, like always. He just couldn’t be bothered, because why learn when you can just hang, right? But Hiro, although older than most of his classmates, is still a young guy. He has hormones and gets horny. And every once in a while it happens at school. Could be because of a girl he saw, or, like today, a video he watched in an empty class room. But Hiro kind of planned for this. He typically gets himself off at home- before class. It’s why he’s late so often. But another thing about Yasuhiro is that he loves his mom. So of course, when his mom tells him she wants to have breakfast with him, and drive him to school, he eagerly agreed. Which means he didn’t have any time to himself in the morning, which in turn meant he knew he’d have to take care of it during one of his skipped classes. So he grabbed what he knew he’d need and shoved it in his pockets and backpack as he headed out the door this morning. And that’s where Hiro’s at now. He sat in an empty classroom by himself, in the back. He just watched the hottest video he’s ever seen, and he had to do something about it now. Luckily, the classroom he was in wasn’t an active one. Nobody’s taught, or participated in a class in that room in years, and Hiro knew he would be alone completely… but just to be safe he decided Hiro had to lock himself in the classrooms supply closet. You never know who might wander in or why, and Hiro had to be sure.

Once Hiro had made his way into the closet and locked the door up, he knew he was completely safe from being caught, so he made a risky choice. Hiro quickly dumped the contents of his pockets and bag revealing a rope, some handcuffs, a new toy he’d just purchased over the weekend that he’s been eager to play with, and a handful of cloth gags that he layered over one another, inside and covering his mouth completely, leaving him biting a few, and a few others to muffle himself out. Yasuhiro knew he couldn’t risk getting caught, even though he knew the chances of somebody coming into that classroom were incredibly unlikely, and let’s face it he’s right at least 30% of the time, he knew he has to be careful. Hiro decided to start with, since he planned on tying his hands up somehow, he needed to start by putting the new toy into action. Hiro had recently purchased a two in one toy. It’s a vibrating cock ring, that has a butt plug on the backside. So, as Hiro gently slides the cock ring part over his already hard dick, the other half of the toy goes right up his ass. “Mm.. fck..” he mumbled through the layers of mask, very muffled and quiet. The next step was to remove the rest of his clothing, leaving him totally exposed. He had decided the best position to put himself in was with his wrist tied around the legs of the tall shelf in the closet. He brought the cuffs as well, but was incredibly nervous about not being able to undo those, so he just placed those above his head on the shelf for now.

Now with everything in place and ready, Hiro was ready.

He had positioned the remote to the vibrating ring in a way that he could easily press it behind his back with his hands tied, and once he did he was ready to go.

Hiro quickly gets incredibly hard, with the cock ring buzzing around the base of his now fully erect cock, and the plug part shoved straight up his ass, hitting his prostate perfectly. He decided to leave one hand completely free, so he could play with himself, and he did just that. Hiro immediately started pumping his dick, with such force that he’s lucky he had the gags, or he’d have been screaming otherwise. “Hmmm… fffuck…” hiro muttered under the mask, barely audible. He lifted himself off the floor just a little, before slamming back down onto it, making the plug ram into his prostrate with a lot of force and power. “NNNNNG!” Hiro cried out, in pleasure. With just a few more tugs to his dick, he thrust up into his hands one more time and immediately started cumming, even though it’s only been 5 minutes. The pleasure just became too much, and he’d came all over his chest and hands. He started panting heavily. “Hnmmm…” he whimpered in bliss. But he didn’t have any time to recover, as his dick was still rock hard, and the plug on his prostrate was making him feel like he could orgasm again at any given moment. Hiro had began to lightly play with himself, making him orgasm and cum all over himself once again. “Ahh! Hnnng!!” He cried out as he came everywhere. This repeated a few more times. He couldn’t stop himself from cumming, he felt so amazing.

In total, Hiro came 5 times by now. He was so sensitive, over stimulated, and almost sore but he couldn’t stop. It felt so good. He decided to stop touching himself for a second and just let the vibrator and butt plug do their thing, but as he did that he heard a noise. A click? Then he heard his greatest fear.

“Makoto, thank you for helping me with the homework today. Are you sure this class room isn’t being used?” Asahina asked, assumingely Makoto.

“Well of course! I don’t mind at all Asahina! And no, there haven’t been any classes held in here all year!”

“God this is a nightmare” Hiro whimpered in his head. He felt so fucking good right now, but he should’ve known better. Not only is he totally naked and can’t stop cumming, but his friends are literally right outside the door. He knows he can’t get caught, but he can’t stop. Without even meaning to he cums again and has to literally bite the gag and his tongue to keep himself from screaming out. He wants to stop but it feels too good.

20 more minutes pass, and Hiro’s sweaty, absolutely covered in his cum, with tears running down his face from trying so hard not to make a single noise, when he hears the best thing he’s ever heard.

“Okay! Thanks Makoto! You’re really the best!” Hina said joyfully.

“Don’t even worry about it Hina! That’s what I’m here for!” Makoto responded.

“Ffnk god..” hiro mumbled to himself as he heard their voices get further away. At this point he was so worn out he had to stop, but couldn’t risk getting caught so he had to wait a little while longer.

Exhausted and overwhelmed Hiro took everything off, quickly put his clothes back onto his filthy body, shoved all his toys and Ropes back into his bag and pockets, and ran to the shower room to clean up. As he was leaving the room and walking down the hallway, he passed Makoto who was headed back to the empty room. “Oh, hey Hiro! Where have you been today?” Makoto asked innocently.

“Oh.. uh.. just, catching up on some school work.. I just.. I gotta go though, sorry,” he said in a panic, still out of breathe as he ran the opposite direction.

After Yasuhiro had showered and cleaned himself off to the best of his ability he decided it was best to try and join his classmates for the remainder of the day to attempt to blend in. The whole day went normal and fine, until Makoto walked up to Hiro and pulled him to the side.

“Hey, uh, Hiro, after I saw you in the hallway before? I had to run to an empty classroom to grab a spare notebook for a project. And I .. found this,” Makoto said awkwardly not looking Hiro in the eyes. “You don’t have to say anything, but I’m almost certain they’re yours..” he dropped a pair of handcuffs into Hiro’s hands. “They were just sitting on the shelf..”

A panicked Hiro just laughed and said “okay Makoto! I understand. I’ll use my powers to find the owner and return them as soon as I can!” But on the inside he was dying.

He quickly turned away from Makoto shoved the cuffs in his pocket, and ran out of the room heading home. At least he never officially got caught though.. right?

#danganronpa #danganronpa smut #thh smut #trigger happy havoc smut #trigger happy havoc #Yasuhiro hagakure #hagakure #Yasuhiro #hiro hagakure #hiro smut #Yasuhiro smut #danganronpa hiro #danganronpa Yasuhiro #danganronpa hagakure #hagakure smut #hiro lemon #danganronpa lemon #thh lemon

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j-amespotter · 3 years

Text

★ the last great american dynasty - s. b.

“i had a marvelous time ruining everything.”

Pairing: Sirius Black x Muggle-born!Reader

x. x. x.

Summary: A one-shot diving into Sirius’s complicated relationship with Grimmauld Place and where the Muggle-born he falls for fits in.

Genre/Warnings: angst, emotional abuse, alcohol, language, mentions of death & war

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: so.. this is more of a character study on sirius & his dynamic with his family – i know this song is meant to be about a woman but it also screams sirius to me. i’m a sucker for romance so it’s a reader-insert. fun fact, i was almost done writing this when i realized i wanted it to be a wolfstar fic, but i was too lazy to change it, so just putting that out as a concept lol. let me know what you think & if you’d like me to tag you in future works!!

masterlist

When Sirius first showed signs of his rebellious nature, Walburga wasn’t worried. After all, many children were incapable of sitting still in large gatherings, mouthing off to their parents, or incessantly teasing their younger siblings. “He will be kept in good company. He will learn,” Walburga would say to her husband. He often exasperated her, but there was no denying her immense pride. Despite his antics, even at a young age, Sirius displayed impressive magical ability and had a commanding presence – excellent qualities for the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

She worried only a little when he preferred to spend time with Andromeda, who was clearly becoming disillusioned with their family values, and Alphard, who Walburga believed was beginning to get a little too soft. Still, the Blacks were not raving lunatics. They were traditionalists, committed to upholding the high standards of Wizarding society. Sirius would not defy them, not when the weight of their bloodline rested on his shoulders, not when Regulus would never be able to stomach such responsibility.

On his first night at Hogwarts, Sirius didn't write home. It wasn’t until the morning after that Narcissa delivered the dreadful news to her mother. Walburga’s sister-in-law relished discussing this most recent embarrassment, as the family’s attention was now off her daughter’s courtship of a mudblood. Young Sirius, their direct heir, was sorted into the House of Muggle-lovers and blood traitors, into the House of Godric Gryffindor.

Blown apart by this development, Walburga turned to her younger son. She had no intention of repeating her mistakes and resolved to train him for the responsibility that should have belonged to her eldest. That way, if she was unable to correct Sirius’s behavior, she had back-up. Her legacy was secure.

During every subsequent holiday, she noticed that the damage was getting more-and-more irreversible. Sirius unabashedly consorted with infamous blood traitors and pathetic half-bloods. He seemed to dread seeing his family as much as she dreaded seeing how much of him she had lost. She tried; no one could say she didn’t. But she was too stern with him. He had inherited his flexibility, or lack thereof, from her. She pushed him too far away. Soon, he stopped returning home for Christmas. When he was sixteen, she spat at him as he closed the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place one last time, without sparing her a final glance.

He never expected he would have to return. Offering up the property to the Order seemed like a good idea at the time – he hardly put any thought into it. That was how he made most of his decisions. His track record certainly proved so. When Remus didn’t have anywhere to stay, and neither did the newly-reformed Order of the Phoenix, Sirius knew that his family estate in London was not just their most ideal option, but also the only one they had.

He managed to enter undetected in his Animagus form with Remus. He had to hand it to fate – there were no extra security measures to keep him out. It was as if she anticipated his arrival. Swallowing, he absorbed his surroundings. Despite the eerie silence and decomposing furniture, it looked like an image straight from his memory. Sirius suddenly felt sixteen again.

What he did not expect to see, however, was a currently-sleeping life-sized portrait of Walburga Black in the hallway. Though now in his human form, Sirius growled inadvertently. She knew. She always knew that he would come back. She wanted to be there when he did. Unbelievable, he thought to himself.

Aware of Remus’s wary gaze on him, Sirius walked forward and began pulling on the frame. “Get off, you hag! Remus, help me get this off!”

Remus went to join his old friend in what seemed like a fruitless mission in his mind but came to an abrupt halt when the portrait, disturbed by her son’s grunts, awoke in a flash of fury. “Filth! Scum! Abomination of my flesh! You are no son of mine,” portrait-Walburga hissed.

“Shut up, just shut up!” He had not heard her voice since he was near a Dementor, reliving the worst of his teenage years. The visual made it much, much worse.

“Permanent Sticking Charm, it seems…” Remus said to appease his friend, pulling the withering velvet curtains over its towering frame with all his strength.

“This is torture,” sighed Sirius. “Maybe we can find another place.”

Remus refused to meet his eye. “For now, it is all we have, Sirius. If it was going to be a problem, you should not have offered it to Professor Dumbledore.”

Sirius frowned. “It’s all I’m able to do this time around. It’s not like I can go around trailing Death Eaters and infiltrating the Ministry with everyone else.”

“Hopefully, it’s only temporary,” assured Remus, though he was equally as uncertain about Sirius’s fate as a fugitive. “Try not to let this place get into your head, okay?”

Sirius Black was never good at keeping promises. He had three-and-a-half decades of evidence to back that up. In the weeks following, the Order settled in, consisting of many highly competent Aurors, half-a-dozen Weasleys, and an ex-Death Eater he could do without seeing. Sirius found himself never too far from alcohol, itching for more access. He longed to see Harry and to get away from his wretched house-elf, along with the constant, stinging reminder of his mother's existence.

But there was something else inside of him, something he couldn’t describe. It was an emotion that was egging him on. He felt it inside of him every time Kreacher muttered complaints about wandering red-headed blood traitor brats. It swirled in his stomach when his mother shouted scathing insults at the clumsy half-blood and filthy half-breed that took temporary refuge in the former pure-blood paradise.

Then she came.

She was new. She worked at the Ministry; many of his houseguests were incredibly fond of her. He recognized the innocence in her eyes. It was the same innocence that he had when he first joined the Order seventeen years earlier. It was the same innocence that differentiated every new member from every returning one – they had yet to see tragedy in its fullest form.

“Hello,” she greeted. She seemed strangely unperturbed by the fact that she was in the presence of an alleged mass murderer. “I’m (Y/N). I’ve been told this is your house. Thank you for playing host.”

“My pleasure,” responded Sirius. Involuntarily, he reached for her hand and kissed it. Suddenly, he became painfully aware of his hollowing cheeks, untamed hair, and liquor-infused breath.

She flushed slightly at the gesture. Black family habits die hard. Just because he chose to refrain from practicing them did not mean he had forgotten, nor did it mean that he wasn’t any good at them.

Walburga Black’s portrait watched her son fall in love with her. Sirius watched her watch him. There was no telling how she would react. Regulus was dead – it was up to him to preserve their family’s name and purity.

(Y/N) was witty and flirty and incredibly intelligent. He found himself feeling a decade younger as he enjoyed their banter and her overall easiness. Before long, she kissed him in his dimly-lit pantry, and he was too selfish to stop her. They would kiss in every corner of the house, hardly caring that anyone was watching, ignoring the ghosts living within the walls. For Sirius, (Y/N) was his greatest act of defiance. She was born to non-magic parents. As narrated by a disgruntled Kreacher to his now-helpless mistress, she was nothing but a “filthy mudblood.”

One night, weeks after the children departed for Hogwarts and the house was, as on most days, empty, he caught her staring at the Black family tapestry. Without making a sound, he inched behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Hello, beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a kiss on her shoulder. “Sickle for your thoughts?”

She leaned into him. As the days went on, she would tire easily. Still, she found happiness in Sirius as he did with her, and they both were old enough to know to reach for it in any capacity they got. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. Let’s get to bed.”

“As much as I’m a fan of that idea,” he started with a smirk, “you look upset. Is it work? Fudge?”

“No, nothing like that.” Her fingers traced his blasted name on the wall. She looked thoughtful. “I’ve just… noticed something about you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“The way you look at your mother.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s no secret that I hate her. I hope that’s not off-putting. You’ve seen what she’s like – it was worse when she was alive. I promise I’m a gentleman in general circumstances… for the most part,” he added cheekily.

She smiled tightly. “No, I get it. It must be terrible for you, being back here.”

“It is,” he affirmed. “I’ve got you, though. You make me happier than anything, love.”

“That’s the thing,” she uttered as if it pained her. Sirius could stare at her fiery expression for days on end. To be on the receiving end was strange. “I can’t help but think that you’re only in love with me to spite her. Like your feelings aren’t love, they’re just a culmination of your hatred for her.”

It took Sirius an eternity to process what she just said. Realizing that he was not going to say anything, she continued. “Believe me, I know you hate it here. But at the same time, you look so… satisfied. You’re hosting a bunch of blood traitors, half-bloods, and a werewolf in this place that was once the pinnacle of blood purity. You’re providing a haven against the bloody Dark Lord. And worst of all, you’re with a mudblood.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” interrupted Sirius harshly.

“It’s the truth. If you weren’t in this position, would we even be together?”

“Of course,” said Sirius. To answer this question, he didn’t even have to think. “I love you because you’re you. You’re beautiful and smart and make me laugh until my stomach hurts. You’re so good with Harry and you can put anyone in their place. You make me feel new again… God, that’s fucking sappy, but it’s true. I indeed hate this place and I hate her but… but if I let her dictate my choices, even when she’s bloody dead, then she’s won. I don’t want her to win. If I was only with you for your blood status, then I would be no different from my mother.”

She stared up at him, her eyes betraying a wave of emotions. She reached up to kiss him, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Thank you for saying all of that. Just hold on for a little while, alright? Soon, we’ll be out of here. We can have our own house – you, me, and Harry.”

He smiled at her sadly. It seemed too unreachable of a goal to him at the moment. “By the beach?” “Wherever you’d like,” she answered, leading him to his bedroom, his only sanctuary in the horrible house.

As they made their way towards the stairs, Sirius glanced at the tapestry over his shoulder, at the seven generations of Blacks behind him. He gently squeezed (Y/N)’s hand. For the first time in his entire life, he felt the weight of carrying his name lift off him. He’d done his part to corrupt his bloodline. It was time for Sirius to focus on himself in a way that the shadows of his past never allowed him to, even in his schoolboy days with James. Being a Black was a part of who he was, and even a disowned Black deserved his long-overdue happiness.

Tagging: @strawberriesonsummer

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

Partners

Characters: Petra Ral, Levi, Hanji Zoe x Levi Genre: Action / Mystery / Romance Rating: T

Detective!au

Summary: when Petra was promoted to a detective and partnered up with legendary Levi Ackerman, she felt like the happiest person in the world.

But, as she soon found out, detective Ackerman she used to admire so much was actually a far cry from the ideal policeman Petra thought he was. He was rude, harsh and easily annoyed. And, in addition, he still hadn’t moved on from the death of his previous partner - detective Hange Zoe.

Chapter 11/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Сhapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Сhapter 7

Сhapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

With every word from Levi's mouth, Erwin's face grew darker and darker.

"Fuck." He declared, as soon as Levi had finished. "Fuck," he repeated, rubbing his temples. He took a deep, heavy sigh, and when he blinked, the tense expression was miraculously gone, the usual look, full of determination and conviction, taking its place.

"So no sign of forced entry?” he asked, calm and collected and completely devoid of the previous frustration. “No sign of struggle? And no sign of Petra?"

"Yes, sir." Oluo confirmed with a frantic nod, which reminded Levi of a stupid toy dog Hange once put in his car.

Had the matter at hand been at least a little less grave, perhaps, he’d even crake a smile at the comparison. Hange definitely would have. Alas…

“And do we know who’s behind it?”

“No,” Levi replied. “Hange suspects one of Zeke’s man, but she also thinks some third party is involved.”

Erwin accepted his answer, slowly scratching his chin. “And where is Hange herself?"

“She went to talk to Zeke to ask if he knows something, and…" Levi faltered, not sure if he should share this information with Erwin. Hange was sure that Zeke was innocent, and Levi never doubted her, but…

"And?" Erwin prompted.

Fuck it, Levi decided. Perhaps, Erwin’s unbiased opinion was exactly what they needed.

"Oluo found Zeke's cigarette pack inside the apartment," he said, throwing it on Erwin's desk.

"It's not his," there wasn’t even a hint of doubt in his voice. Erwin didn’t even glance twice at the evidence presented to him. "Zeke would never be so careless. Someone's trying to sabotage him, and they are not very good at it."

“So you think it’s someone else?”

“Naturally.”

Erwin’s confidence eased a portion of his worries. If he and Hange were of the same mind, then it must be the truth. At least, he didn’t let Hange meet up with a potential culprit all by herself. Not that it gradually quelled his concern, but it was something…

“Zeke Yeager…” Oluo mumbled, biting his thumb. “Yeager, Yeager… I heard this name somewhere…”

“Huh?” Levi raised an eyebrow, looking quizzically at him.

“Yeager!” he exclaimed, his eyes lightening up. “Of course! Yes, now it came back to me!”

“What came back?” Levi demanded, glaring at Oluo in annoyance. God, how he hated being kept in the dark…

Oluo didn’t respond, irritating Levi even more. Instead he reached Erwin’s desk in two short strides, pushing him aside. “May I, sir?”

“Be my guest,” Erwin made a welcoming gesture, pulling his chair back. “If you know something, then…”

“Could be just a coincidence,”Oluo muttered, as he opened the database on Erwin’s computer. “But…”

For a long moment nothing happened. The office was silent, except for the sounds of typing on a keyboard, and Oluo’s quiet murmurs.

Levi shared a look with Erwin. He shrugged helplessly, seeming just as bewildered by Oluo’s actions, as Levi himself felt.

“Aha!” he beamed, finally showing Erwin what he found. “Like I said, could be just a coincidence, but I came across name Yeager before. Here.”

“A family murdered in their own house,” Erwin began reading, his eyes quickly scanning the page. “Wife and husband found dead in their own bedroom by their fourteen year old son, who came back from a sleepover. The identity of a murderer remains unknown.”

“It was the first case I took as I started working,” Oluo confessed, scratching his neck. “That’s why it stuck with me. Don’t know if it has any connections to your Zeke…”

“The father of the family, Grisha Yeager,” Levi read the name from behind Erwin’s shoulder. “Zeke is his son. From the first marriage, but still… Maybe, he was murdered, because someone wanted to get back at Zeke.”

“And now that same someone wants to finish the job,” Erwin agreed. “The culprit was never found after all. It’s a solid theory.”

“Or as solid as we can get for now,” Levi nodded.

"It's different from other cases, though,” Erwin contemplated thoughtfully, his gaze turning distant, as he taped his finger against the desk.

"Other cases?" Oluo shuddered. "Are you talking about recent... Murder cases?" he paled, his lower lip trembled, and Levi started to regret bringing him here. They needed to keep their heads clear. Petra needed them to keep their heads clear. There was no time for worrying and panicking right now.

In Levi’s experience, that attitude could only lead to more tragedy.

"It's obviously different with Petra," Erwin said, his voice going an octave softer. Levi stared at him, almost gawking. Erwin wasn't the man to give empty promises. Either he was that optimistic about this whole ordeal, or... Levi preferred not to think about the other possibility.

"Levi?" Erwin turned to him. "What do you think?"

"I think Oluo is right, Petra was taken by someone close to Zeke. But either it was the same perpetrator from before or someone else, it remains to be unknown," he replied. "And I think we don't have any time to waste."

"Agreed," Erwin clenched his jaw, his brows furrowed. "I'll talk with Pixis and Nile, ask if they know anything or if they have any people they can spare... We need to start the search..."

"Sannes!" Oluo suddenly exclaimed, startling Erwin and Levi. "Sannes, we should check him first! We’ve planted a bug on him just yesterday!"

"Fuck," Levi groaned in frustration, feeling like the biggest and the most useless idiot in the world. He had completely forgotten about it.

"I didn't see him at work today," Erwin noted. "Perhaps, it's worth checking it out. Take care of it, Levi."

"Will do," he nodded. "Permission to go?"

"Report to me once you find anything," Erwin stood up. "I'll go to Pixis and Nile."

Levi nodded again, and left the office, his steps swift and heavy.

***

"Could it be our lead?" Oluo asked.

They've listened through every conversation that Sannes had that day and the day before. And only one of them, the one where he had agreed to a meeting with an unknown man, had raised Levi's suspicion.

"Not sure if we can call it a lead," he mumbled, biting his lip. There was no word about Petra and no mention of the actual location, but it was something they could work with. It was a starting point, at the very least. Much better than nothing. "But it's definitely a clue. Come on, we need to continue our investigation."

"Meaning..."

"Meaning we're going to break into Sannes' office and see if we can find something inside. Don't worry," he clasped Oluo's shoulder with just a little too much force. Oluo coughed, almost doubling over under Levi’s hard hand. "Nothing you hadn't done before."

***

“Zeke is a fool,” the man sneered, his voice full of disgust. “He’s not the man he was before. Ever since he took in that Zoe, he made mistake after mistake. It’s time to put an end to this. It’s time for someone else to take over his legacy. Our gang needs a new leader. Someone, who has as much potential as Zeke, but who doesn’t yet possess any of his flaws. Someone, who is cunning and ruthless. There is only one man who can do this," he finished, and even from afar Petra could see a shine of adoration in his eyes.

Sannes scoffed, rolling his eyes, not moved by the passionate speech at all. "And who is that?"

"No one can achieve the greatness Zeke once possessed. Except," the man smiled, and the sight of it made shivers run down Petra's spine.

"His own brother."

"You've gone mad," Sannes rolled his eyes, still unconvinced. "You've lost it completely, and now you want to drag me down with you. I refuse. Good luck getting arrested, but I’m out of here.”

“You’ll regret this, Sannes,” the man promised, his eyes flashing. “You’ll come begging for us to take you back in no time.”

“I really doubt that, boy,” Sannes sneered, his face showing nothing but disgust. “And if you’re going to actually proceed with your plan, then be ready to meet Ackerman. Believe me, it won’t be a pleasing experience. See you in prison,” he finished, and left, throwing the door shut.

As soon as Sannes had stormed out, the man with an eerie smile turned around to face her.

Instantly, Petra closed her eyes and lowered her head, but the man simply laughed.

"There is no need to pretend," he spoke, shortening the distance between them. "I know you've been awake for quite some time, detective Ral."

She looked up then, saying nothing and glaring at him beneath her bangs. Just the sight of that man left her breathless, her heart beating so loudly she could hear it in her ears, but she wouldn’t show him her fear. She was better than this. He may have had an ultimate upper hand over her, but she would never give him the satisfaction of seeing her tremble.

"I think we've started off on a wrong foot," the man smiled, the shadow of a lightbulb above him making him look even creepier. "I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Floch, nice to meet you!"

With the same crazy smile on his lips, he reached out and patted her shoulder. Petra winced, unable to move away from the undesired touch.

"What do you want from me?" she hissed, trying to hide the shaking in her voice. As discreetly as possible, she tried to loosen her restraints. In movies she watched with Erd, Gunter and Oluo, heroes always freed themselves so easily, the ropes being nothing more than a nuisance. But in reality, they didn't bulge an inch. Petra searched through her mind, trying to remember what characters from those movies did. Wiggle out of the restrains? Broke their wrists? Or was it applicable only for the handcuffs? Shit. She should have watched more movies like this, instead of melodramas and rom-coms. Shifting her attention back to the present, she stared up at her captor, still glaring at him defiantly.

"What do I want from you? The same thing I wanted from the others."

The same thing he wanted from the others? But the others were... dead. Petra suppressed a shiver.

"It's nothing personal, really,” he continued in the same careless manner. “All I need from you is to motivate your partner."

"Levi?" Petra gasped. "What it has to do with him?"

To her surprise, the man shrugged. "Nothing, really. In a way," he swept his hand across the room. "He's just a victim of circumstances. He's one of the best detectives in this city and he has a personal connection with Zeke. It'd be a shame not to use him."

"But why do you need him?" she pulled on the ropes, leaning closer towards the man and looking deep inside his eyes, trying to see right through him, trying to understand him. "Why can't you just kill Zeke and be done with it?"

The man tutted, shaking his head. "That's not what I—" there it was, that same pleased, creepy smile. "What we want to do. Taking Zeke's life would be too easy. We want to destroy it. But unfortunately," he continued in a voice of badly feigned sympathy. "You're not the main event here."

"Not the main event?" Petra echoed, confused. If it wasn't her, then....

"Not sure if you've met...” his eyes lightened up with something dark and dangerous. The smile on his face grew wider, more sinister. “But surely you've heard of one Hange Zoe?"

"Hah," a short chuckle escaped her lips. Very soon it turned into a full blown laughter. Petra would have clenched her sides if she wasn't tied up, she would have doubled over, hands on her knees and chest heaving, overcome with a sudden feat of giggles.

"What are you laughing at?" Floch inquired, the smile disappearing under a frown.

"You, of course," Petra answered, still breathless. "You're a bigger fool than I thought. To think that you can take on Hange Zoe..." of course, he had already gotten her, but Floch had taken her by surprise and she wasn't nearly as experienced and skilled as Hange. And even if they do somehow catch Hange... "Levi would never let you even get close to her. More than that," Petra raised her chin, a confident smirk pulling on her lips. "I'm sure he'll show up here so very soon. He'll save me and ruin your stupid plan. Then you'll be rotting in jail alongside your Zeke."

"We'll see about that," Floch promised through gritted teeth. "Wait a couple of hours, detective, and we'll see if your optimism would remain just as strong."

He gave her a furious look and then did a sharp turn, heading to the door.

“Enjoy your last hours. I’ll come to check up on you later.”

With that he had left, and Petra finally managed to breathe normally.

*** "Weren't you supposed to be good at this?" Levi dryly inquired. With a bored expression on his face, he was leaning against the wall, watching Oluo fiddle with a lock on the door to Sannes' office.

"I never said I was," Oluo grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead. His head darted from one side to other, checking if the hallway remained empty. "It's my first time breaking into someone's office, you know."

"Eh?" Levi frowned, confused. "Then how did you and Petra get in the other day?"

"I stole a key," Oluo huffed.

Levi rolled his eyes, pushing Oluo aside. "Let me handle it then. You go and stand on a lookout."

Oluo didn't need to be asked twice. He got his fair share of bullying from Levi today. With an annoyed but very quiet - he wasn’t so thrilled about receiving even more insults - sigh, he rose to his feet, going to do what Levi had requested of him. He didn’t even reach the end of a hallway, and Levi was calling out to him.

"Already?" his eyebrows went up. "You broke the lock so quickly? How?"

"Well," Levi shrugged and pushed the door open, sporting an almost smug expression. "Let's just say I wasn't always a law-abiding policeman."

"So cool..." Oluo whispered in reverence, as he followed Levi inside the office.

In Oluo's humble opinion and in comparison to a small cubicle he shared with Erd, Sannes' office was huge. A large desk, a wide bookshelf that took up most of the wall, a leather couch and a mini-fridge with a coffee machine and a microwave oven? If affiliating yourself with criminals meant you can have a workplace like this... Oluo wasn't that opposed to the idea anymore.

But they took Petra, he reminded himself. They were the bad guys, even if they were much richer and more successful than he could ever be. They certainly didn’t deserve any of it. And his job was to catch them.

"So what should be our starting point?" he asked Levi.

"You could start with telling me what the fuck you are doing inside my damn office."

With heart in his throat, Oluo whirled around. As his eyes met Sannes' dark and furious ones, Oluo gulped, slowly taking a step back.

He chanced a glance at Levi and was surprised to see that he didn't look as scared and panicked as Oluo himself felt.

Quite the contrary.

"Sannes." he snarled.

With wide eyes and mouth open in shock, Oluo watched how Levi manhandled Sannes, a man, who was almost twice his size. He pushed him to the wall, fisting hands into his shirt.

"Where is Petra, you scumbag?" he hissed into his face. "Where are you holding her?"

“Let go of me, you freak!” Sannes shouted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh, but you do,” Levi’s voice dropped even lower, almost resembling a growl. “You know about everything – Zeke’s dealings, Petra’s kidnapping, Hange’s survival,” he pulled Sannes even closer. “So I repeat my question – where are you holding her?”

"I don't know!" Sannes wheezed out, already out of breath.

"Bullshit," Levi answered, his voice so dark and dangerous it made shivers run down Oluo's back. And he wasn’t the one Levi was talking to. He really didn’t envy Sannes right now. "You know it, and if you're not a complete idiot, you're going to tell me everything right fucking now."

Sannes looked down at him, his gaze calculating. "If I tell you, do you promise not to reveal my connection with Zeke?"

"No,” Levi answered coolly, shaking Sannes once more. “But you're going to tell me anyway."

Sannes closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. "Fine,” he said. “I'll tell you everything. Just let me go."

"Smart choice," Levi murmured and instantly took a step back.

Sannes sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. "He's keeping her at the docks,” he mumbled, his face aimed at the ground. “I'll send you the exact location."

"Good," Levi nodded, much calmer now. "And after you do that, go straight to Erwin. If I were you, I wouldn't make him wait. Perhaps, he'd be more merciful then. Although,” he added, sending Sannes one last glare. “I doubt he actually would."

Levi turned on his heels then, walking out of the office. Oluo stayed behind for a second longer, a pressing need to ask Sannes a question arising in him.

"Petra?" his voice broke on her name, but Oluo willed himself to stand strong, looking up at Sannes without an ounce of fear. "Is she alright?"

"Dragged and unconscious," Sannes replied, rubbing the spot where Levi had grabbed him. "But she's unharmed. For now."

For now. Those two words made his knees buckle. They needed to hurry. Petra's life was on the line.

***

With sweat dripping down her face and completely out of breath, Hange finally reached Zeke's hideout.

Panting like a chain-smoker and with her leg muscles burning, she climbed all four sets of stairs, cursing Zeke all the while. Why couldn't he put his office on the first floor? Or next to a police precinct? Would have made her life so much easier.

As expected, Zeke was inside his meeting room, smoking. The fat rings of smoke were flowing around the room, flying just below the ceiling before dissipating into nothingness. Hange narrowed her eyes, squinting at the cigarette in his fingers. Could the cigarette from Petra’s apartment really belong to him? Perhaps, they should have run some tests on it… No, Hange shook her head. Zeke was innocent - at least, in that regard.

She looked around the room, nodding at Pieck and Porco, who, as usual, were sitting next to their boss.

"Ah, my dear Hange!" sweeping the ash from his cigarette, Zeke raised his hands, opening them in a welcoming gesture. "What brings you here? Already missed us?" he winked and Hange scoffed.

"Missed your ugly face?” she rolled her eyes. “Not in a million years."

Zeke shook his head, his gaze filling with disappointment. "Detective Ackerman has a terrible influence on your sense of humor," he complained, his expression turning sourer.

"Whatever," Hange fell down on a chair next to him. "I came to ask you for help. Petra is missing."

"Petra?" Zeke frowned, looking genuinely confused. The lost look inside his eyes cemented Hange's conclusion that he wasn't the one involved in her kidnapping. Zeke was sleazy and unreliable, but he was also a very bad liar. Well, that meant they managed to rule out one possible suspect…

"Yes, Petra. Levi's partner."

"Ah, he found a new one already?" Zeke spread his lips into a wide, self-contained smirk. "Not very loyal, is he?"

More loyal than you will ever be, Hange wanted to say, but stopped herself. Now was not the time to start a pointless squabble.

"Do you know something or not?" she demanded from him.

"I don't," Zeke answered, putting a cigarette to his lips and exhaling the smoke right in Hange's face. He knew how much she hated it, asshole. She waved the smoke away, scowling fiercely. "But I do know one thing," he turned to Porco. "The time has come, start packing."

Without asking for clarification, Porco nodded, thrusted hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and hurriedly left.

Hange watched him go, stunned. Was Zeke planning something? What could it be? Why didn’t she know about it?

There was only one way to find out. She surveyed Zeke’s face carefully, trying to see his motives reflected there.

"Packing? To where? What the hell are you talking about, Zeke?"

"Don't worry about our destination," he patted her hand, looking so condensing Hange had to clench her fists to stop herself from punching the bastard. "You're going with us after all."

"Like hell I will!" Hange threw his hands off, glaring at Zeke. "And you can’t seriously expect me to follow you. What does all of it mean?"

Zeke shrugged, lightening up another cigarette and taking a long drag. "It's the grand finale, Zoe. The dramatic climax, the thrilling last act. And I was never the one for theatrics. So I'll leave the stage and go on my way."

"You promised to help," Hange grunted. She couldn't believe it, she actually trusted the bastard, and now he tries to escape? She wouldn't let him. "Or did you lie to us?"

"I wasn't lying," Zeke scoffed. "Like I said, I don't enjoy the drama. I simply changed my mind."

"So you won't honor your promise?"

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Zoe, please. I'm a criminal. The word honor was never in my vocabulary."

"Fine," Hange huffed, blowing hair out of her face. The attempt to awaken his consciousness failed. Maybe, she could appeal to his ego instead… "But someone is targeting you. Don't you want to know who it is?"

"Not particularly,” Zeke shook his head. “Since they went through all that trouble just to get me, I'd rather we never meet. Lord knows what they're going to do then, and, unlike you, detective, I know what self-preservation means."

"So that's it? You're just going to leave?"

Hange couldn’t believe it. She knew Zeke was a scumbag, but goddamn it. She didn’t expect him to be that untrustworthy.

"Of course, I’m not going to just leave," Zeke smiled. "I'll take you with me. To make sure that no one is going to follow us."

Hange snorted. "You're that delusional? I told you already, I'd rather die than go anywhere with you."

"Be it as you wish," he said. "Pieck," he lazily outstretched his hand to her. "Make our dear detective cooperate. Do with her what you want, but make sure she won’t get in our way."

Hange turned to Pieck, her heart skipping a beat. She held her breath and tensed her muscles, anticipating her first move. She could take Pieck in a fight, in theory. But in reality, she came unarmed, and Pieck always carried a gun. And a couple of knifes.

And Hange wasn't sure that her wits were much sharper.

There was a bit, the air in the room growing stiff. Hange swallowed, her one eye narrowed, as she watched Pieck. Maybe, if she makes the first move—

"No." Pieck said suddenly.

For a moment, there was silence. Hange sat there, dumbfounded, staring at Pieck and feeling utterly lost. She didn’t mishear? Did Pieck really—

Next to her, Zeke seemed to have the exact same trouble. He blinked a few times and then his expression changed, turning into a look of betrayal and fury.

"What did you just say?" he snarled, baring teeth at her.

"No," Pieck repeated, staring straight at him, not swayed by his outburst. "I won't touch Hange, and you, Zeke, will go with her and surrender to the police."

"What do you think—"

"Stop it, Zeke," Pieck sighed tiredly. "Own up to your shit and stop running away. Do you really not get it? If you do this right now, whether you'll kill Hange or take her with you, this—" she gestured around, her gaze on Zeke hard and disappointed. "This running and hiding will never end. If you touch a hair on her head, detective Ackerman will get you even from underneath the Earth. Accept it, Zeke," she stood up and squeezed his shoulder. "You've lost that battle the moment you started it. You simply picked up the wrong opponents."

With slow, elegant steps Pieck approached Hange and bent down to leave a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Goodbye, Hange," she murmured, tucking a hair behind her ear. "It's been fun."

In spite of herself, Hange smiled. Sarcastic, adorable Pieck always had such an effect on her. "Are you leaving already?" she asked, touching a place where Pieck's lips met her skin.

"Well," Pieck grinned. "Pock had started packing, right?"

"And where are you going?" Zeke wondered, his lips pressed in a line and hands crossed at his chest. He stubbornly refused to even glance at Pieck.

"A secret," she chirped, smiling cheerfully. "But I'll make sure to send a postcard. Hange, I'll send yours to detective Ackerman's address?” she winked, chuckling at the sight of red color on Hange’s cheek. “And, Zeke? You'll be staying at the state prison, right?"

"Oh fuck off, Pieck," he groaned. "Go away already."

Their eyes met for a second, and Zeke's gaze softened ever so slightly. "Try not to get caught, will you?"

"Roger that, chief!" Pieck saluted, kissed Zeke too and then headed to the entrance, gliding on the floor and humming under her breath.

"You two should talk," she advised Hange and Zeke, and then quietly closed the door.

As soon as Pieck was gone, Zeke dropped his head on his hands, sighing in frustration.

"How the fuck do you do it, Zoe?" he sent her a side-glance. "How the fuck do you manage to inspire that kind of loyalty in people?"

Hange shrugged, sitting back in a chair, and curled her lips in a crooked grin. "Try not being a complete jerk, perhaps?"

"Fuck off," he retorted, hiding his face again. "You'll send me to jail, right?"

"R-right," Hange sang. "And before that, you'll help us looking for Petra."

"And if I refuse?"

"Initially, I planned to be the one organizing your arrest. But I can give that honor to Levi..."

Zeke visibly shuddered.

"Fine," he looked up, fixing the glasses on his face and brushing the hair back from his forehead. "I'll help you. Now get the hell out of here."

Hange arched an eyebrow. "You're coming with me, you know that?"

"I'll come," he huffed. "I promise. For real this time," he added, when Hange just kept giving him an unimpressed look. "Just give me half an hour to get all of my possessions in order, would you? I don't know if I'll be coming back after all."

"Half an hour." Hange nodded, looking at him strictly. "If you don't show up in half an hour, I'm sending Levi to get you."

She would have stayed behind and monitored him, but time was of the essence. She promised Levi she'd back in two hours. And the watch was telling her it was almost an hour past that. She needed to get back, and quickly. Hurrying out of the building, Hange rushed to the precinct.

But in her haste to get back to Levi, she didn't see a swift shadow that followed right after her.

***

One way, then the other, back and forth, left and right, Levi paced around the room.

Seven. That was the amount of steps needed to get from one end of Erwin's office to the other.

Levi glanced out of the window, and then turned around, starting anew. He clenched and unclenched his fists, thinking if he should look at his phone again. Maybe, he missed a message? Didn't hear its ringing? Maybe, she had already replied to a dozen of his texts and calls?

"Levi," a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, making him stop in his tracks. "Levi, we can't wait any longer," again, Erwin's voice was so much gentler than usual, and that alone should have been enough for him to realize that he was being irrational. That, the eyes of a dozen other policemen, gathered in Erwin’s office, who looked at him with a mix of worry and sympathy.

"We have the location," Erwin reminded, bringing him back to present.

"I know."

"We have the team."

"I know."

"We have a plan."

"I know," Levi gritted through teeth. "But we do not have Hange!"

Frustrated, he turned away from Erwin. He took out his phone, holding it tightly.

Why didn't she call? Why didn't pick up the phone and answer his texts? Where the fuck was she? She promised to be back in two hours. Almost three passed and no sign of that messy, four-eyed brilliant weirdo. The knot in his stomach grew tighter with each passing second.

Logically, he knew Hange could be simply running late. She could be stuck in traffic or she could be busy trying to get some kind of useful information out of Zeke. But while Hange was never the one to care about such trite matters as punctuality and she could easily get absentminded and usually appeared to be scatterbrained and frivolous, she was so very different during the times like this. Times, when lives were on the line. Hange never let herself be so unfocused, that’s why Levi was so worried now. He was anxious, and he knew that feeling won't go away until he sets his eyes on Hange, alive, breathing and well. He just got her back, the thought of losing her… Levi cursed, checking the phone again.

"Levi..." Erwin sighed, patting his shoulder. "You know, we can't waste our time."

He knew that. Petra needed their help, needed him. He couldn't let her down, but still...

Hange, oh god, Hange. He couldn’t lose her. Not again.

"Perhaps, detective Zoe isn't going to come back," came a quiet murmur from the corner of the room.

Levi’s head whirled in that direction, and, in a flash, he was beside him. "What did you just say?" he demanded from Oluo, barely stopping himself from grabbing him just as forcefully as he had done with Sannes.

Oluo swallowed, a trail of sweat rolling down his face, but he stared back at Levi, raising his chin.

"She was working with an enemy for more than two years. Maybe, she was the one who kidnapped Petra."

Levi closed his eyes, counting to ten in his head. He was not going to lose it right now. He was not. Not when Erwin - and a dozen other of his colleagues - were looking at him.

"Bozado," he began as calmly as he was able in that moment. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course, sir!" he answered without a moment of hesitation.

"Good," Levi nodded. "You trust me. And I trust Hange. With my life. And if you are at least half as smart as you're trying to appear, you'll trust her too. If you're not ready to,” his gaze grew harder, enabling Oluo from turning away. “Then get the fuck out of my team. If you doubt Hange, you doubt me, and I can’t work like that, I have to trust my people. So what do you say – are you leaving or staying?"

"I'm... I'm staying with you, sir."

"Alright," Levi watched Oluo’s face for another second, his eyes narrowed. Would he follow his orders without question? It seemed like he would. He hoped so, at least. With a low, thoughtful hum, Levi turned to Erwin. "We can start the operation. Bozado will lead my team."

He pointedly ignored the shocked gasp from Oluo. The boy wasn’t nearly as experienced, wasn’t even a detective, but their mission was to get back Petra. And Levi believed Oluo wouldn’t let himself fuck it all up.

It's obvious he has feelings for her, Hange once told him. She was right that time, but then again – when she wasn’t?

"And you, Levi?" Erwin asked.

"Half an hour," he promised. "Half an hour, and I'll be at the location."

Hange swore to come back to him. This time, Levi won't let her broke that promise.

Closing the door behind himself, he hurried to Zeke. He prayed that Hange was alright. Zeke wouldn’t get out of this alive, if she weren’t.

***

The silence pressed onto her. The silence, the waiting for god knows what - it was all making Petra go slowly insane. She wanted to hear something, any sound would do at this point.

Or so she thought.

But then Floch came back, sauntering inside and still sporting the same deranged grin, and Petra realized that she preferred silence so much more than the low, out of tune humming mixed with the sound of him polishing the various knifes taken from a long table in front of him.

She squirmed, the ropes digging into her skin even more. It would leave bruises, she thought absentmindedly.

Bruises? She chided herself almost immediately. Who would care about bruises if they find her dead? She suppressed another shiver.

They won't find her dead, Petra tried to persuade herself. They won't, because so very soon Levi would be here, and he'll save her. Perhaps, detective Hange would be with him, maybe, Oluo too...

She had friends who cared about her. They won't let her be murdered. She just had to keep believing in them.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked Floch, trying to distract herself from the thousand of horrible what ifs.

Why haven’t you— no, she wouldn’t ask him that. She would remain optimistic.

“You’ll see very soon,” he told her enigmatically. “My friend is almost here.”

His friend? Did he mean Zeke’s brother? The one, who had planned it all? And what would happen, when he comes? Would he—

No, she stopped herself once again. She needed to hold onto that hope. She needed to stay strong.

The sound of footsteps somewhere above her startled Petra. Hearing them too, Floch started chuckling. He turned to Petra, pressing a finger to his lips.

“That’s my friend,” he whispered quietly, as though it was the biggest secret in the world. “And he brought someone with him.”

The next second, the door opened and a man – so young, probably in his early twenties – stumbled in. He was hobbling slightly, his hand pressed to a place just below his hairline. His face was a mess – split lip, bruised eye that already started to turn deep purple, bloodied nose and forehead.

“You didn’t tell me she was a fucking psycho,” he grumbled, glaring daggers at Floch. “I wouldn’t have a chance, if I wasn’t armed.”

“But?” Floch passed him a white cloth to wipe off the blood. “You’ve caught her, right?” his voice was full of hope, and his fingers were trembling in anticipation.

“She’s in my car, dragged out of her mind. Help me get her here.”

“With pleasure,” Floch turned to Petra, winking. “You’ll have company so very soon, detective. I hope you’re excited! I am!”

He didn’t stop to hear her response, following after his friend and leaving her alone once again.

It was possibly her last chance, she realized. Petra desperately pulled on the ropes, trying to get away, but to no avail. She couldn’t move an inch, and it seemed like the more she struggled, the tighter her bindings became.

Not enough time passed, before Floch had returned, dragging a body inside. His friend put the chair, right next to Petra, and Floch dropped the body there.

No, not just some body, Petra realized. Fear crippled inside her, seizing her heart in its merciless hold.

Not just some body, Hange Zoe’s body.

Her head was bowed, but even from where she was sitting, in a poorly lit room, Petra could see blood dripping down her cheek and neck.

So much blood, she thought. She was breathing, albeit faintly. But she wasn’t waking up.

Her heart stopped, as Petra realized another thing – if Hange was there, no one was looking for her. And if no one was looking… then Hange and she… they would most probably… not be found.

At least, not alive, or so it seemed.

Petra tried to hold onto that sliver of hope, but with Hange Zoe’s bloodied face in her line of sight, it was getting increasingly harder and harder to.

#/gasps/ update?? to that fic????#levihan #also yeah pieck and porco had simply turned into bonnie and clyde they're legends like that

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myfearless-love · 3 years

Text

The Wildest Place You Run (4/?) - It Was Awfully Dark

Another addition to this story that I hope you like! Thanks again for my beta, @thejollyroger-writer for the amazing beta work! Also, check out the beautiful art she made for chapters 3 and 4!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 4/? - It Was Awfully Dark

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~4.1k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2 II Ch 3

TW for this chapter: Graphic depictions of violence

"So, what was that all about last night?" Mary Margaret watched disapprovingly as David grabbed five sandwiches off the tray and thoroughly drizzled the tablecloth with mayonnaise.

"Some patrolling Mages reported that a small group of Vampires were fighting next to a club. They called us in to check it out," David shrugged. "But the Vampires left as soon as we arrived. Some humans, on the other hand, couldn't behave and started shooting."

"They didn't realize we were just trying to protect them," Leo rolled his eyes.

"That's it?" Emma raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," David nodded. "By the way, the guys are coming over for a little party. Now that Leo's out of the hospital, we need to celebrate."

"Great," Emma sighed, mentally canceling her plans to read her favorite book in peace tonight. "Who's coming?"

"Well, Leo obviously, Robin, Ruby, August…"

"August?" her eyes lit up because August was the only person besides Mary Margaret with whom she could talk relatively freely.

"Oh, yeah," David nodded enthusiastically, and Emma could see the tiny little smile hiding at the corner of his mouth.

He was convinced that she had a crush on August and he would be the one to replace Neal. Then she would be her old self again as if nothing had happened. But there was nothing between them at all, she wasn't attracted to the man. He was just a good friend that she really needed now. Nothing more.

"Eloise, Will, and Killian will be coming too…" David listed, but Emma was no longer listening.

-/-

She spent most of her day, as usual, huddled up in her room. The whole situation with the creatures got weirder and weirder. The open attacks almost completely ceased after Neal's death, but still, no one could live in complete peace. They all felt that something was very wrong, and they were also sure that the creatures had not quenched their bloodthirst. They were preparing for something, and Emma and the others had no idea what they should do.

She just lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling as her thoughts chased each other in her head. Her eyelids slowly grew heavy as lead, and the monotonous ticking of the wall clock soon lulled her into a deep sleep.

She woke up in a musty basement, her face resting on dirty stones. It was difficult to bring herself to a sitting position. Moss grew on the walls of the basement and water stood in puddles on the damp floor. To make matters worse, it was freakishly cold. Her breath wafted white in the semi-darkness.

The bumpy, cobblestone corridor was lit pale silver by the waning crescent moon. Above her head, instead of a proper ceiling, there were only grids dripping with rainwater between the walls.

She was shocked to realize she was wearing nothing but her favorite red satin shorts and a black tank top. Confused, she scrambled to her feet, her legs covered in dirt. She seemed to be standing at the end of a long corridor. The double-iron door that loomed behind her was locked with a chain and padlock, so there was no turning back...

The hallway opened into a single cell. The room was lit by torches, and in the dancing light of the flames, she spotted rusty chains attached to the wall.

A figure crouched in the middle of the tiny dungeon, tremors running through their body.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized it was Killian. His black shirt hung on him in tatters, he was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. Standing next to him was none other than David and Neal.

Eyes widening, she stared at Neal. Was he alive after all? How was that possible? Her heart flooded with warmth, but as she got closer to the two of them, she stopped, horrified and confused. Killian's wounds were visibly severe and he was shaking like a leaf. David and Neal, on the other hand, didn't even lift a finger to help him. They watched Killian with deep disgust and hatred on their faces.

"And how long have you been doing this? Since the beginning, huh? Is that right?" David roared as loud as he could, he was shaking with rage and the veins on his neck, as well as his temples, were visibly swollen.

Without any warning, they both attacked Killian. They punched and kicked where they could, not even sparing his head.

"How do you like that, you bastard? How could you?"

Emma had perhaps never seen David so rave with fury before. But with Neal, she was even more shocked. Her feet were rooted to the floor, and not a single voice came out of her compressed lips.

What the hell had gotten into him?

He'd never been so cruel before.

As the soles of Neal's shoes stung Killian's stomach again, life returned to her feet. "Neal, stop it! Don't hurt him!" She was about to grab his arm to pull him away, but her fingers slid over Neal's body as if he were nothing but air.

Stunned, she stared at her hand, which shone translucently with pearly light. Apparently, she had no physical body, nor was her voice audible. She was completely invisible to them, an idle observer of events.

Killian fell onto his side, half-consciously, blood dripping from his ears, nose, and mouth as well. The ground around him was completely black, and she slowly realized that it was Killian's blood as well. Dried blood. She turned her head to the side and pressed her hand to her eyes.

What the hell was going on?

Suddenly she heard a loud, sickening crack, then Killian's gut-wrenching scream. When she looked back at him, she already knew what had happened. Open fracture of the femur. Killian's eyes widened in horror, gasping for air as his spine writhed in agony.

She shuddered in shock and fear.

"Emma! Come on, wake up!"

The air grew much warmer and her brother called her name. Suddenly she slipped into darkness and then her head cleared. She was lying on her bed, and David was shaking her not-so-gently by the shoulders.

"Let go of me!" she growled, trying to push his hands away from her. The image of Killian in the dungeon still floated before her eyes.

He didn't need to be told twice. David backed away from the bed and scanned her face anxiously. But he wasn't the only one in the room. Mary Margaret, Leo, and Robin also witnessed the whole show.

"Are you okay?" Mary Margaret settled on the edge of the bed. "You were screaming…"

"I'm not really surprised," Emma muttered, then sat up and buried her face in her hands. "It's okay, I just...had a bad dream, I think," she glanced up at the boys.

They took the hint immediately. As the door closed behind them, Mary Margaret looked at her with a frown.

"Are you sure it was just a dream? We thought you were awake and...having a seizure. Your eyes were open, Emma."

"It was so real. But it couldn't be a vision. It didn't make sense," she shook her head.

Besides, she had never had such a protracted vision before.

"Are you going to tell me what you saw?"

"Of course."

Emma tried to brace herself and collect her thoughts. She did her best not to miss a single moment of the dreamlike vision.

"Are you sure it was Neal? And David?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma answered with a firm nod.

"And Killian... Did they seriously torture him together?"

"Yes, but I already told you that," Emma moaned in exasperation. She didn't want to think about that part of her nightmare.

She hopped off the bed and started pacing in front of Mary Margaret.

"I'm sorry to say this, Emma, but it was definitely a vision," her friend explained. "I don't know what else it could be."

"Anything else! Neal… he's dead."

"Yes," Mary Margaret nodded sternly and grabbed her by the arm. She stopped her nervous pacing and turned Emma to face her. "I'm not so sure whether you actually saw him in your vision. You said yourself that it was awfully dark. I'd bet anything it wasn't him. Because if it's the past…" Mary Margaret bit her lower lip thoughtfully and a frown appeared on her forehead.

"Is it possible that I saw part of the past?" She repeated Mary Margaret's thought in astonishment. "We would've known about it." Emma shook her head.

"Yeah, that's why it doesn't make sense," Mary Margaret agreed. "If all this had happened, Killian wouldn't be here with us now…"

"So, what do you think?"

"I think you should get yourself together and freshen up, it's almost seven. The others will be here soon. I don't think you want to show up in front of everyone in this condition."

"Why not?" she shrugged, but obediently headed towards the bathroom anyway. This had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

-/-

People were already gathered in the living room when she came down the stairs. They were sitting around the coffee table playing cards. August, Eloise, and Killian were chatting a few feet away from the designated playing area.

She directed her steps straight to the talking squad.

Eloise noticed her first, and her pretty face immediately contorted into a grimace. Emma didn't like her, and the feeling was obviously mutual. Her shiny red air fell in huge waves to her shoulder, and as always, she was dressed head to toe in blue. She had even painted her nails a beautiful shade of aquamarine.

"Hey, guys!" Her mood was already a bit depressed when she spotted Eloise, but one glance at August brought a smile to her lips.

"Hello, stranger. It's been quite a while since we last saw each other," August took a step forward, right between Killian and Eloise.

He hugged her tightly and pressed his cheeks against hers.

He was a full-blooded Elf, he had turned one hundred and seventy years old last week, but he was still a novice, a mere adolescent of his kind. His slightly wavy, short brown hair hid most of his pointed ears, at least that didn't make him stand out on the streets. He wasn't noticeably tall; he was only four inches taller than her. His figure, however, was anything but frail. His muscular body was quite unusual among his kind. They didn't need the visual display though, they could easily throw vehicles across a road if they needed to.

"Yeah, I missed you, too," Emma remarked, a little annoyed as he let go of her and stepped back a bit.

"I'm really sorry. Please forgive me, I've been traveling a lot." He tilted his head cautiously, but she could see in his dark blue eyes that he didn't feel any guilt; in fact, he was quite amused by her annoyance.

Time passed quite differently for him.

"You all know each other already?" Emma looked at the three of them, but her eyes involuntarily lingered on Killian, even though she had prepared herself upstairs not to stare at him at this party.

It was silly, but she was looking for wounds on his body. Or traces of them. In the end, her gaze fell on his thigh. That, of course, seemed to be completely intact, as did all of Killian's other body parts.

Killian, on the other hand, noticed her gaze, and he failed to mask the surprise on his face in time. Emma felt her cheeks redden and looked back up at August again.

"Actually, we just met," the Elf replied, clasping his hands politely behind his back.

"I thought you wouldn't be here," Eloise remarked, fixing her eyes on the opposite wall as if she found the deep green, serpentine-patterned wallpaper extremely interesting.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see August's face twitch slightly. He always found it difficult to tolerate unwarranted hostility.

"Why wouldn't I be here? I thought you knew I lived here, in this apartment. Does my presence bother you that much?"

She was tired of being polite, tired of being kind to her. Her gaze glowed with anger as she raised it to Eloise. The woman had tried to seduce Neal more than once, in increasingly insidious ways over the years, but to her utter disappointment, she had never succeeded. And that irked her to no end.

Now she seemed to be trying to ensnare one of the boys as well.

"I think a bit of fresh air would do us good. Emma, would you like to go for a walk?" August asked.

"That would be great, actually," she forced out through her clenched teeth and headed toward the hallway with August on her heels.

On the way out, Emma's gaze floated to David's face, and she almost let out a laugh. His expression was overwhelmed with hope that she would soon throw herself into August's arms.

"Where did that red-haired bitch come from?" August asked with an unflinching expression as they walked to the edge of the woods behind the house.

Her heart leapt in her chest, for Emma had never heard him use the word "bitch," though he was already unfortunate enough to know a few.

"I heard her thoughts, saw her memories… it was simply stomach-churning," he explained at the sight of her stunned expression.

The fact that he could see into Eloise's head so easily meant that she was truly as blunt-witted as she seemed. He was still very young for an Elf, and at the moment, he could only peer into the minds of individuals with more modest intellectual abilities. Emma kept asking him if he could hear her thoughts and see her memories, but he replied in the negative every time. She didn't know if he was telling the truth, but she hoped he wasn't lying to her out of pity.

"And where have you been for so long? I really missed you."

"The Guild sent me to France. The situation there is pretty depressing, too. The open street clashes stopped there just as suddenly as they have here. I don't understand it either," he shook his head. "But there's little we can do about it anyway. I'd be more interested in how you survived this month without me."

"I did nothing, as usual," Emma shrugged.

"Nothing worth mentioning again?" he raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval.

"You know I would tell you otherwise. It was unnecessary to even ask."

"I didn't know that man you were dating, but I have to admit, you're making me more and more curious. What was it about him that left such a deep impression on you?" he asked, the question directed more at himself than her.

She wouldn't have had the strength to answer him anyway. Instead, she told him about her dream-slash-vision. She was genuinely curious about his opinion.

"Strange," he muttered, staring thoughtfully ahead for a few minutes. "It can't be a vision since the man you were seeing is already dead. It can't be from the past, either, because then you'd surely know about it and this Killian guy wouldn't be here now. It's rather annoying, but I have to admit; I have no idea what it could be."

"I see."

Of course, she was disappointed; she was very confident that August would shed some light on what was going on.

"But I would appreciate it if you could tell me more about this Killian. When did he join the Hunters?" His eyes twinkled with eagerness and curiously, obviously excited about what he knew so little about.

"About two or three months ago," she answered, tossing a branch from the path.

"He is rather strange," August remarked.

Emma understood, he wanted to know more about Killian. "To be honest, I know very little about him. His magic is pretty strong, and apparently, there were Elves among his ancestors."

"Elves?" he frowned and shook his head imperceptibly. "Strange. I didn't sense that in his aura, though I should have…"

"I don't know from which side of his parents and how many generations back," she added hastily. "Maybe it's just a distant relative, that's why you couldn't sense it."

"It's possible," he nodded, but she could see he wasn't entirely convinced. "He's also quite taciturn," August continued, and Emma realized with a weary sigh that he wasn't going to give up on the subject of Killian.

He was as stubborn as a mule.

"Why do you worry so much about him?"

"His aura…" he shuddered as he thought back to their encounter. "It's even darker than yours."

"Darker? What's that supposed to mean? You never said mine was…" she paused.

August reluctantly came to a stop beside her and turned to face her. "Usually, the aura of people with a dark past, an evil personality, or dying individuals turns black. But it also happens when someone has gone through a terrible trauma or grief and can't get over it. General malaise, depression. Such people are usually very lonely, in some cases even antisocial," August replied.

Emma knew exactly what best described her of the things listed, but she had no idea about Killian. She couldn't really decide. Apparently, neither could August, and she could see that it bothered him.

"But… since when can you see the aura of Mages so clearly? Until now, I thought you could only do that with humans."

"My abilities are getting stronger," he smiled, visibly proud of himself. "Anyway, I feel sorry for the boy. I'm not sure why, but when I'm around him, the feeling just floods over me."

"I get it. I mean, I really don't, but that's probably my problem. Anyway, I think we should get back soon, I don't want David to get the wrong idea…"

"Yes, let's," August smiled and they both turned towards the house.

-/-

Meanwhile, in the living room, people at the coffee table got bored with playing cards and were discussing where to continue the party. The Hunters, of course, weren't bound by the curfew, they could go wherever they wanted.

Emma cut across the hall and marched straight to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. But unfortunately, David was already leaning against the refrigerator.

"Well? What's up with August, Ems?" It probably wouldn't have been possible to scrape the taunting grin off his face.

"Thank you, he's fine," Emma replied measuredly.

She was beginning to get rather annoyed at his behavior. She had decided long ago never to let anyone get close to her heart again, certainly not another Hunter she could easily lose.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, and so does August. But we both just laugh at your attempts. We're friends, that's all. We've even talked about it a few times, if I remember correctly," she stared fixedly at David's face, whose good mood was disappearing like a gray donkey in a fog, and his bleak expression didn't make her feel better.

"And how long do you plan on doing this, huh?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything you could object to!"

"But you do! You drive everyone crazy with this world-weary widow behavior! You act as if nothing matters to you anymore!"

"Maybe it doesn't!" she began to lose her patience and she, too, raised her voice.

"You're not even trying to get over him. You're just… you're just a… selfish, stupid girl! You only think about yourself!"

The hot tea she was pouring into her mug flew straight into David's face. She didn't think he had any idea how much his words hurt her.

David let out a yell, and as if on cue, August stepped into the kitchen. He was astonishingly angry; Emma had probably never seen him in such a state before. If he could have killed with a single look, David would have collapsed dead on the floor.

"The others are getting ready to go to the Witchland Club. You better hurry up and change into something dry before they leave." August's voice was low, but his temper sounded undisguised.

He was one of the few people David never argued with. Without a single word, he left the kitchen.

She shivered all over and turned away from August bitterly. That was when she noticed the figure leaning against the counter at the other end of the kitchen. Killian. He could have seen the whole thing. He had a mug of something in his hand and was watching August and her with a stunned expression. He muttered something under his breath that Emma couldn't make out and shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving them alone.

"Are you okay?" August put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him, concern written all over his face.

"No… David is right. I'm selfish."

"You're not. If anyone's selfish, it's David. He has no idea what you're going through. He doesn't understand that the wounds of the human soul heal over time, not through violence and feigned negligence. Your pain will pass, I promise you. I'm not saying it will happen tomorrow, but it will take effect soon. David is also trying to protect his own soul, it's hard for him to see you like this. We can't blame him either."

She couldn't think of a reply, just watched the tiny drops of the tea on the floor. And then August did what he never usually did apart during greetings. He hugged her. Emma blinked in surprise for a while, then returned the gesture uncertainly.

"I don't understand you. Why do you care about me?" she asked, lips pulled into a smile.

"I have a few special quirks. You count as one of them," he winked at her.

"I need a serious answer, though," she insisted.

"I like you. You're a good friend of mine. I knew you before Neal died, and I wish you were like that again…"

"August…" she turned her head and broke away from his embrace.

"You asked, I answered," he shrugged.

"We're leaving now! Hurry up, guys!" Leo stuck his head into the kitchen.

"I'd rather stay home tonight, if that's all right," Emma replied.

"Me too," August nodded.

"Too bad," Leo said and walked back out of the kitchen.

Emma walked into the living room, August behind her.

"Come on, Killian! You better come with us!" Eloise urged him relentlessly.

"I'd rather go home," Killian shook his head.

"Let him! Once he makes up his mind, there's no changing it," Robin waved it off and followed David and Will out of the apartment.

Ruby shrugged and made her way to the exit as well. She was still limping a little, but otherwise, she seemed fine.

"You could stay here, too," Emma only saw a blur of gray as August slid next to Killian.

He smiled charmingly at Killian, and Emma knew immediately what he wanted. He was curious about Killian, there were too many secrets around him, and August endured it terribly hard when he didn't understand something.

Eloise expelled an angry breath, then left the house behind Mary Margaret and Leo, but the door remained open.

"I really should be going," Killian shook his head.

His face was calm, his gaze indecipherable.

"Are you sure you can't stay?" August frowned and put a hand on Killian's shoulder.

He used all his compelling skills, of which he had plenty as a full-blooded Elf.

"Aye, I'm sorry. Maybe next time," Killian nodded and his icy magic flared up again.

She was more than a foot away from the two of them, but she shivered at the feeling. August's face, on the other hand, didn't even twitch. At that moment, Emma found Killian more terrifying than ever.

"Good night," he turned on his heel and stepped out into the night.

August stared after him for long seconds, then whirled around and settled on the couch.

"What was that?"

"That's what I'd like to know. I'm going to suggest David keep an eye on him," he stated firmly, his gaze hardening instantly. "I tried to read his mind, and he noticed. I've hit a wall I wasn't expecting. And it's not the same wall I bumped into with you. It's a line of defense, and his magic… well, that's the most disturbing thing. He's not a simple warlock, that much is clear. But even if there was Elven blood in him, I couldn't sense it. However, there is something else that I cannot identify in any way. And I must admit, that worries me greatly."

"Not knowing exactly what and how much power resides in him doesn't necessarily make him evil," she explained, slightly surprised at August's sudden hostility.

"I didn't say that either," he nodded. "But it can't hurt to be careful."

#captain swan #cssns21 #cssns 2021 #cs ff #cs fanfic #killian jones #emma swan #captain hook #ouat #ouat ff #once upon a time #emma x killian #captain swan supernatural #thejollyroger writer #TWPYR #my fic

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the-crows-typist · 3 years

Text

Time for the 3rd installment of our Valentine’s Event with none other than, Vil Schoenheit and the word: Kiss requested by @twstdaydreamer This was very fun to write and I hope all of you enjoy this as much as I did.

CW: Alternate Universe: Cinderella and The Beast, OOC, Dark past, and discussion of the death of a loved one.

This ficlet features characters singing certain songs so links will be provided for added experience.

While some lyrics are gendered, the reader still remains gender-neutral.

Word count: 7843

Other works: Chocolate Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd

A Heart from Me to You

There once was a house as beautiful as those who lived in it. Its Lord and Lady produced a beautiful heir who, at a young age, strived for beauty unequaled to anyone in the mortal plane but at the price of the beauty of his own heart. One day, an old woman with a face aged approached the manor to seek shelter from the blistering snow…Only to be turned away with looks of disgust. This angered the lady, removing her form to reveal herself as a powerful goddess who cursed all who lived in that house with an enchanted rose.

This selfishness was what brought upon the family’s curse that when night fell should the family follow. The beautiful boy suffered from the curse the most, in his transformation did he end up killing those loved.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

“How tragic.” You whisper, sitting by the fire with a book on your lap. You enjoyed break times by the fire and being able to read by your lonesome especially when the winters became bitter in Pyroxene. You closed the book just as the head maid came in.

“Oh look at you, you’ve got cinder marks in your uniform. Come here. You must be careful, dear. The cinder marks are harder to wash off than you think.” She said and wiping the still fresh marks off your sleeves. “It was getting cold,” You explained. “But I’ll be careful next time, I promise.”

“Please and thank you.” She smiled at you the way a mother would to her child. “Come along, Vil will be coming home soon. We should go ahead and greet him.” You follow her towards the door just as you thought about Vil. His father was a famous actor that traveled but it wasn’t often that the two of them were in the same house at the same time.

“Welcome back, Vil.” Said the maid and you, bowing your head. “How was the trip?

Vil Schoenheit stood before you, his winter coat shining with fresh snowflakes and noise a sore red. “It went as it should. May I ask for some hot tea with honey?” You could hear the pulled-back shiver in his voice. “Bring it to me in the bath.” His footsteps were quick even in those high-heeled shoes.

“Can I leave it to you?” The head maid asked. “I still need to finish cooking dinner.”

You nod your head and smoothing out your uniform, ready to take on another task as well as the scrutinizing eye of one Vil Schoenheit.

Three knocks on the door and Vil halted in his actions. “Come in.” You opened the door, pushing the tray carrying tea and small biscuits carefully into the warm room. Vil had already exited the tub and dressed in a robe. Just as you had been taught, you poured a cup of tea mixed with honey and presented it to him.

“Thank you.”

Vil was a beautiful being, he really was. The way his body was sculpted and toned made you think he was carved out of fine marble by the finest artisans. His gaze towards you made you realized you were staring too long. “I-I’ll be on my way, Mister Vil. Please enjoy the night.”

“You’re the new one here, aren’t you?”

Vil set down the cup and stood up, the robe seemed to act like a flowing dress that flowed at the floor as he drew closer and closer to you. “I believe you’re the one whose mother passed last autumn.” You nodded your head with a sigh, remembering the stressful days after your mother was laid to rest.

Times were hard for you and your family, after the sudden passing of your mother, all of you had to make ends meet whenever and wherever possible. Your step-father, Mozus Trein, got a position as a professor in a known school while your step-brothers, Angelo and Donovan, set for the Rose Kingdom.

Angelo became a baker’s apprentice while Donovan became a tailor for an apparel shop. You stayed behind in Pyroxene, snagging yourself as a position as part of the staff of the well-known Schoenheit family. While the pay was good, appearances needed to be kept at all times thus why the head maid was often uppity with you especially on your first days.

“Yes.”

“I offer my condolences to you and your family.”

“Thank you…” You say and you look down at your shoes, your chest feeling heavy and empty at the same time. “But the tears have already been shed. All I want to do now is take care of my father and help my brothers.”

There was a smile on his face and he reached over, patting your shoulder with a damp hand. Up close he smelled of clean soap with a hint of citrus. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable. That’s what I want in the people who work here.” He pats your shoulder again with eyes of judgment. “But these marks on your uniform…”

Ah, crap.

“I stay by the fire during my break times.” You admit quickly and Vil only shakes his head. “It would do you good to stay further away. These cinder marks are unsightly.”

“I will keep that in mind, sir.”

He pulled back his arms and turned around as you were about to take your leave. “By the way, I would like to reiterate something while you’re here because I know the other staff will neglect to tell you this one important detail.”

The mirror before him reflected his serious expression, you gulped feeling as if you broke a rule. “When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

“What’s so special about the second floor?”

All of you ate on a table, the head maid serving up some warm cream stew. “Ah, that.” You gave your bowl to ask for seconds and she much obliged you. The old lady smiled to herself. “Nighttime is the only time Vil can rest,” She explained. “He’s quite the light sleeper so even the softest of sounds will wake him up.”

The look in her eyes was distant and smile knowing as she handed the bowl back to you. “Do you need anything else? We still have some sweet corn and roasted chicken,” she asked, pushing some more food for you to take. You sip at the hot morsel of food after shaking your head. “No, I’m fine.”

The howling winter winds that rattled your window was something you could never shut out of your mind. For as long as you could remember, you had always sought refuge in the beds of your family whether it be your annoyed yet caring brothers or the understanding tiredness of your parents.

Your mother was the best at calming you, though. She always knew exactly what to do…She was your first teacher, your first friend, your primary protector after the split and she became all the more lively after meeting Mozus, your step-father. And while life adjusted itself perfectly for you and your new family, it didn’t hesitate to strike tragedy at the calmest of times.

Your mother, after all the years she had been fighting and keeping her sickness at bay, succumbed one day in front of your step-father. Even with all the magic remedies and medicines in the world to keep her alive, there was no reversing what had already been done.

“I love you.” She said on her death bed, Trein’s hand never leaving his wife’s. “I love all of you very much. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.”

You and your brothers dealt with the grief differently, all three of them going off to their little corners for days and never showing their faces to you. It was days after the funeral when you saw your father cry, holding a picture of your mother close to his chest.

Since then, you and your brothers always needed to remind each other that they needed to be strong for their father’s sake. Angelo and Donovan spared no time in snatching every opportunity that they could while you stayed behind.

Vil’s words to you repeated like a record in your head, reminding you of how he viewed you. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable.” The winds rattled and you brought your knees to your chest. Was your resolve, your foundation as strong as Vil saw??

Cutlery colliding against each other broke you out of your thoughts and startling you back to reality. Slipping out of bed and into your shoes, you made your way into the kitchen with your hands holding your coat tightly for warmth. The plates clattered amongst themselves and you hear the tap opening and closing.

You listen in the dark, waiting for the next noises. The footsteps were erratic and almost cobbled, the clicking of plates loud and sudden as if something was trying to walk. Had someone tried to break in? You hear the door to the living room open and shut and you poise yourself to follow but grabbing a nearby frying pan to defend yourself.

Opening the door, you hear the pair of footsteps climb up the stairs and you begin to panic. Vil’s room was up there! Whoever it was, was targeting Vil. Your movements hesitated, remembering the rule Vil himself told you.

“When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

The dead of night had already come and everything around you was dark save for the lamps that provided little help in the snowstorm. You hesitated to move, weighing the options and their potential consequences. Should you stay and let Vil rest knowing a thief was roaming the halls or should you break the rules and protect him with all you had?

You bolted up the stairs without a second thought and the frying pan clutched tight, panting as you got to the top and looking wildly and trying to listen for the familiar intermittent footsteps. You turn to your side with you hear another door opening and closing and suddenly all the lessons you’ve learned grappling with your stepbrothers come back to you in a flash.

You inch towards the room in the door, turning the knob to open the door with a soft creek that makes your insides cringe. In the middle of the room was a floating flower protected by a glass dome, it was red-pink petals shimmering and lightings its vicinity in the same color.

It was mesmerizing to look at.

Setting the pan down to your side, you walked towards it with your hand stretching out to touch the dome that protected it. You dropped the pan entirely to take the dome off the rose, its glow, even more, hypnotizing up close. Just as your finger touched its soft petals, the window to your side blew open in a torrent of cold wind and unfurling the curtains that moved like the waves of a dark sea.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

From the darkness within the room, a pair of purple orbs glowed and a growl preceded a warning voice. The intermittent footsteps of a convulsing mannequin were not far off and its happy face brought a lick of terror to your heart.

The creature of the night crawled forwards, its sharp teeth jutting out of its mouth and form menacing and mangled. The windows were soon closed and the curtains dropped to the ground with your foot stepping on the soft fabric.

“Give me the dome.” The monster’s long claws reached out for you and before you stepped back, you slipped; hitting your head on the soft material behind you, the howling winds and the piercing orbs fading to black.

“…I told you not to come in here.”

You stood by the door of your step-father’s study with eyes facing the floor. Angelo and Donovan standing on either side of you. The yellow light gave off a sleepy and exhausted feeling in the realm of books and writing materials. In the very center was a diorama of your family, toys he wanted to surprise the kids with.

And now, the surprise was ruined.

You could feel shame boil in you, it had been only a few months since your mother remarried and you had new brothers to play with…And now your new dad was upset with you. “Come here.” He said, the man suddenly on one knee, your brothers coming over to him in a hug and you followed soon after.

“All of you, such curious little mice.” He said, patting each one of you on the back. “Next time, I want you to ask for permission before you enter the study, alright?” There was a laugh behind you, your mother smiling to herself while she leaned against the doorframe with a blanket over her shoulders. She never got used to the cold she was born in.

“Promise me that.”

“Yes, daddy.” All the children say.

And as you relished the warmth of your new father, something wet trickled down your cheek. Your brother, Angelo, was always the sensitive one of your step-siblings and would not hesitate to stop the sibling tomfoolery the moment things go awry. He held you close, his tears accidentally running down your cheek when you moved, while Donovan sat in the corner with shoulders hunched over. What was once your father’s sleepy study was now the empty hallway of a hospital.

The wind rattled against the windows of the hospital, your mother had succumbed to the sickness on a cold day. And your father was getting everything ready for the eventual end.

“Kids.”

Trein came out of the room, looking older than you remembered. “Your mother would like to talk to you.”

When you turned away from your brother’s embrace, you were seated on the side of your mother’s bed. Her body was sickly and the cold messed with what life remained in her. She smiled at all of you and your eyes began to sting.

“I love you.” She says, her eyes looking so tired. “I love you all very much.” And soon the tears began to fall from her face. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.” You blinked at the hand you held, your mother’s hand soon replaced with Donovan’s as he pulled you from your seat. In his suit, he looked more solemn and his usually long and wild hair was tied back with a ribbon.

“Let’s say goodbye.” He told you and tugged you to the coffin where your mother laid. “Where’s dad?” You turned your head, your hand now vacant and the space behind you a void of nothingness. The door of your father’s study slightly ajar and the familiar yellow light spilling through.

Your steps were echoed and slow, approaching the room slowly. When you were by the door, you peaked through the cracks; your father kneeling on the carpet and holding a figure to his chest. The diorama you once played with in your youth was set up on his table, your mother’s figurine nowhere in sight. There was a held back sob, Trein’s body shaking under his mourning robes.

You took a step back, letting him grieve in his own time.

You knew better than to come in there without permission.

You woke up with a start and a sudden sting to the back of your head. Above you was a chandelier you had no memory of seeing in your quarters and a bed your hands never recognized. Your chest heaved when you pushed yourself up the bed only to be pushed down by the head maid.

“Stay down.” She says, holding your shoulders. The light of the new day filtered through the large window of Vil’s room. Vil stood by the rose with his back facing you, holding the dome to himself just as your breathing leveled and normalized. “You hit your head pretty bad last night,” She explained and felt for the bump that made you hiss.

Last night…

“Was last night real?” You asked, your sudden burst of energy was off-putting especially when you remembered the events leading to the memories you wished to never relish again. “That rose. Was it really glowing? A-and that monster—!”

The dome was placed onto the rose with a loud clack, the glass roughly hitting the marble surface. “T-that’s beside the point!” The maid scolded. “Vil warned you never go to the second floor after the sunsets! Not only did you disobey one of the rules given to you, you hit your head while doing so.”

You bit back a hiss of guilt and opened your mouth to try to retort at your apparent rebellion.

“Elena.”

Vil’s voice was soft yet strict, eyes calm yet sharp. He regarded you for a moment while leaning against the marble table. “Let them be for the day, they’ve hit their head too hard.” You felt yourself shrink under his gaze. “See to it that they have little heavy activities as possible and prioritize that the bump is given care immediately.”

Elena bowed her head, her upset anger still very much apparent.

“Yes, sir.”

Elena’s nimble hands making quick work of dirty dishes. Your head had been bandaged with a compress pressed to where you hit your head. You stared at your meal with little appetite before poking at the grilled fish. “Miss Elena, why does that rose glow?”

The clattering of cutlery stopped and the head maid only sighed, shaking his head. “Always the curious one, aren’t you?” She turned around, leaning against the sink with arms crossed. “That’s one of Vil’s most treasured possessions. An heirloom that came directly from his grandfather then to his father then to him.”

Elena’s eyes looked to the side as if to remember. “I should know. I was there for every passing down. Vil is highly protective of it.”

It might have just been a coincidence, you thought to yourself, that the story you read by the fire had mentioned a rose but that was all there was to it. You ate your breakfast quicker after that. “I’m sorry for my behavior.”

“Next time, listen to your instructions.” She said, taking the plates from you before you could even move an inch to help her.

The feather duster slid against the books, your toes tipping to reach up for the shelves above your head. From there, you took your damp rag and swiped it across the polished wooden table. Yup, this was pretty much not so labor-intensive but it would get painfully boring unless you had some entertainment to go with you so you sang a small song taught to you in your youth.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep.” Your mother loved to sing this song to you and soon, to your new family. Trein especially loved it when they danced together in the living room when the children were ‘seemingly’ asleep. “In dreams, you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep.” You closed your eyes, feeling the memories of the past come with the melody of your song. You remember the first time you snuck out of bed with your brothers to see your parents slow dancing together. “Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through.”

You’ve never seen your mother smile so peacefully nor did you ever see her hug someone so intimately before Trein, in fact, you’ve never seen her do any of those things with your old dad. She was happy. “No matter how your heart is grieving...”

You only wished to see that happiness last longer than it should have. If only things stayed the way they did. “If you keep on believing…”

You envisioned your mother holding you close, singing to you one last time. Just like how she did when could still hold you to your chest. Just one last time…

“The dream that you wish…will come true.”

Sighing, you leaned against your broom saddened by what you made yourself remember. “Oh, I’ll never get my work done at this rate.” You say, taking your equipment with you and almost running out the library with a huff. Next to the fireplace, Vil lay on one of the long couches away from sight. It was only when you went out that he rose from his seat and hunched forward to let his hair cover his face.

He stayed silent, relishing the sound of your voice in his head.

During your break time, you decided to stay outside with a group of mice that decided to keep you company. You never understood why but the small animals around your area always seemed to be kind and almost human-like. When one mouse decided to sit by you while nibbling a small piece of leftover cookies did you begin to speak your thoughts.

“Is there something being hidden from me? Or am I being too nosey?”

One mouse approached you, listening to you at your feet. “I know last night wasn’t a dream, I know what I saw.” You say then feeling for the bump on his head. “It was real, I just know it.” There was a small squeak, one of the female mice touched your hand with her small paw as if to say words of reminder.

‘You’re stressing yourself out.’

Grimacing, you pushed yourself up and patting your uniform off the crumbs and dust. “I know.” You tell them and the mice look up to you in curiosity and concern in their beady little eyes. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’m a strong mouse just like you! I’m sure I can get to the bottom of this, I just…Need to find a better opportunity.”

The mice squeak in affirmation which makes you giggle. “Ahah, I’ll have to figure it out as I go along.” You tell them and look to the house, knowing that you had to get back in quickly. “I should get going, I’ll come back with some good food tomorrow.” You wave at the mice who give sounds of greeting as you leave.

What you saw on the second floor was real. You know it is. And you were going to prove it. You stopped by one of the mirrors, fixing your appearance quickly. “Huh?” Your hand touches the surface, small cracks brushed by your tips as if someone had driven something sharp into it. Looking up at the sky, you smelled frost in the air. Strong winds would accompany the night again, it seems.

The accompanying snowstorm was as fitting as it ever gave you a feeling of stealth. You always wanted to be a kind of spy when you were younger and here you are living the dream, though some nice gear and some goggles would have helped greatly. The wind blows and rattles the windows harshly when you brought yourself up the stairs.

“Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends then somebody bends unexpectedly.”

You walk to the door you saw the beast. Placing a hand on the door to listen. “Just a little change. Small, to say the least. Both a little scared Neither one prepared. Beauty and The Beasy” Hesitantly, you open to turn the door to hear more of the beautiful voice. The room was dark and only the glowing rose giving light to the room around it.

“Ever just the same, ever a surprise,”

A mannequin hunches over a familiar huddle of fur and purple light. The movements of both almost unearthly yet the voice passionate and real…And so familiar. “Ever as before and ever just as sure as the sun will rise.”

The winds rattle harshly again and the beast bundles into a ball in Vil’s bed, the mannequin’s hands shakenly placing its hand on the shivering being. “Tale as old as time, tune as old as song. Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change; learning you were wrong.”

You open the door a little wider and watch the scene unfold. Somehow, it wasn’t your place to interfere at such a moment so vulnerable. “Certain as the sun rising in the east, tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. Beauty and the Beast ”

The shaking beast’s form calmed itself and the mannequin leaned down, its monotonous face pressing against the mass of fur. A kiss goodnight. The cold of the wind blew through, the mannequin looking at you with its painted eyes. The silence was light and your eyes never leaving each other. Taking a step back, you pulled the door with you until it was shut. Everything was finally coming together.

Vil was the beast.

Breakfast was quiet and the wraps on your head were taken off. Elena made no move or sound to acknowledge you as you ate. “So the beautiful boy cursed by the goddess.” You could hear her hand grip the wet plates tightly and you knew what was coming but, at this point, you didn’t care if you got scolded. “It was Vil, wasn’t it?”

“You were given specific instructions never to go up there at night.” She said sternly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” You press again.

“Why are you so pressed on this? What good will it do for you?”

“The mannequin was you, wasn’t it? You were singing to that beast.” Elena fuming, slammed her hand onto the table and that was what made you pull back. “Don’t call him that.” She says and sighs, pulling away from you and straightening her back. “The next time I see you on the second floor, you are out of this house. Do you understand me?”

She takes your empty plates and splashes them into the water. Her breath was harsh and her skin almost sickly looking. A cough leaves her lips and her shoulders shiver. “Would you like some tea?” You ask softly and her shoulders hunch over.

“Yes, dear. Please.”

Just as you took the teapot from the cabinet, she spoke to you again. “Please follow that rule this time. Don’t make this harder for Vil than it has to be.”

You open the kettle and reach for the leaves, hearing the old lady cough.

You were back in the library before the sun began to set and adding wood into the fire for warmth. The snowstorm hadn’t let up since the last night and you were afraid that your quarters was not enough to warm you through the night. Using the heating pair of tongs, you adjust the wood in a way that it would burn properly and not caring if the cinders would cling to your uniform.

During the coldest of nights, you and your mother would love to cuddle by the fire and sleep until the morning. It only became a festive event with the addition of your brothers and your father. She loved the heat, the sleeping feeling it gave her and she loved it the most when Trein held her close.

Your shoulders sag, that was probably the only time you’ve ever seen him at peace. After that…Shaking your head, you push those memories away. You had to be strong, you had to be for the sake of your family. Reaching up, you swat the tears from your face. Your tears had already been wept the day she was buried.

“Stay too close to the fire and your uniform will get singed.”

Vil stood behind the couch, a warm blanket over his shoulders and hair despite being messy made him look immaculate. “I have a request.”

“What is it?”

“You can sing, correct? And sing well.” Ah, you’re not sure if you could answer that one wholeheartedly. Gulping, you nod your head. “I can sing, yes, but well, not really—.” Vil’s huff was hard and eyebrows furrowed. “Do not hide what good you have. It will not grow unless you expose it.”

“O-of course.” You nod your head and Vil closes his eyes. You noticed bags, his skin slightly paled. “Are you here because of the storm, Vil?” Nodding his head, Vil sank down next to you with a sigh. “The windows become too loud at night…I don’t like the sound of it.”

“I understand. I’m not much a fan of it myself.”

“We’re veering off-topic.” He looks to you, “Can you sing for me? At least for a moment.” The windows rattle and he closes his eyes again. You move, patting your lap for him to rest on and he gives you a look. “My mother used to do this to me. It beats having to lay down on flat ground.”

He is hesitant at first but follows after a few minutes of pondering. He lays on your lap, getting himself comfortable and you adjust the blanket on top of him. “Any requests?”

“Anything that will help me sleep.”

The winds rattle and his shoulders hunch. “Alright.”

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale. Sing sweet nightingale high above me.”

Vil’s eyes open ever so slightly, his violet eyes staring in the fire. Any moment, he would transform into the beast of the night. A curse passed down from generation to the next and yet, you stayed to sing. “Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale high above.”

Elena had not been feeling well recently, her old age and the blistering cold made for one bad fever that she needed rest for. And while Vil was understanding of that, the winds that rattled the windows never ceased to let him sleep.

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale.”

But that soon changed when he heard you sing in this very library. It reminded him of the soft coo of a dove and the warmth of a wool blanket. “Oh, sing sweet nightingale sing…” His eyes felt heavy and soon his body became weightless, he yearned for the days he could walk out in the sun without fear of the night that was to come.

He yearned for the day he would no longer be afraid…

He yearned deep within his heart.

“Sing sweet nightingale…”

A black beast laid in the place where Vil once was, its gnarly teeth the same purple as Vil’s eyes. Your hands brushed the black fur as the fire crackled and spat cinders from within. The beast, no, Vil’s body laying peacefully on your lap. You move, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and his body only moving to keep warm against you.

“High above me…”

The enchanted rose glowed dimly, its first petals beginning to fall to the countertop beneath it.

Your eyes open and the wood that once fueled the fire was reduced to ashes. Elena stood over you while Vil, in his human form, slept peacefully on your lap. The two of you shared glances and you immediately opened your mouth.

“I didn’t go upstairs this time.”

She knelt, adjusting the blanket over the sleeping boy’s long figure. You noticed how his body looked in this position, not too lanky and not too toned…but skin so pale from the days he never went out. Come to think of it, he never usually went out unless he needed to. And when he came back, he would stay in for long periods before taking his leave again.

Suddenly, you thought about his parents and wondering if they knew of his situation. Where were they? What happened to them??

Were they affected by the curse as well?

“I’ll bring the breakfast here,” Elena says. “You stay here and watch over Vil.”

Vil had no qualms about eating in the library, given that the fire was warm and the meal was hot. It helped after the bad snowstorm that passed the house for days. You noticed he had a small appetite and a big penchant for drinking lots of fluids. Well, he is a model so you don’t blame him for following the strict regimens.

“You have a nice voice,” Vil says, putting down his cup. “Thank you for last night. I hope that my beastly form wasn’t much of a problem to you.”

Shaking your head, you quickly swallow the stew you were eating. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I’m happy you think that but…About that form.” You feel Elena’s gaze on you and you force yourself to bite back a lingering question.

Vil himself was also silent. “If they’re going to stay here then they should know.” Elena’s shoulders relaxed but her expression remained unsure. “Vil, are you—.”

“I know a person with ulterior motives when I see it.” He looks over to you with a small smirk and boy does it match the messy hair and too droopy clothing. “What we have with us is nothing more than a curious little mouse.”

And you don’t whether that was an insult or a compliment but your squinting eyes only fueled his laughter, those shoulders of his bopping under the protective blanket. “Then what I saw…”

“Everything you saw was real, down to the very last petal of the rose.”

You knew it! You were right!! A smile graced your lips and you sat back against the chair you sat on. Vil took a sip and proceeded to ask more questions, some of which you didn’t have a direct answer to. “Now that you have all the information you need, what will you do with it?”

You looked down at your plate, mulling it over. “Nothing.” You answer. “You called me a curious mouse with no ulterior motive so I’ll do nothing with it.”

Vil hid his smile behind the cup of tea and Elena only sighed, a small burden lifting from her shoulders as the two of you spoke casually.

Vil was moved to the second floor, letting him rest on a real bed. You look around the room, seeing it with proper lighting for the first time. All the mirrors were covered in cloth, some cracked. The paintings that hung on the wall looked immaculate, beautifully painted…Except for one figure whose face was splashed with black. Your brows furrowed, trying to identify who this person was.

“I assume you still have more questions, little mouse.”

Vil sat up, motioning you forward to sit on the edge. “Who is he?” The family’s portrait hung as a centerpiece, you could identify a baby Vil, and his parents sitting across from each other…But that one person standing over them; you couldn’t make heads or tails of it with all the black paint in the way.

“My grandfather.”

A long sigh left Vil, his finger tucking a hair behind his ear. “Before my father went into acting, he was part of the family business led by my grandfather.” He closed his eyes, imagining the warm shop that housed many items and the many people coming in and out to buy supplies. A small Eric would clumsily put grocery items into a paper bag and wrap it, his father looming over him as he collected payments.

“He was strict when needed but his anger knew no bounds when it was released.” Vil slid down onto his bed. “Running a business is difficult, I understand that, but these fits were often quite scary to witness.” Staring into the rose’s glow, the light formed shadows of a figure hunching over a screaming beast. “It led him down a path of ruin, they went out of business and struggled during the bad brunt of the storm season.”

“He wasn’t the best at controlling his emotions, was he?” Vil shook his head at your question. “Not by a long shot. That was the very same anger that led to all this in the first place.” He looked up at the painting with contempt as if the painting stared back at him the same way. “Try as he may, my father could never outrun the curse…Even after I saw born.”

You remembered the book, the story you read by the fire. “Then…”

Vil’s hummed a laugh, eyes blinking slowly. The shadows formed by the glow of the rose moved to a scared family and a shaking figure holding a shadow of the rose. “He yelled at the wrong people, made enemies of those with magic far stronger than anyone could ever imagine.”

The shadows drew dimmer, the beastly form taking shape, roaring at the rose with all its fury and behind it was a weeping family. It all dissipated like a breaking film tape under Vil’s sigh.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

Your heart felt heavy, remembering the last line of the story. “I’m sorry.” That was all you could say to him but he hunched his shoulders with a dismissiveness. “What happened has passed. As you said before: the tears have already been shed.” The rose’s petals fall to the floor below it.

“Is there a way to reverse this?”

“An open heart.” he looked over to you with a smile unable to be read. “That’s all.”

You hung your head, unable to say anything. Vil only wraps his blanket around himself tighter while you stare at the glowing rose until its ethereal color was seared into your memory.

There was a splash of water, Vil sits in the tub with you preparing his robe and other items. “The snow should have receded by now. We could take a walk if you’d like.” As days passed through the house, you and Vil had grown closer. Now that either of you had nothing to hide, the tension that once felt between you was almost nonexistent.

“It has been a while since I’ve gone out. Some sunlight would do all of us good.” He said, leaning back on the tub with eyes closed. “A day in the sun…”

“Indeed. It would be nice to feel some warmth.” You learned that you and he weren’t very different. Both of you loved music, loved the theatre, just anything to dance to. And you also found out that Vil himself had a wonderful singing voice, almost like velvet.

“All those days in the sun, what I’d give to relive just one. Undo what’s done and bring back the light.”

You found out that his mother passed when he was young and his father, Eric, raised him all on his own after his mother was out of the picture. He was Vil’s first teacher, first friend, his support clutch in understanding why he was the way he was. “Days in the sun will return. We must believe—.”

“As lovers do…”

Your voices mingled together and while embarrassed to admit it, you had listened to it to his movies while cleaning. He may have caught you a few times, though. “That days in the sun…Will come shining…Through…” His deep beautiful voice echoed through the chamber, you imagined hearing it in a large theatre. Oh, you were certain Vil would love to do that.

“I always wondered why you never tried theatre.” You didn’t need to turn around to know his expression. “Do you think I’ll make it there, little mouse?”

“You’re Vil Schoenheit, son of Eric Venue. Of course, you will!”

A comfortable silence followed his laugh while you continued to face away from him. The Zen between you two almost unbreakable in the warm bathing room. The flower’s glow dimmed in the emptiness and losing more petals that piled beneath it.

With the music playing in the back, Vil watched from the balcony after getting his fair share of sunlight after the storm had passed. The voice of his father was rich and melodious as his role of a man finally falling in love after years of isolation.

He watched as you trudged around the snow before going back to his room, not once looking at the dimming rose and straight to his television. “I was the one who had it all,” His father sang. “I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.” The first time he had transformed into the beast he knew today, he had scared the recently hired help.

“I’ll never shake away the pain.” They were very cruel with their words, to the point that it was Elena, of all people, who told them to leave the house. Though the terror had left, it left Vil with uncertainty and fear of his appearance.

Eric’s character peered out the window just as the heroine pulls out a horse, the determination not hidden from even the viewer. “I close my eyes but she’s still there. I let her steal into my melancholy heart, it’s more than I can bear.” And now you took that place. From the get-go, Vil knew you have gone through hardships of your own. He could see it just by looking at your steeled expression and the aura you held on your shoulders.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even as she runs away.” Not only had you defied the rule twice, your curiosity only spurred you further on with your investigation. And even when you had all the information you needed and cracked the code, you did nothing with it. “She will torment me, calm me, hurt me, move me…Come what may.”

Vil stands up just as Eric’s character runs up the stairs, the spiraling staircase almost hypnotic from above. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.” He comes back to the balcony and opens the door, seeing you and Elena hauling in the bag of chestnuts. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in…” The two of you catch each other’s line of sight.

“And be with me for evermore.”

As the two of you smiled at each other, the rose begins to wilt and hunch over with each petal falling from the stem. The smell of spring drew close, Vil took a deep breath in then sighed it out. When he closes his eyes, all he ever sees are the days he’ll spend with you.

And the envisioning of a grand theatre, the same one he first saw his father in. He begins humming a small tune, thinking of the harmonizing violins, the beautiful costumes, and designs. The rose wilts more, only one petal remains on its dying stem.

The days had passed all so quickly, the winter giving its way to spring them to summer. You stood in front of the theatre, your family next to you. Trein takes you by the hand “Shall we?” entering the grand theatre, you and your sibling marveled at the beautifully crafted designs, the plush seating, and the long curtains.

“It’s beautiful.” Said your father, his smile soft. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Angelo and Donovan pushed along, overly excited for the play. “Come on, come on.” One of them says. “It’s about to begin! Let’s sit down.”

The lights dim and the curtains open, droves of characters coming in their beautifully crafted costumes. You see Vil in his costume, waltzing with another character in yellow. The horns placed onto him were just as beautiful as him yet, after seeing his breast-like form…It never stood a chance.

The stage dimmed when he took the stage, a single rose in hand. His voice was loud, pure, perfect as he sang the song of a man who found love after years of isolation. His expression perfectly encapsulating the sadness he had felt.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light.”

You remember the very first moment he bore his heart to you, the moment he asked you to sing for the very first time. “Though she’s already flown so far beyond my reach, she’s never out of sight.” Gone were the days he hid within the confines of his room and gone were the days he needed to hide out of fear.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even if she fades from view!”

He twirls, his eyes searching the crowd until he finds yours in the crowd. “She will still inspire me, be a part of everything I do.” The background behind him changes, the spiraling staircase he walks one moved at his every move until he reaches the balcony, leaning his hands to sing his heart out with a hopeful look. The both of you stare at each other as he sings his heart out, saying the words he wanted everyone to hear with a voice he no longer feared. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.”

He breathes, the wind and strings instruments beginning their strong ascend in a crescendo of harmonizing and accenting melody. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in.”

The rose glows in his hand and he hunched his back, readying himself. “And as the long, long nights begin.”

Vil looks up into the light, his expression one of pure passion and love. “I’ll think of all that might have been.” And the grip on the rose tightens but only for a moment.

“Waiting here…For ever—.”

Vil lets the rose float out of his hand and ascends up to the center of the room.

“—More!” The flower burst into a rain of petals that add to his last note and accompaniment of the instruments.

The last petal of the glowing rose falls, the stem falling on a pile of dried rose petals following the applause of the crowd. Vil regains his breathing, his eyes listless as he stares up at the ceiling when the music ends, the curtains fall, and the lights go out.

You pass through the crowds of colors and thrills, looking for the familiar mop of blond and purple hair. “Vil!” You yell out to him just as he comes to view in the sea of people. His arms are ready to take it in, “You were amazing out there!”

The sun begins to set during the embrace, Vil’s face continued to smile at you and soon giving a solemn bow to your father and brothers. “Mr. Schoenheit, it’s a pleasure to meet you. That was a wonderful performance.” He says, smiling at him with eyes trained to your hands holding the actor’s. Ah, gets it.

“Thank you, Mr. Trein. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Vil Schoenheit, you’re needed for a picture.” Says one of the stage crew and Vil reluctantly pulls away. “Coming. I’ll see you later?” He asks you and you tip your toes to him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “I’ll wait outside. Bye Vil.”

You run out of backstage and yet he had a feeling that finding you won’t be that much of a problem. He touches his lips. “So this is love…” He whispered to himself and made his way to his troop, readying himself for the pictures.

#works from the typewriter #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #g/n reader #valentines event

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jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

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All That Was Fair

Chapter 12: Billows and Breeze

Summary: Burning questions pave the way for a few much-needed answers.

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A/n: I’m back, thanks so much for your patience! As usual, this chapter picks up directly where the last left off, so it might be good to glance at the previous chapter if you want a refresher.

Chapter 12: Billows and Breeze

***

After the unfortunate incident with the knife, Claire had been reluctant to leave his side, still buzzing with worry over him. She’d gotten herself well and truly worked up, and Jamie thought that they needed to do something lighthearted and low-stakes. The day so far had been so charged with tense energy that Jamie thought perhaps being outside in the familiarity and tranquility of nature would do her some good.

“Do ye fancy a hike?” he asked Claire, who was sitting curled up on the couch. Immediately remembering that “hike” was likely not a word in her vocabulary, he amended, “a wee walk about outside?”

Claire’s face brightened instantly and she perked up. “Oh can we? I feel so stuffed up!”

Jamie was proud of himself for once again correctly guessing what would be good for her. Perhaps he had her figured out now…

Thus the preparations began. It was an unseasonably warm day for autumn in Scotland, so Jamie was comfortable with Claire wearing one of the armload of dresses provided she also wore his jacket. Most of them still lay on the chair where he’d deposited them the night before. He grabbed one out for Claire, handed it to her, and then she disappeared off to change. When all of the rest of the dresses had been draped over his arm to bring upstairs, he noticed the book laying on the chair. The Woman of Balnain.

Alarm bells went off in his head, and his curiosity peaked, but he didn’t have any time to spare to look into the book. It’d have to wait. As he tossed the clothes upstairs in the guest bedroom, he took a stop by his office to place the book on his desk. Soon.

For his own preparations, he suited up in his well-loved hiking boots, packed a backpack of water and snacks, and considered their destination. Claire likely wasn’t interested in a car journey (she’d had enough excitement for one day), so perhaps just a walk about his property and a stroll to the neighboring monro. It truly was beautiful: the heather was in full bloom this time of year, turning the hills into sweeping seas of purple. Claire would love it.

So, they escaped out the back door and set out side-by-side along his property. They weren’t touching, just amicably basking in each other’s nearness. About two steps in, Jamie realized he needed to slow his pace. His long legs and inexhaustible hiker’s energy would far outpace his wee faerie.

“I never thought tae ask…” Jamie began as they walked along, Claire’s face upturned toward the sunlight peeking through the clouds, “how old are ye?”

“Oh…” she looked down shyly and then glanced back up at him from under her lashes, “I'm quite young really, I’m only 9 and 30.”

Jamie’s mouth fell open. He was incredibly taken aback by this, having pegged her to be about his age if not younger, but quickly decided he could take it in stride.

“‘Quite young?’” he chuckled, “ye’re practically a granny compared tae me, lass. I’m 29.”

“29!” she exclaimed, as if she had just told her that he was the bloody queen rather than a decade younger than her, “but you’re so… why don’t you live with your parents?”

Jamie nearly tripped over a stone in his path but managed to right himself before toppling over. Claire had stopped walking the moment “29” had left his mouth, and she was staring at him with a concerned gaze that uncomfortably reminded Jamie of how an adult might look at a lost child.

But the pieces were beginning to fall into place in his brain, and he wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs as he gathered his thoughts. With a glance at Claire and then a tilt of his head, they resumed walking.

“I sense that maybe there’s a wee difference between lifespans of humans and the fair folk…” he began uncertainly, “Humans only stay wi’ their parents until they are 18 or so. Besides, I lost my mam when I was young, and my da a few years back.”

He wasn’t sure exactly what possessed him to share that last intimate detail with her, superfluous to the point as it was. He hardly ever talked about his parents’ deaths to people, and it disconcerted him a bit how easily it came tumbling from him now. Apparently a deep part of him wanted to share everything with her.

“Ye said ye’re quite young…” he continued, and a horrifying thought suddenly struck him, “you didna still live wi’ yer parents before ye came through the stones, did ye?”

Oh Christ what if she was only a child by fae terms! She looked his age but…

His head began to spin, but she thankfully answered before he could work himself up any further.

“No. I suppose things are a little different for the fair folk. We are taken care of by our parents until around 30 years of age or so. But I’ve been on my own for far longer than that. I… I lost my parents as well. When I was very young. I can hardly remember them really…”

She gave a little tilt of the head, trying to keep the mention of tragedy casual, but he could see the pain in her eyes that wouldn’t meet his.

Jamie’s heart ached for her, tinged with the familiar longing for his own parents. It seemed they really were kindred spirits— him and Claire— two lost souls who’d somehow come to find each other.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he said huskily, “so that’s what ye meant when ye’d said ye’d been takin’ care of yerself yer whole life? Did ye no’ have other family?”

Claire shrugged her shoulders a little, as if her clothes were too tight, and shook her head, her curls billowing in the gentle breeze to hide half of her face. He knew she wasn’t hiding from him intentionally, but it still made his heart clench to see her discomfort.

“Not really. But the fair folk are rather communal. We are often near each other, even if we don’t live as a family unit per say. Others made sure I was well, and I had friends and other fae around, but mostly I’ve been—”

She left the word “alone” unspoken, but the meaning was clear. The undeclared word seemed to linger in the air between them, weighty and heart-wrenching.

At this new declaration, Jamie couldn’t help but reach out and take her hand. She wasn’t alone anymore after all. Maybe she felt that way, but Jamie would be damned if it were true. He wouldn’t leave her. Her wee hand slipped easily into his, and he allowed his thumb to drift over the peaks and valleys of her knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. What else could he say in the midst of such loss?

“What about you?” she asked, her natural radiance suddenly coming through in her smile, dissipating the heavy topic’s dark cloud, “will you tell me more about your sister?”

Jamie couldn’t help a sheepish smile. “Aye, Janet is her real name. After we lost our mam when I was around 8 or so, Jenny became sort of a mother tae me. She was always there when I needed her, and— weel…” he let out a bit of a laugh, thinking about the earlier blow up with Jenny, “she’s always there now, sometimes too much when she’s sticking her neb intae my business… but I’m glad she’s there. I love her verra much.”

Claire gave him a sweet nod and squeezed his hand. “I can tell she’s important to you.”

Apologies rose in Jamie’s throat along with the resurfaced guilt from earlier. He had told the one person who mattered most to him that Claire meant nothing, and both of them were aware of it. But as much as he was bursting to lay himself at her feet and explain his mistake all over again, he’d already been forgiven, so it was time for him to move past it.

His thoughts were interrupted by Claire letting out an exclamation. They had just rounded the edge of the monro, revealing the expanse of rolling heather— its purple waves spread into a picturesque canvas across the landscape.

“Bonny, is it no’?” he asked, a hint of pride creeping into his voice.

“It’s beautiful,” she uttered in wonderment.

Feeling like a protagonist in a romance novel, he held tightly to her hand and led her through the field. Her skirt billowed in the breeze behind her, and her face was lit up with a serene joy. Riotous curls swept all around her head, and Jamie was enthralled. He found himself walking almost completely backward so he could watch her face as she took in the beautiful sights.

He could admit to himself that it was cheesy, but to him, Claire would always be the most beautiful view.

If only he could tell her that… To bring them to a halt, gather her into his arms, and kiss her until she was breathless…

He had to squeeze his eyes shut before the longing took him over. The words he always repeated to himself came to the forefront of his mind.

You can be her friend, her anchor, but nothing more. She’s lost everything, ye canna take advantage of her. Pull yerself together.

And so he did. He wiped all thoughts of kissing her from the slate of his mind— imaging a whiteboard of the errant imaginings being erased— and grounded himself in the moment.

“Have ye ever seen a place like this?” he asked.

She shook her head, still smiling in delight. “We don’t usually wander out as far as the moors. Well, some do. Some have experienced a great deal. But I hadn’t ever left my forest before now.”

He nodded, going silent as his imagination overwhelmed him with images of him taking Claire to the beaches of Greece. Her joy as she took in the crystal blue waters, her dropping to her knees to grab handfuls of sand, her body clad only in a bikini as she jumped into the waves...

A question suddenly struck him and pulled him rudely from his fantasy.

“Do the fair folk read?”

She looked at him, uncertain. “Read?”

He thought back to their adventure at the bookstore. She hadn’t actually asked him about the books, but she hadn’t made any indication she knew what they were either. It had been an overwhelming day; he couldn’t blame her for not asking about every single thing when it was all unfamiliar.

“Do you have language in a written form? With symbols?” he expanded.

She gave a little shake of her head and looked curiously at him. “We communicate verbally, like we’re doing now. What is reading?”

And thus, Jamie set into the best explanation he could manage. About communication, learning, writings surviving the years to give insights into ancient ways, the power of stories in human culture.

“We tell many stories,” Claire told him during a break in his explanation, “all passed down from one generation to the next. Like I said at the gardens, language is everything to us.”

He nodded thoughtfully. Jamie’s curiosity about the fair folk was well and truly peaked, and as they walked along, enjoying the serenity of the warm day and the feeling of earth under their feet, he launched into more questions.

“This may be a difficult question tae answer, but… how are ye alive if ye dinna eat? I mean… humans get energy from things we eat, where do you get yers?”

“Well… I suppose a simple way to explain it is we get energy from everything around us.” She made a wide, encompassing gesture to their surroundings.

“Like from the sun? Like plants do?” Jamie’s brain was running away with thoughts of Claire going through the process of photosynthesis.

“No, it’s… it’s hard to explain. It’s more like… I just tap into the energy of the earth. I don’t really know how else to say it.” Claire gave him a bit of a helpless smile, and Jamie returned one in dismissal of the topic. It didn’t matter to him so much how exactly it worked so long as it did.

“Okay, one more question,” he asked, hoping he hadn’t already pushed her too far with his curiosity.

But his fears were assuaged when she answered indulgently, “you can ask me as many as you want, Jamie.”

That got his head spinning. What he really wanted to know was about relationships between the fae. Did they have marriage? He longed to ask her (and maybe get down on one knee depending on the answer), but he bit his tongue. It wouldn’t do to be scaring the lass with a daft question when he couldn’t even keep his feelings in check. No, he’d save that one for another day.

“I appreciate it, lass, but jes’ one more for now. From the stories I’ve heard from my mam… and that many people believe in Scotland, ye’re supposed to leave offerings of milk and sweets— food— for the fair folk tae eat. But ye dinna eat, so…”

Claire let out a laugh then. Not one of mocking or disdain, but pure enjoyment. And it lit up Jamie’s soul to hear even though he had no idea why it was she was laughing.

“You humans think you have us all figured out. That one, my lad, is one you all made up completely on your own. I’m sure half of the things you believe are mere superstition,” she answered with an entertained gleam in her eye.

Jamie could have talked to her for hours, deciphering which of the scottish legends were true or man-made, unraveling the secrets that made up his mysterious faerie, but he noticed she was starting to droop a bit. Her pace had slowed, and despite the wide smile still gracing her face, Jamie thought it was time to turn around.

“Come now, lass, let’s go home.”

She gave a grateful nod, and with that, they turned back. On the way home, Jamie began to explain all about his job. About the publishing company— his whole livelihood based on stories. Claire seemed to lighten at that, and Jamie started to mentally catalogue which books he’d have to read to her first, imagining her delight as she was introduced to all different kinds of worlds and knowledge.

The sun was just beginning to go down as the cottage came in sight. The clouds were lit in a warm golden light, and specks of it sparkled in Claire’s hair. Rather like the color of the aura around her— he thought. He looked at her then, really looked, and saw the soft shimmering cloud, barely visible in the golden sunlight. They were no longer holding hands, but he thought if he took just one step closer, he could feel the warmth of it. Indulging himself, he did, and found it to be just like it always was. A sense of well-being, of serenity, of Claire.

“Would ye like another shower, a nighean?” he asked as they stepped inside the house and he took the jacket from her.

She looked quite excited by this idea. “Oh yes, please.”

He inflated with the pride of pleasing her and had to hide his smile as he hung their jackets on the hook.

“Well alright then. But only if I can take one after ye, I must smell worse than the underside of a stag.”

Much to his surprise (and perhaps even horror), Claire suddenly was on top of him, her face pressing against his shoulder and hands casually rested on his sides, holding him still. There was the sound of a deep inhale, and then she withdrew her face with a smile.

“I think you smell wonderful,” she said sweetly, without a hint of sarcasm in her tone or guileless eyes.

Jamie laughed out loud, his chest heaving with the force of it. Claire laughed along with him, although he wasn’t entirely sure what she was laughing about.

Overcome by his giddiness (the lass had just smelled his oxter and liked it for Christ’s sake!), he leaned in and caught her around the waist. Holding her body against him, he lowered his head and took a whiff of her neck. His nose brushed the skin there, and she began to squirm against him, the softness of her clouding his mind.

“Ye smell like…”

His words cut off as she struggled playfully, making him laugh. The squirming only egged him on, and he easily held her incapacitated as he sniffed again, this time on the other side of her neck. She pushed half-heartedly at his chest, but at the same time, she seemed to be leaning closer to his touch.

He had been planning to tease her, to finish his sentence by listing whatever horrible smell he could think of and demanding she shower immediately, but he found that when he really thought about it, she smelled fresh as a summer rose. Like the heather of the fields and crispness of the breeze.

Of course she did, the lass didna drink, she likely didna sweat either.

Just another enchanting thing about her— she would always smell intoxicating.

“Actually ye smell good,” he finished lamely.

His hands fell from her waist, releasing her, and she pushed away from him while continuing to laugh.

“Well I’d like that shower either way,” she teased.

As he headed toward the bathroom to turn it on for her, he began to berate himself over their little display. His eyes squeezed shut with the force of his embarrassment.

That was something a couple would do. Not friends. He’d been overcome by flirting in the moment, the nearness of her that seemed to make him lose his heid. He’d stepped over a line.

The feeling of her squirming in his arms, of holding her body against him, lingered in his mind long after he’d left Claire to her shower. He sat down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his hands.

He had to get himself together.

While Claire showered, Jamie needed to take care of real life. Food was first-and-foremost, and then he had to set about the task of taking more time off work. There was no way he could leave her. That was the same thing he’d told himself the last few days, and Jamie briefly wondered if he ever would be able to. It certainly wasn’t getting any easier.

As he pulled out his phone to shoot Ian a clipped and matter-of-fact text about yet another absence, Adso gave him a green stare of disapproval from his perch on the coffee table.

“What are ye judgin’ me for?” he asked the cat indignantly.

Adso simply gazed at him some more, even and unwavering in his haughty objection.

Jamie sighed heavily, “I guess ye’re right,” he told the cat, “I’ll call him. Now stop eyin’ me like that.”

Whipping out his phone, he reluctantly initiated the call.

“Hi, Jamie,” Ian answered, seeming rather muted compared to his usual exuberant greetings.

“Hello, a charaid,” Jamie said, and then there was a long silence. Guilt was seeping into his brain at the thought of possibility driving his family away. The cat really had convicted him…

“Listen, I am—” “Jamie, I wanted tae—” they both started at the same time.

“I’ll go,” Ian volunteered, “I wanted tae tell ye that I’m sorry we ambushed ye this mornin’. Ye’re right. Ye’ve worked hard wi’ out a single day off in years, ye deserve a vacation if that’s what ye’re needin’.”

“Thank you, Ian. I’m sorry, too. I shouldna have blown up at ye and ignored yer calls. I’ve jes’ been… sortin’ through some things.”

“I understand that,” Ian chuckled.

“Listen, were ye serious? About me takin’ as many days as I need?”

“Of course.”

“Then ye willna bite my heid off when I ask ye for the rest of the week?”

“Ye’re a canny one makin’ me say it before ye drop that bomb on me… Of course, Jamie. Take the time ye need. Ye’d tell me if anythin’s wrong, wouldn’t ye? Ye ken ye can talk tae me about anythin’?”

Jamie’s heart clenched. “Of course, Ian. Thank you. Listen, I hafta go, but I’ll see ye soon, aye?”

“Aye. And Jamie… maybe gi’ yer sister a call? I ken she wants tae apologize.”

“Alright, Ian,” he answered rather noncommittally, still stinging from their fight, “Bye, a charaid.”

With Ian’s quick goodbye, Jamie hung up and sat back heavily in his chair, sighing at Adso— who was looking smugly satisfied over making Jamie do the right thing. There was barely a moment of silence between them before he thought about the fact that Claire had been in the shower an awfully long time.

“Wee besom’ll use up all my hot water,” he grumbled at Adso on his way toward the bathroom to check on her.

Not that he really minded in the slightest. Claire could use up all the hot water and leave him taking cold showers for the rest of his days and he would just thank God that it meant she was with him.

***

#all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #fae claire #outlander fanfic

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wlntrsldler · 4 years

Text

unrequited (draco malfoy/ cedric diggory series)

PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?

WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???

PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader

WC: 2.2K+

UNREQUITED MASTERLIST

PART 6

You walked past Myrtle’s lavatory, expecting her to be alone. You slowed down once you heard her sweet voice in the midst of a conversation with someone else. You heard Draco’s voice, panicked and erratic, ranting to Myrtle about the letter he received from his father a few days ago. You didn’t know Draco knew of Myrtle, much less be friends with the ghost.

“Myrtle,” You heard Draco say. He ran his fingers through his blond hair, eyes struck with terror. He dropped his head in his hands, voice muffled by his palms, but not to the point where you could no longer hear him. “They want me to become one of them and I-” He took in a sharp breath, looking up at the ghost who was working to console him. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“So don’t do it, Draco.” She offered, not truly understanding the extent of his task.

“It’s not that simple.” Draco didn’t tell her the full truth, in fear that he might lose the only friend he’s made in Hogwarts. It was odd, their friendship, but somehow it worked out for the best. “I can’t disappoint my family.”

Draco stumbled upon Myrtle in his first year, ashamed that Harry rejected his offer of friendship. It shouldn’t have mattered to him as much as it did but it was his first encounter with the people he was going to spend years of his life with and he already managed to mess it up. His mother had placed a kiss on his temple before he left for Hogwarts, reminding him that he’ll be alright. He missed her terribly, his mother. She was the only one who showed him love all his life.

His mother and father would argue downstairs, loud and booming voices shaking the portraits mounted on their walls. The house was large, abnormally large for their small family. Draco would try to distract himself in his bedroom with Dobby the House Elf. He played games with the elf, trying to preserve as much of a childhood as he could while his parents screamed bloody murder below him. Dobby would offer a sincere smile, placing a hand over young Draco’s shoulder in comfort. Draco would feel bad whenever Dobby showed him kindness, always vividly remembering how he would mistreat Dobby in front of his father. The elf didn’t seem to mind.

When he got to Hogwarts, he got tired of the Slytherin boys quickly. All of them kissed the ground he walked on, trying to get on his good side so they’ll have the honor to say that they’re associated with the Malfoys in one way. Draco hated it. He just wanted a friend, not followers. But he realized it would have to do for now. He’s bound to make friends somehow, right?

The adventurous child he was, he explored Hogwarts on his own. That’s when he found the abandoned lavatory, closed off from students. He walked in, hoping to get some peace and quiet, humming the tune his mother used to sing to him when he was a child. He walked around, playing with the knobs and switches he found inside before being startled by Myrtle emerging from one of the toilets.

At first Draco was defensive, refusing to be friends with a ghost, but when Myrtle offered him friendship, his lonely heart couldn’t help but accept. Draco taught her the song he was humming after Myrtle expressed her enjoyment of it. He spent the rest of the day there, talking to Myrtle about how he missed his mother and how all he wanted was one friend.

During the second week of his first year, he saw you. That’s the first time you caught his eye. You were sitting beside a boy- whom Draco later learns is Cedric Diggory- smiling and laughing at a joke the boy told. He thought you were beautiful. Yellow was your color.

He tried to look for you in his classes and was disheartened when he realized you were in none of his. So every night, without fail, he would search for your shining smile throughout the Great Hall. Even just a glimpse of you would make Draco’s day. He would never admit it but even at a young age, he knew he wanted to be with you.

But of course, you were in love with Cedric Diggory. Everyone could see that and Draco knew he had no chance of being with you, not that he would ever put himself out there like that. Him with a half-blood Hufflepuff? His father would throw a fit. So Draco knew what he needed to do- admire you from afar.

Over the years, Draco started to visit Myrtle less and less; not because he found friends of his own but because people started noticing the absence of the Slytherin prince more often. He did try to visit Myrtle at least twice a month, especially when he was growing tired of putting up the Malfoy facade he had to wear. He would tell Myrtle about the girl he was smitten with, never letting your name slip out of his lips once. She would giggle, not taking the young boy’s declarations too seriously. Draco was happy for that, oddly enough. He was afraid that if Myrtle ever encouraged him to go after you, he’d do exactly that and end up with a broken heart. He wasn’t ready for that, knowing his heart wasn’t near being whole yet.

He didn’t speak to you for the first few years, never having the right excuse to do so. However, in your fourth year you started to befriend the Trio. It gave him the opportunity to talk to you. He knew he would seem suspicious if he was rude to the Trio but spared you from the insults so he decided to pick on you too. He always did try to keep it fairly mild, opting to call you a “pathetic Hufflepuff,” which is significantly nicer than what he called your friends.

But when you all weren’t looking, Draco stared at you longingly. He looked at the Trio, jealous of their bond and loyalty towards each other. Sometimes he wonders if things would’ve been different if he just didn’t let his father’s smug voice do the talking for him the first time he met Harry. He looks at them, seeing the life that he wishes he had- maybe the life he could’ve had if he wasn’t a Malfoy. He would turn his head and see you and Cedric, love practically shooting out of your eyes. Draco would drop his head in envy, wishing that he was worthy enough to feel such love. Maybe not today, he would reassure himself to stop the tears, but maybe one day.

Soon, he would repeat that to himself.

When he found out Diggory died, a part of him was relieved. He liked to think that was the side he got from his father. He wasn’t that heartless. He wasn’t heartless at all. But he can’t lie and say he mourned for the Hufflepuff boy because he didn’t. He barely knew Cedric, the Golden Boy. He never even spoke to him directly. Draco didn’t feel the need to mourn.

But when he saw you the following day, hobbling out of Hogwarts, his heart broke into pieces. You left the year early, unable to stay on the grounds without bursting into tears. He began to think of you and the pain it must’ve caused you. No, Draco wasn’t heartless.

He saw you the next year, standing in the garden in a robe too big. It was the first time he saw you since that day. His heart gave out on him. The girl he knew barely there. You were just a shell of her, walking around aimlessly through life. The look of love in your eyes was replaced with emptiness. It was almost as if they changed colors, sucking the life out of you. You were wearing Cedric’s robe, he was sure of it. He let you go that night, knowing Umbridge was the last thing you needed to deal with.

“Draco?” Myrtle called again, waving her hand in front of his face. “Are you there?”

He regained his train of thought, “Sorry?”

“I said just play it by ear, then.” She repeated. “See what happens when you get back home this summer.”

You decided to walk in, having done enough creeping for the day. “Draco? Myrtle?”

Draco snapped up, grabbing his wand to point it at you. He lowered his hand when he realized it was you, “Merlin, Y/N. Don’t scare people like that.”

“Sorry,” You replied sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He tried his best to avoid you since Potions, not knowing what to do now that he’s faced with a realization. Draco didn’t know if he loved you. How could he when he had no model of comparison? He’s never known what love was. All he knew was that he felt something in his chest every time he saw you, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. The day in Potions when he smelled you in his Amortentia was an awakening for him. Maybe he did love you… but it wasn’t like he knew how to deal with that, much less act on it.

He looked at you, the blush on his cheeks spreading down to his neck, as Myrtle’s wondering eyes flickered between the two of you. “It’s alright. What are you doing here?”

You smiled shyly, pointing up at Myrtle. “Wanted to talk to my friend but I see she’s a bit preoccupied.”

“Nonsense, I was just on my way out.” Draco shook his head, making his way out the door. “I’ll talk to you soon Myrtle.”

As he was half-way out of the door, Myrtle called out for him. He turned around to respond. She gave him a look as if to ask, “Is this her?” He merely nodded, ducking his head to prevent you from seeing the blush on his cheeks. He waved a small goodbye and walked out of the lavatory.

You let your eyes linger at the spot where Draco last stood. Once you peeled your eyes away, you grinned at Myrtle, who returned the favor.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” She asked. You could tell her focus has been split between you and whatever her and Draco were talking about before your interruption. You couldn’t blame her, you seemed to have forgotten your reason for searching for her.

You shrugged, “Just wanted to say hello.”

“Well, hello, Y/N.” She replied, still only half there. She began to float around the lavatory, staring out the windows.

You sat on the floor, watching her. Cedric’s journal was placed on your lap, waiting to be opened. You looked down at it and flipped to the page where you last left off. You’ve been reading it quite a bit since the first day you did. It was comforting, having a piece of him still with you. A piece that was authentically him, not just something you fabricated in his death. It was actually a part of him. You didn’t need to search too far.

You’ve gotten to the part before your first year at Hogwarts. He spent the day comforting you as you cried to him, worried that you’d be placed in a house different from him. Or worse, a house that reflected your family history. You didn’t want that. Cedric held you in his arms and told you that you’re a Hufflepuff, no matter what anyone says or what history wrote. You were a Hufflepuff.

You scanned the page, noting some lines that caught your attention:

“Y/N got sorted as a Hufflepuff. I knew she would.”

“My best friend is at Hogwarts with me. Life just got so much better.”

“I’m taking her to the secret passageway tonight. I hope she likes it.”

You thought about the first time Cedric took you there. You were a goody-two-shoes, to say the least. You were worried someone was going to catch you out there late at night but he assured you that you’d both be alright. You sat beside him, admiring him as he picked wildflowers from the area beside you. He gave them to you, tucking one behind your right ear, then doing the same to himself. You giggled at his action and rolled the lone flower between the pads of your fingers.

He sighed, wrapping an arm around your body as you laid your head on his shoulder, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too, Ced.”

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Myrtle situated herself beside you. She hummed a familiar tune as she made her rounds in the room. A switch flipped in your brain, suddenly remembering where you heard Draco’s song before. Myrtle was humming it the day you met her.

“Myrtle?” You asked.

“Mhm?”

“Was Draco the friend that taught you that song?”

“Indeed.”

“I didn’t know you two were friends.” You admitted, a little shocked at what you found out today.

“Like I told you before Y/N,” She said, a sad smile playing on her lips. “A lot of lonely souls find their way to me.”

TAGLIST IS OPEN! SEND AN ASK!

@melancholiaflowers @jjjmaybank @marshxx @truly-insatiable @poisoned-pineapple @i-mmunity @p0gue420 @dark-night-sky-99 @hvrcruxes

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter series #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x yn #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory fanfic #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory #cedric diggory series #cedric diggory x yn #unrequited fic #frances writes

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knit-wear-it · 3 years

Text

Bloom

A/N: Happy Pride! Here’s some Crossbow Canary to celebrate 🏳️‍🌈❤️🏳️‍🌈❤️

They met at a Halloween party. Helena was half-listening to a group of fellow freshmen discussing the politics of TokTok when she noticed her— a petite, athletically-built blonde wearing a yellow hard hat and a slick of red lipstick. It was a shade too dark for her, standing out stark against her pale skin; the mark of a makeup novice. She was laughing with a small group of friends, her smile radiant. She was radiant.

Then, as if she could feel Helena staring, the blonde looked straight at her.

There was a faint flush in the apples of her cheeks as she offered a tremulous but encouraging smile, and Helena practically bolted across the room toward her.

***

Her name was Dinah.

They met again a week later, by accident, at a small martial arts studio off campus. Helena arrived just as Dinah was leaving, her face shiny and blotchy with exertion, her ashy blonde hair plaited back in a sweaty French braid. She wore black Lycra gym-gear beneath her pea coat to stave off the approaching New Jersey winter. Her coat was a vibrant cornflower blue, reminding Helena of the rich pigments Italian Renaissance painters used for Mary Magdalen's robes. Without the dark smear of lipstick, she could see the graceful curve of her prominent Cupid’s bow, giving her face a sweetness that belied the clear-eyed maturity few their age possessed.

“Oh,” Dinah stopped short on the sidewalk, her face lighting up. “Hello,” she grinned.

“Hi,” Helena grinned back at her, suddenly giddy as if she’d eaten a gallon of corn syrup. She could feel excitement fizzing in her veins, propelling her closer like a moth to the flame.

“Do you train here?” Dinah asked, re-shouldering her gym bag.

“They have a Krav Maga class I like,” Helena explained. “You?”

“Jiu Jitsu,” Dinah shrugged, smiling. “My old trainer swore by Krav Maga, but it doesn’t have the same…” she pursed her lips as she took her time to search for the word. “Grace,” she settled on.

“Grace?” Helena smirked. “Are we talking about ballet or fighting?”

Dinah laughed easily. “My first sensei would say they were the same thing.”

“Wow, how many senseis and trainers have you had?” Helena teased. She immediately regretted it when Dinah visibly tensed, her expression abruptly becoming guarded.

“I was fostered at a dojo for a little while when I was a kid,” she explained haltingly, her brown eyes darting off to the side. “And uh, then I was in a group home until I was eighteen and they… let me keep taking karate to give me some, uh, stability I guess.”

Helena’s eyes widened at this revelation, delivered so candidly in passing on the sidewalk—that she’d grown up in foster care; that she was an orphan. She could feel Dinah’s uneasiness, and it inspired a desperate need to comfort or reassure her, a wholly unfamiliar impulse.

“My dad sent me to a Swiss boarding school when I was twelve,” Helena blurted out. “After my mom died. It was kind of like a group home just with, you know, rich kids and archery. And a castle.”

As the words came tumbling out of her mouth, she knew she was being horribly rude by being so flippant about her privilege, but it seemed to lighten Dinah’s mood, her kind smile blooming again.

“Well, just because there was archery doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard to be away from everything you knew,” she said, meeting Helena’s eye meaningfully.

She understood loneliness, Helena realized. She understood the pain and anger of abandonment. Yet she didn’t carry bitterness around in the same way Helena did; bitterness that didn’t taste as bad when Dinah was standing here proving there was a way beyond it. It gave Helena hope—something she wasn’t well acquainted with after repeated tragedies.

A squat city bus puttered past behind them, catching Dinah’s eye. She glanced at Helena apologetically, a sliver of vulnerability slipping into her otherwise confident counternence.

“Maybe I’ll try Krav Maga sometime,” she offered, almost shyly.

“Maybe we could get coffee afterward,” Helena suggested, beaming.

They exchanged numbers before Dinah ran to catch the bus.

***

A week later, they kicked the shit out of each other at the studio and went for coffee. Helena had expected Dinah to pick up the Krav Maga moves quickly since she was well-versed in Karate and Jiu Jitsu. She even indulged in a stupid fantasy about helping her find the right techniques and positions, a blatant ploy to be physically closer to her.

But when they began sparing, Helena quickly realized she was wildly outmatched. Dinah did not need her help—she already knew Krav Maga even if she hadn’t quite mastered it. Then the minute Helena got the upper hand, Dinah gave up on the prescribed moves the instructor gave them, and took Helena down with a few quick karate strikes she couldn’t counter effectively.

Helena’s back hit the mat hard, knocking the wind out of her. Her eyes widening as Dinah pinned her down with a steady hand flat over her heart, the heel of her small hand grazing the top of Helena’s breast through her sports bra.

Dinah released her and sat back, looking smug.

“You cheated!” Helena laughed, accepting a hand to pull herself up to sitting.

“What’s the point of fighting if you aren’t going to win?” Dinah shot her a knowing smirk.

“What happened to grace?” Helena demanded, her eyebrows raising when Dinah faltered but quickly recovered.

“You’re right,” she agreed, her face softening like she’d come to some internal revelation. “It’s not about winning. It’s about the practice, and finding balance.”

“Alright, sensei,” Helena rolled her eyes but she couldn’t stop smiling—another unfamiliar impulse. “You can buy me a coffee to make up for cheating.”

“It’s called mixed martial arts for a reason,” Dinah insisted as they headed for the changing rooms. “I was just mixing in more martial arts”

“Yeah, yeah.”

***

For the rest of the semester they trained and went for coffee at least once a week. They would tell each other which parties they were going to, what events their friends were discussing attending. It went unsaid that they were leaving breadcrumbs for each other, a trail that would lead them back together.

Their social lives began to blend. Helena became friendly with Dinah’s carefully cultivated group of scholastic overachievers and misfits. Meanwhile, the gang of loud, kittenish gay men Helena surrounded herself with fawned over Dinah. They showed her how to do her make-up properly and cheered when she paraded around the dorm in high heels for them like a clumsy newborn colt.

“She is gorgeous,” one of Helena’s friends hissed to her.

But it never went any further than a lingering touch or look as Helena restrained herself from making the first move, but not because she feared rejection. She’d taken a gap year after boarding school, a boozy thirteen months during which she’d travelled across Southeast Asia—Vietnam, Cambodia,Thailand, Bali, Singapore—and then on to Australia. The youthful hedonism that characterized backpacking made it easy not to be shy or ashamed of her attraction to both boys and girls. But she resisted making the first move with Dinah— she wanted Dinah to come to her.

***

Helena stayed at Princeton over the holidays, just like she’d done throughout boarding school. The only place she could feasibly go was Gotham to be with her younger brother, Pino. He was seventeen, and Helena had just enough contact to suspect he was already involved in the ‘family business,’ which she tried not to think about. They mostly kept in touch via Snapchat and Instagram, a selfie and meme-based relationship that removed the painful edges of reality.

Dinah returned to Gotham for Christmas to visit another member of the orphanage she’d grown up in. She wanted to see how they were getting on without her, she said, though she wasn’t looking forward to being back in the city.

But something obviously went wrong while she was away, because once they were back at school she began determinedly avoiding Helena. She made excuses about being busy with classes and other friends needing her attention. Weeks went by and Helena started to feel crazy, like she was missing something obvious, which meant she was either blind or too stupid to be able to see what was happening.

Then out of the blue Dinah showed up at Helena’s dorm, her hair freshly cut in a cute, girlish bob that brushed the collar of her cornflower blue coat, her tawny eyes glowing determinedly.

“Helena,” she breathed, searching Helena’s face. “Will you go out with me?”

***

They went out for dinner, something Helena had never done with a girl before. She’d slept with women, but she struggled with the idea of going on a date with a woman. She was disappointed in herself, that she hadn't evolved beyond worrying about the perception of others when she knew what she wanted.

But those worries were relegated to background noise when Dinah showed up on her doorstep, wearing a candy-apple-red shade of lipstick that suited her perfectly.

“Hey,” she greeted Helena, her smile radiant. Excited.

***

After dinner, Helena walked Dinah back to her dorm. When the moment she’d been waiting months for finally arrived, Dinah tucked a loose piece of Helena’s hair behind her ear, then tentatively laid her palm across the curve of her jaw. Her eyes fell shut as she drew Helena's mouth down to hers.

Her lips were eager and curious, but clumsy. Helena paused to draw back, the thick fringe of her eyelashes brushing Dinah’s nose as she opened her eyes. Dinah’s hand was still resting on her cheek, while Helena’s hands had found Dinah’s waist. Her eyes were heavy and her lips parted, the red lipstick faded.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Helena said slowly. “But... have you ever kissed someone before?”

Dinah’s face split into a rueful grin, without a trace of shame. “I have now,” she pointed out playfully.

Helena mirrored her grin and gave Dinah’s waist a gentle tug, pulling her closer as their lips met again.

***

They went on more dates, and eventually they found their way into each other’s beds. They got to know each other’s bodies, bringing them closer in a way Helena hadn’t realized was possible. She’d only experienced sex as a blurry, rushed encounter, but with Dinah she was overwhelmed, drunk on how badly she wanted her.

Their friend groups continued to cross pollinate with the queer communities on campus, and they slowly began to build a chosen family together since neither of them had one of their own. Helena was thrilled to see Dinah slowly shed the armour she’d built to protect herself, becoming more open and accepting of her own feelings and desires. But Helena found it harder, in part because she was lying to Dinah by not telling her the full truth of her past.

Her family and their ‘business’ was a dark, shameful secret she had never told another person, and she couldn’t decide how Dinah, with her strong moral compass, would react. It was like an invisible blockade between them, one Helena knew could destroy the delicate fabric of their blossoming relationship if she didn’t resolve it.

About four months after their first official date, it became impossible to keep it inside any longer, especially because the words “I love you” were constantly threatening to spill past her lips. It was only when she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer that she found the courage.

“You can tell me anything, Helena,” Dinah insisted, holding Helena’s hands between hers. They were sitting on a blanket on the quad, the sun shining bright overhead as the first vestiges of spring bloomed around them.

Helena felt physically sick. She’d imagined every way this conversation could go, and she usually settled on Dinah being horrified once she learned the terrible, violent truth.

“It’s about…” she swallowed thickly. “My family. I haven’t been… completely honest with you. My dad. He wasn’t really a businessman. Not in the traditional sense.”

Dinah’s eyebrows raised, but she gave Helena’s hands a reassuring squeeze.

After a few false starts, Helena explained that her family wasn’t like other families. That her father and his brothers and generations of Bertinelli men before them hadn’t had… normal jobs. They were criminals. Successful, powerful criminals whose influence manipulated the very fabric of Gotham society.

Dinah listened, her expression becoming more and more guarded as Helena ploughed ahead. She could see what she was thinking. That Helena’s family was partially responsible for the corruption and crime that plagued Gotham. That the city was a shithole because of men like her father. It was all true, or at least it used to be, before the masked freaks took over and made everything worse.

She explained that a man named Mandragora tried to usurp her father when she was twelve, killing her mother, aunts and uncles, cousins and family friends in a blood feud. She was shipped off to Europe for safe keeping while her brother Pino, just 9 years old at the time, was sent to live with extended family in Central City. Ultimately her father’s associates and friends ran Mandragora out of town, but not before the damage was done. Helena remained in Switzerland, and Pino returned to Gotham, where he was raised by what extended members of the Bertinelli clan.

There was one more piece of information Helena couldn’t bring herself to share, because just thinking about what happened to her father made her blood boil—anger frequently outstripped grief when she thought about what Harley Quinn did to her Papa.

She hunted him. Tortured him. Murdered him.

But she couldn’t say the words. Mobsters were bad enough. Harley Quinn was an entirely different kind of villain, one Helena didn’t want her family — who she loved deeply despite their flaws —associated with if she could help it.

By the time she’d finished, Dinah had taken to playing with an errant daisy springing up from the grass, her attention wholly focused on the little white flower as she worked through her thoughts. When she finally looked up at Helena, she was cautious, still uncertain, but eventually her lips curved into a smile—kind, open, generous, and reassuring.

“I have to tell you something too,” she shrugged helplessly. “I love you, Helena... and you aren’t responsible for the choices your family made. You still loved them and lost them and I know how much that hurt you.”

Helena’s eyes widened, shocked that Dinah was speaking these words to Helena. For Helena.

“I—“ she faltered, searching Dinah’s face. “I love you too.” She sprung up to her knees and pitched forward, grabbing Dinah’s face with both hands and making her shriek with laughter as they fell back on the grass together. “God, I really really love you, Di.”

Dinah laughed again, her eyes closing as Helena urgently kissed her. She felt as if she’d never be able to properly express how much she felt. This was the polar opposite of the grief and anger that plagued her. This was the beginning of something beautiful and powerful and safe.

Dinah would save her from the darkness, she decided.

She was the only one who could.

***

A/N: I know you’re all here for Jarley, but in the same way I wanted you to love Ed, I’m hoping you’ll simp for this ship. I loved writing Dinah through the eyes of someone who sees the best in her since she’s been pretty limited to her own self-punishing point of view and Harley’s warped vision of the world. And it’s a relief to see Dinah begin to grow up now that she’s around people her own age she relates to… Even wearing lipstick is like an indulgent act for her that she’s finally allowing herself to take part in. Yes, Dinah! You deserve love and lipstick and self care! ❤️🎉

#happy pride 🌈#crossbow canary #dinah lance #helena bertinelli #helena x dinah #the harlequin #Nolanverse #one shot #maybe a two shot #there are no crossbows here

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