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redrobin-detective · 3 years

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exile

Maddie Fenton woke up on the worst day of her life with a headache. That wasn’t at all unusual, Jack’s snoring could be grating even when asleep. Combined with too many late nights in the lab, too much coffee and just general stress about her work and her kids... it seemed Maddie woke up with a headache more often then not. Jack was the early riser of the two of them so he was already awake and likely starting work in the lab. He’d knock on the kids’ doors to get them up but Danny always needed a special touch, or an aggressive shove, to get up.

Maddie got up and dressed and made her way downstairs, Jazz’s room was cracked and she heard her daughter bustling inside. Danny’s was still shut tight. She knocked forcefully on the door. “Danny honey, it’s 6:30, you need to start getting ready for school.” She got no answer but she didn’t always get one. She had a feeling it was going to be one of those mornings. Setting downstairs, she’d just started the coffee machine when the phone rang.

“Now who is calling at this hour?” Maddie asked herself, picking up the phone. “FentonWorks, this is Maddie Fen-”

“You tell my daughter to come home right this instant!” Pam Manson’s shrill voice came over the phone. Maddie winced and pulled the phone back from her ear. “And you tell her she can kiss that horrible death metal whatever concert she was going to on Saturday goodbye! I will not have my young, impressionable daughter thinking she can tramp around god knows where-”

“Pam, slow down,” Maddie interrupted, irate as always when dealing with the woman. “Sam isn’t here, I didn’t see her at all yesterday or today.” Or Danny, Maddie thought privately with a frown. Pamela’s fury and frustration was understandable in a way. Maddie also had no idea what her own child was up to most days.

“She’s not there?” Pam said quietly after a few moments of silence. “Are you sure?” She added a bit more frantically. “Because she’s not in her bedroom and her bed looks like she never slept in it. She’s not answering her phone but she sometimes doesn’t when she’s sees it’s-” Pam took a deep steadying breath. “Can you check and make certain she’s not there? I’m going to call Angela.” Pam hung up suddenly and Maddie pulled back and looked at the phone, biting her lip with nerves. The coffee maker screeching to life behind her startled her so much that she jumped.

“Goodness,” She said, setting the phone down and thinking. She was certain she hadn’t seen Sam. The last time she’d seen her son’s friend was the day before last when she and Tucker had dragged a very exhausted, bruised up Danny home. Took a fall down the stairs, they’d said, not explaining why their clothes were worn and hands scratched up. Frowning, she wandered to the top of the lab steps. “Jack, you haven’t seen Sam around, have you? Danny’s friend?”

“Sam?” She heard Jack shout back, he poked his head around the corner. “No, did she stay the night? By the way, did you move some of the weapons. I can’t seem to find a few of them...”

“Jack that’s not important right now, Pamela doesn’t know where she is,” Maddie said sharply. She felt a little bad watching as Jack’s face become pensive but she was too anxious herself to apologize. She turned and walked towards the upstairs steps. “I’m going to ask Danny.”

She can’t deny that a subtle little thrill went through her when she got onto the second floor landing and saw Danny’s door open. The sink was running in the bathroom and she knocked heartily on the door. “Daniel Fenton, Mrs. Manson can’t find her daughter and if I find you had her over without telling anyone you are going to be in so much-”

The door opened revealing Jazz with her eyes wide and a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. “Waz goin on?” she asked around the brush. She took out the brush and spit out into the sink. “I poked my head into Danny’s room to wake him up but he wasn’t in there.” Her eyebrows furrowed, “they can’t find Sam?”

Feeling lightheaded, Maddie walked down the hall to Danny’s room to find no one there. She can’t put her finger on why but it didn’t just feel empty but vacant. Danny’s clothes weren’t on the floor, his desk was practically clear for the first time since they bought it. His bed was made just as she’d done it the morning before when she’d rousted her son. Distantly, she heard the phone ringing again but Maddie couldn’t bring herself to leave the deserted room.

Danny had several photos on his wall and desk, she couldn’t help but notice that two were missing. A framed photo of the entire Fenton family they’d taken last year for New Years and a particularly nice shot of Danny with his friends Jazz had snapped. They say in a crime scene, something is always taken and left behind. But why... The sound of footsteps approached her rapidly from behind.

“Mom,” Jazz with a small fearful little tone. She was holding the house phone in one hand and her cell in the other, Danny’s contact information open on her screen. It was just ringing through. “It’s Mrs. Manson, not only is Sam not at Tucker’s but... the Foleys can’t find him either. I... I told them we don’t know where Danny is at the moment. I’m trying to call but its just ringing and ringing...”

“Jasmine, calm down,” Maddie said, taking the phone away from her. “Keep trying his cell and go get your father. Pam, are you still there?” Maddie said speaking into the phone. She was met with tears on the other end.

“Where are they? How could this happen? Sammy... she has a sizable trust and could be a target for ransom but your boy and Tucker? It doesn’t make sense.” Pamela paused to take a few loud, sobbing breaths that pounded at Maddie’s headache like a jackhammer. “Unless they ran away but why? Samantha’s always been spirited but nothing like this... God, I need to call the police, we’ll be in touch.” She clicked off without another word.

“-swer your phone, please little brother. Please, I know. Know-know, I was waiting for you to come to me but now we can’t find you, Sam or Tucker and everyone’s freaking out and we just need to know that you’re all okay.” She heard Jazz speak quickly into her cell, curling in on it like she used to do with her old stuffed animals. Jack’s hands gripping her shoulders from behind, taking in the abandoned room just like she’d been.

“Mads,” Jack whispered, “where’d he go?”

Maddie would ask herself that same question in the coming days, weeks, months and years that would pass. Over the course of front page headlines and tv spots begging for information. When they found a large amount had been transferred out of Sam’s trust, when Tucker’s phone and computer was found broken in two near the dump by the interstate, when their weapons catalogue came up short. As more time passed, it became increasingly obviously the kids not only had left of their own volition but it had been a calculated, planned affair.

Maddie would lie awake late into the night and wonder where it all went wrong? What had she, or any of the grieving parents, done to warrant their children to up and leave in the middle of the night. Something had happened, something that had been under their noses, something they’d missed. And they were now paying for it.

Back in the present moment, with her husband’s warm hands on her shoulders, her daughter’s increasingly more frantic voice talking into Danny’s phone that just kept ringing and her headache pounding worse than ever, all she could do was moan. “I don’t know, they’re just gone.”

The worst day of her life was just getting started and was going to continue for a long, long while.

#my writing #written to exile by taylor bc it hit that air of missed tragedy #gonna confess this would be the start to a much longer fic I've been playing with for a few days #one I do and dont want to write #so consider this my trial run if I want to continue this #i kept some of the specific details out so this functions just as is as a one shot #i just couldnt get the image of the families waking up to find the kids have abandoned their lives and ran out of my head #anyway happy wednesday have some grief :)#if its not obvious this takes place in the sweet spot when Danny and co are actively ghost fighting but Jazz knows but isn't in the group ye #I will say that ghosts are common knowledge so think about mid S1 between public enemies and the ultimate enemy

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themaribatpit · 3 years

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Jasonette July Day 20: Then Perish

Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event Prompt: Then Perish (Part 1) Rating: M (violence, minor character deaths) A/N: We wanted to finish Jasonette July with a bang. The second half will be posted tomorrow for the Saturday Challenge. We’ve appreciated all your comments and kind words, we really do read every one. It genuinely means a lot to us and encourages us to continue writing together. As a fandom you have been nothing but kind and supportive, and we enjoy bringing you fics great and small with a wide variety of genres, dynamics, and iterations. Also blame DC fanboy for the memes in this fic. Marinette loved to travel, she had traveled all over the world from New York to Shanghai. Today, she traveled with her parents to Gotham City to visit her parents' friends, whom they had not seen in many years. Sabine was initially afraid to visit Gotham City, due to its crime rate and ever-growing list of criminals. Tom reassured his wife, saying that his big stature would scare any would-be criminal from harming them, that the trip would be short and they would visit Metropolis afterwards. Marinette wore the Ladybug Miraculous, just in case something were to happen. As the family got off the taxi at Park Row, everyone felt something was off. "Park Row really has...changed." Thomas muttered. Sabine held on to both her husband and her daughter, "I think we should leave." she said. Soon shadows began appearing around the corner, then came the yelling, and soon after came the gunshots. Thomas grabbed his wife and daughter and ran to find shelter from a hail of bullets. Marinette looked back to see many civilians, men, women and children caught in the middle of this gang war. She needed to be a hero, her father could take care of her mother, she needed to save those in danger. She freed herself from her father's grasp and ran behind a corner, she whispered "spots on" and transformed into Ladybug. Diving and flipping across streaking bullets everywhere, she flung her yo-yo to drag any unfortunate bystanders into an abandoned building. While in a building with innocent civilians, she peeked her head out the window to see a monstrous man. Wearing a blood red helmet and wielding two pistols, he systematically killed everyone before him. His flips and kicks were graceful yet brutal, the cries of pain and pleas for mercy made her shudder. She couldn't fight him, no, she was afraid to. It would be best to find her family, she did all she could and got bystanders to safety. She quietly transformed back into Marinette and went to look for her family. She ran back to where she last saw them, she scoured the streets shouting "Maman! Papa!" hoping that using her French would help her parents find and identify her. She soon ran into the Red Beast, as she began to turn and run back before she saw the two people at his feet. “<No, no no no, please god no.>” she whispered to herself, tears building in her eyes. There lay her parents, in a pool of their blood with bullet holes between their eyes. Marinette dropped to her knees, silently crying. The Red Hood either didn't see her, or chose to spare her and decided to walk away. Marinette ran to her parents, grabbing them both and shaking them. "<Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me>” she wept. Later, she was picked up by the GCPD. They escorted her on the flight back to Paris along with the remains of her parents. When she arrived, she was approached by the Aide Sociale à L'enfance (ASE). They told her that she'll be staying at a nearby orphanage until after her parents' funeral. Then she would then be sent off to live with her only remaining relative, her Great-Uncle Wang in Shanghai. On the night before the funeral, Marinette was unable to sleep. She curled her legs to her chest while she sat on the mattress. She has spent the past few days researching the mysterious Red Hood, crime boss and self-proclaimed Prince of Gotham. She read article after article of his meteoric rise to power, first conquering Black Mask, then The Penguin. Nightmares plagued her whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the Red Hood tower over her parent's lifeless bodies, covered in their blood. She was worried about being sent off to a foreign country tomorrow evening, while barely even speaking any Mandarin. All the while knowing that once she is on that flight to Shanghai, her parent's killer would without a doubt walk free. Morning comes, yet Marinette still thinks of what she should do. Could she really go to Shanghai to start her life anew, not knowing the language and allowing her parents’ killer to go on unpunished? At the funeral, while standing over her parents’ graves, she remained silent. The priest, ASE agents and her friends all came to pay their respects. Each of her friends approached her to give their sympathies, but she did not listen to a word they said. The Red Hood weighed heavily on her mind, and she made her fateful decision. To run, run and never look back. She had prepared a backpack containing the Miracle box with all the Miraculous, along with a few essential supplies and money. She turned into Multimouse to sneak on board a passenger aircraft to make her way to Gotham City. Jason knew, better than Batman, that fighting crime sometimes meant getting your hands dirty. What started as a petty squabble between two rival gangs grew into a bloodbath. He missed Roy at times like these, Artemis and Bizarro were still missing, but he held out hope that they would one day return to this Earth. A teenage girl with an impressively sturdy yo-yo had burst onto the scene, trying to get civilians to safety. He was a bit too preoccupied with the battle to get a good look at the girl. Knowing Bruce, the next time he’d see her, she’d be under his wing. Sadly, there were two civilians that neither of them could save, a large, burly looking man and a tiny woman. The person who shot them with frightening accuracy had got away, moments later a teenage girl had arrived on the scene. There was a brief flash of fear in her eyes when she saw him, and she would have just scurried away if only he hadn’t been at the very spot where her parents lay dead. The girl was inconsolable as she fell to her knees and wept, pleading with them in French. Red Hood walked away, thinking it would be best to leave her to grieve. There wasn’t a whole lot he could say in English that would make her feel any better, never mind in French. He watched from a distance as the GCPD arrived to pick up the pieces, Red Hood watched from the shadows as police officers and an interpreter tried to get the girl’s side of the story. From what he gathered, the girl’s name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and her family owned a bakery in Paris. Her next of kin was a relative in Shanghai, and it sounded like the best option for her would be to go and live there. The plan was to ship her and her parents’ bodies back to Paris, and let child services take it from there. He would have probably told her to get as far away from Gotham as possible, away from the clutches of a certain someone who was also orphaned in Crime Alley. He saw her cradle what looked like a small pink doll to her face as she wept, before he turned and walked away. A week later, Jason had a break in the case. This was all caused by some low-level members of the Falcone and Maroni families continuing their decades-old battle. As far as everyone knew, the crime families swiftly executed the men responsible and went about their business. Two crime families were unable to keep their lackeys in check, and now the people who weren’t lucky enough to be whisked away by Yo-Yo Girl, were now either dead or wishing they were. He thought back to poor little Marinette, wondering where she was now. Bruce confronted him at the Iceberg lounge shortly after the incident, to which Jason explained that the perp had got away. He had killed people before, and that wasn’t stopping anytime soon, after all it wasn’t that long ago that he tried to kill the Penguin. “This may surprise you Bruce, but the Red Hood isn’t the only one who uses guns in Gotham '' he snapped. There were some lines that even he did not cross, lines that he had drawn for himself. Judging by the accuracy of the gunshots, this was no accident. Their daughter was probably starting a new life, probably on the other side of the world. Still, he wished he could have said something to the girl, a simple “Hey, it’s gonna be all right” probably would have sufficed. Little did he know that Marinette was making her return to Gotham City. She would have her revenge on the Red Hood, and this time she had nothing to fear and nothing to lose. After her very uncomfortable 10 hour flight from Paris to Gotham City in the cargo hold, Multimouse quietly sneaked out of the crowded airport without alerting anyone. Marinette wandered around Chinatown, thinking of her next step. She was thinking about how she would have to go through the city with a fine tooth comb to search for a lead, likely starting small with his men in the streets. Before she could put the earrings back in her backpack, Tikki begged her to reconsider what she was doing. “Please Marinette, you need time to heal, to grieve,” she pleaded, but Marinette didn’t need the powers of healing, luck and creation. If and when she encountered the Red Hood, she wanted to bring him death, misfortune and destruction. After all, that was exactly what he had brought her. With a stroke of luck, she overheard someone getting a beatdown. "You get your ass outta here, this is Red Hood's turf. If you wanna sell that shit, you gotta give the boss his cut." Marinette whispered "Plagg, claws out" and transformed into Lady Noire, before sneaking up behind one of the Red Hood’s men. He released the person he was beating, and chased him out the alleyway. She took this opportunity to swing her staff, hitting the back of his neck and sending him face first into the ground. He immediately tried to stand up, as he stood on wobbly legs he took out his knife from his jacket. "Oh shit, Catwoman?!" he yelled. Lady Noire used her staff to sweep him off his feet and slammed her staff onto his face. "Where is the Red Hood?" she growled. "Screw you bitch!" the goon retorted. Lady Noire had a feeling that he wouldn’t tell her the location of the Red Hood, so she decided to try a different approach. "Fine then, why don't you give your boss this simple message…" Before she could finish her sentence, she heard the telltale click of a gun being loaded. She turned around and started spinning her staff, creating a grey shield to deflect the storm of bullets that were being fired at her. She moved her hands at a rapid pace, and frantically pushed back against the hail of bullets. As the bullet storm subsided she looked up and saw, up on the fire escape, was the Red Hood with an assault rifle. The Red Hood casually tossed his gun aside and asked "So, what's this message you have for me, Catwoman?" He gracefully did a forward flip and landed in a crouch. "Wait a minute..." he said, the first thing he noticed was that this person was tiny, 4’11 or maybe 5’ on a good day. Her eyes were a bright acid green with dark slits like a real cat’s pupils. "You're not Catwoman, you're too short to be her, for one thing.” he remarked “also she usually has a whip instead of a staff, who are you?" Lady Noire gritted her teeth, "You killed my family" she answered with a low growl. "Do you have the slightest idea how little that narrows it down Kitten?" Red Hood's taunts made her snap. She screamed "YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!" The Red Hood stared at her, as he crossed his arms. "I don't even know who you are, what's your beef with me?" He asked, Lady Noire lunged at the Red Hood with her staff, she swung wildly to try and hit him. He dodged most of her strikes with ease, “Is that the best you’ve got? You’re gonna have to try harder than that.” Where she might have lacked in skill, she made up for in determination. She wasn’t pulling any punches, he had to give her that. He caught the staff under his arm, and punched Lady Noire with his free arm. As he went on the offensive, he slapped her staff aside, and came at her with a series of punches and kicks. “So, what do you want Kitten? Money? Jewels? A very big ball of string?” he joked. “All I want is revenge,” she spluttered. “Get in line Kitten, you’re in the city that runs on vengeance” he retorted. Marinette was lucky that the suit gave her enhanced speed, strength and endurance. She always loved how the Lady Noire suit felt a lot lighter compared to the Ladybug suit. Though she shuddered to imagine what her opponent would do with this power. He raised his leg to end his combination with a forceful downward kick, Lady Noire raised her staff up to a horizontal block to stop the kick. Upon contact with the kick, the staff split into two, and then Lady Noire launched into her counter attack. She was striking the Red Hood with a flurry of blows with both halves of her staff. "Escrima sticks too? Looks like we have a Nightwing fan here” he smirked under the mask; this new girl was just full of surprises. He brought his arms to the sides of his head in a defensive posture, blocking the onslaught of strikes from the escrima sticks. Red Hood then grabbed Lady Noire by the back of her head, placing her in a Thai clinch. He launched a powerful knee to her face and sent her reeling back. He drew his pistols and fired a torrent of bullets at her. Lady Noire had to dodge, weave and use her staff to deflect incoming bullets. One bullet even grazed her cheek. She then pointed her staff at the Red Hood and extended it with so much force it slammed him against the wall of a nearby building. Without giving him any breathing room, she then retracted the staff. She launched herself towards him and then dropkicked his face straight into the wall. His helmet cracked against the tremendous pressure. "It's now or never” she thought, as she cast Cataclysm and swiped at one half of the Red Hood’s helmet. She saw the helmet dissolve and reveal the target beneath. She noticed that underneath the helmet he wore a red domino mask, not unlike the one she usually wore. She would have time to think about how overly dramatic that was later, as she used her other hand to pick up the knife on the ground that the other goon left behind. She jumped on top of the Red Hood, “Now perish!” she cried out as she thrusted the blade towards the exposed part of his face. Red Hood recovered quickly and caught her hand holding the blade. As the two struggled for the knife, Lady Noire tried to swipe at him with Cataclysm again. Suddenly, she felt the power of 50,000 volts coursing through her, as the Red Hood activated the taser hidden in his chest piece. She powered through, running purely on anger, grief and adrenaline. She was only able to struggle for about a minute, before passing out from the pain. Red Hood flipped Lady Noire’s unconscious body aside, before he took off his helmet to inspect the damage. "The hell?." he pondered, "So, indestructible staff that can do double duty as a shield, and the ability to disintegrate things with one touch. Let's find out who you really are." He slowly stood up and looked down at her unconscious body. He tried to peel away her domino mask, yet it would not come off. He tugged on the mask, even to the point of lifting the unconscious girl off the ground. He released the mask, and let the body drop with a small thud. The Red Hood began talking to himself "She either superglued the mask on or it’s something else. Considering all that she can do, I'd say 80% chance it's magic and 20% a lantern. Either way a 100% pain in my ass". He heard a small beeping noise and gingerly lifted her hand up off the floor. As it emitted black and green energy, he noticed that she had a ring on. The beeping came from a small picture of a paw print, which was missing a few pads. If she was a lantern, that ring was going to run out of charge any moment now. He took out his phone and called the Iceberg Lounge. He requested that they send for a van to pick him up and his new guest. He requested that the Su Sisters get her cleaned up and ready. He needed to find out who sent her and who she worked for. He took out the special handcuffs that Batman designed when dealing with metahumans. As he walked towards Lady Noire about to cuff her, he heard some more beeping, followed by a bright light surrounding her. Her suit and mask disappeared, leaving behind a small girl in pastel pink clothes who was probably no older than 15 or 16. Her long braid changed back into a couple of shoulder-length pigtails, and she had a pink backpack on her back. Jason looked inside the bag, there were a few sets of clothes, a wallet and an antique Chinese jewelry box. He wondered if that ring was just one of many tools in her arsenal. Jason's eyes widened, he recognised her as the girl he saw a few weeks ago when the turf war in Crime Alley broke out. "What’s she doing here?" he said to himself aloud, “ Idiot” he muttered. He remembered following the girl and her GCPD escort to make sure she boarded her flight back to Paris. She was supposed to be with her remaining family. Yet she came back to, no, ran away to Gotham City. All for revenge. He checked her wallet and saw the name printed on it, he sighed, this just confirmed that she was the same girl. When she had her revenge, what would she do then? He wasn’t the undisputed master of thinking things through, but even he thought she was a fool to come back here. Gotham City didn’t have the best track record dealing with orphans. He knew this from personal experience, but there was that time where many were rounded up and sent upstate to juvie, for the crime of trying to survive on the streets. He would have been in the same position, had it not been for his own fateful encounter in Crime Alley. He shuddered to think what her other option would be in a place like Gotham City, becoming a Robin. Part of the reason he wanted her out of Gotham was so that Bruce wouldn’t get any ideas about taking her in. When the car arrived, he scooped up the girl in his arms and carried her towards it. Marinette woke up with her heart beating frantically in her chest, the first thing she saw was a bright light. She was dead, she had to be, the last thing she remembered was confronting the Red Hood and now he had killed her. She slowly sat up, she looked down to find that someone had changed her clothes, she was wearing light blue pajamas. She started to look around, to her left there was a large floor to ceiling window where she could see a city at night with bright twinkling lights. On the table next to her was the Miracle box, she quickly grabbed the box and looked through it. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw that all the Miraculous she brought with her were still there. Suddenly, Marinette heard someone clear their throat. At the foot of the bed, stood a rather large woman who had a bundle of clothes in her hand. Next to her was a blonde woman with pink highlights who had a tray of food. “Oh good, you’re finally awake” the large woman said gruffly, she set the clothes down on the edge of the bed. The blonde girl set a tea tray down in front of her, along with a couple of pastries. Marinette’s heart sank at the sight of the croissants, they reminded her of her parents and their bakery. “Eat up and get dressed, the boss wants to see you later” the blonde woman told her, before skipping to the larger woman’s side. Just as the two were about to leave, Marinette piped up, “Um, where am I?” she asked, “Who is your boss?” “You’re in the Iceberg Lounge in Gotham City”, the large woman told her gruffly. “The name’s Suzie, this is one of my sisters, Candy. Our boss is the owner.” Marinette gave an awkward wave as they left, and Candy returned it with a more cheerful one. She took a bite out of the croissant, it tasted cold and dry. However, if she was going to defeat the Red Hood, she’d need all her strength. She put Plagg’s ring back in the box and reached for Ladybug’s earrings; she needed a new tactic. When Tikki appeared in front of her, she also quickly looked around the room before looking back at Marinette with a concerned look on her face. “I couldn’t do it,” Marinette explained “he managed to stop me and I ended up back here”. Tikki’s eyes were sympathetic as Marinette held her closer to her face, “Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” Tikki asked. “For now, I have to get changed and go upstairs to meet the boss. Maybe he’s the one who found me after the fight was over” Marinette theorized as she gave Tikki the cookie from the tray. While Tikki quietly nibbled at it, Marinette stood up and walked over to the edge of the bed. Inside the small bundle of clothes were a simple white blouse and black skirt. They were a little big, she would probably hem it if she had her sewing machine. Moments later, a tall woman with dark hair led Marinette into the penthouse, a large room with a desk in the corner. A tall man in a suit stood with his back towards the door, overlooking the sparkling city skyline. She slowly stepped inside, looking around the room as she walked towards the man. “Um hi, who are you?” Marinette asked as she apprehensively walked towards him. She couldn’t help but feel small in that grand high-ceiling room. “I am the owner of the Iceberg Lounge,” he explained. “I guess the question I should be asking is…” he turned towards her and Marinette saw he had a domino mask over his eyes and a red half mask covering his nose and mouth, “who are you?” He threw something at her and she caught it. She looked down and saw the Red Hood’s helmet, half of it looked as though someone tried to tear the metal open. Then she remembered everything she had researched about the Red Hood, and the fight that took place not long after she arrived back in Gotham. “You…” she hissed. To be continued...

#jasonettejuly2021 #jasonette #maribat #ml x dc

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deijnar · 3 years

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The only one who makes me nervous

Incredible but true - I wrote something! And am posting it!

This is my piece for the great @mysme-rbb and I got to collaborate with @braincellbank, definitely check their artwork out! The CMC used in this is theirs ^-^

You can also find the fic on Ao3!

So here goes a lot of fluffy, cute Jaehee pining~

╰⊱♥⊱╮●╭⊱♥≺

With suspicion, Jaehee squints her eyes at the ingredients on the countertop of her and Lila's brand new cafe. After months of preparation and an almost breakdown when she asked them to become her partner for this adventure, Jaehee's dream finally comes true - a cute, domestic yet elegant cafe that she owns with her best friend.

But…

"There was more chocolate."

Lila's eyes widen and they furrow their eyebrows, looking at the potential crime scene as well. "Huh? What do you mean?" They check the scale. "It's the exact amount we need for the recipe."

Jaehee shakes her head, looking at the pieces in the bowl. "I could have sworn I put more in there…"

"You're probably just nervous! We're about to bake our very first cake for the cafe, isn't it exciting?"

The way they beam at Jaehee makes her chest feel warm and her knees go a little weak, causing Jaehee to forget what she was just thinking about entirely.

"That must be it, I'm sure you're right. This is what I've dreamed of for a very long time, I feel all… fluttery inside." To hide her soft chuckle, Jaehee turns her head away a little and shields her mouth with one of her hands. Showing emotion is still… foreign to her and she is still shy about it.

Lila clicks their tongue in disapproval. "Now come over here and let me see that stunning face of yours, we have work to do! I'm all excited for this too but I'm waiting for the proper view." Demanding, they motion to the space across from them, followed by a little wink.

As all of Lila's teasing does, their comment makes Jaehee's heart hiccup in her chest, a too familiar heat already painting her cheeks in a soft blush. There’s only one way to deal with them when they get like that…

Speaking Korean, especially if the sentences are long and spoken fast, is the only way for Jaehee to feel like she is still somewhat in control when she is around Lila. Given that Korean is not their first language and they’re still learning, they tend to get really sheepish when they don’t understand something. And, for Jaehee, it’s the only weapon she has to not let Lila’s boldness knock her out.

Normally, she speaks English around them or slow, easy Korean. But not in moments like this.

“If only you knew what you’re doing to me with such behavior…”

Jaehee keeps her voice low and talks fast, even a fluent speaker would have had trouble to understand her.

“What was that?” The cocky grin on their face immediately shrinks to a shy expression and Jaehee can’t help but feel a little guilty, although relieved.

Of course she hates it to make her friend feel insecure, she wants to make them feel just as strong and support them just as much as they do for her. But sometimes she has to do this, only to not combust due to the hidden feelings in her heart.

“Oh, nothing. Let’s start baking.” With a somewhat apologetic smile, she walks up to Lila and stands on the other side of the countertop, looking at the instructions in front of her. Now, she has to fire Lila’s confidence in themself again. “How about you start with the dough while I try out these decorations? Your doughs always turn out amazing.” The proud gleam in Lila’s eyes that Jaehee likes to see so much is back immediately. “They do indeed. What are you making?” Curiously, they get to their tiptoes, trying to get a peek of the picture she is holding. “Some flowers.” Calculating, she leans her head to the side, inspecting the pictures as well, lowering the piece of paper so it's easier for Lila to see. “I’ve never tried to make these before but I wanted to set myself a challenge. Hopefully, they’ll turn out fine.” “I’m sure they’ll turn out perfect. Like you.” One of Lila’s hands lands on Jaehee’s cheek, presumably for encouragement, and Jaehee can practically feel their chuckle as she straightens as if the touch burned her skin. Which it really seems to do, given how hot she feels all of a sudden. “Y-yes. I… Maybe. Yes, I’ll do my best.”

Not knowing what else she could possibly say that wouldn’t give away how fast her heart is beating, Jaehee gets to work. She presses her lips together and tries to ignore Lila’s gaze she can clearly feel on herself as she begins to knead and color the fondant.

Luckily, Lila decides to be merciful and not make any more comments that get Jaehee out of her concentration, maybe so they can get to work as well.

It doesn’t take the young woman long to forget everything around herself as she fully focuses on the task at hand. She gets lost in the thrill of trying new, challenging things and the rewarding feeling when an experiment with one of her utensils works out, giving the flowers as they are described in the instructions her own twist. One petal after the next is formed and, after some time, Jaehee finds a routine, the activity having a quite calming and almost meditative effect on her.

Her thoughts wander.

And, as they do so very often, they wander to the wonderful person standing in front of her right now.

It’s been a few months since they’ve met, got to know each other and even ended up as close as they are right now. Not much, in Jaehee’s opinion, and yet she can barely recall a time where Lila hasn’t been in her life, much less can or does she want to imagine a future without them. They have saved her from her monotone, stressful life that never would have gained her any kind of happiness and turned it upside down. They have turned it into an unpredictable, exciting adventure, the only goal being to chase their dreams and find joy. Together.

Never again does Jaehee want to be without Lila’s stirring presence that doesn’t only bring spice but also light into her life.

Of course it hadn’t been easy for Jaehee to admit to herself that she’d fallen in love. Of course she had been scared of rejection, of the possible heartbreak. Of the risks that come with loving someone so deeply, even after such a short period of time, only falling deeper for their captivating soul more and more with every passing day.

But no matter how strong her fears had been, by that, they only became the evidence for her feelings for Lila. And finally, after multiple sleepless nights, Jaehee had not only faced the truth that she’s helplessly lost her heart to the best friend she’s ever had, she also came to the conclusion that all of this turmoil is worth it. That the nagging fear is nothing compared to the exciting tingle that runs from the center of her stomach through her entire body as soon as Lila walks into the room. That a possible heartbreak is a price she is willing to pay, as long as she gets to feel the way she does for a little while longer every time Lila smiles at her, only her.

And now, they’re working together, they’re partners. Maybe they’ll never be more than that, friends and partners, but Jaehee knows that, at least, they will always be together. Even if she should slip one day - Lila won’t just leave her for the way she feels. In that, Jaehee trusts unconditionally. In Lila, she trusts unconditionally.

Before she knows it, she’s used up the last bit of fondant, has created the last flower for the day. Proudly, Jaehee looks down at the decorations in front of her, all kinds of blossoms in many different colors, shades and sizes spreading out on the table.

"I did it!" The excitement in her voice is very clear and maybe, normally, she would try to conceal it to keep her countenance. But right now, she's way too happy and feels way too safe and comfortable with Lila to even care.

"I knew it!" There's some flour on Lila's cheek as they grin at Jaehee. "I told you they'll look perfect. You did it!"

Far from sick of looking at her own creations, Jaehee smiles down at the sugary decoration in front of her again. Then, she turns her head up to look at Lila again, unaware of the fact that her friend had just started leaning forward to peck her cheek.

Lila's lips land on the corner of Jaehee's mouth and she freezes. Time seems to stop and so does her heartbeat.

As to be expected, Lila isn't fazed by it at all. On the contrary, they seem to enjoy it quite a lot judging by the amused grin on their face and the fact that they stay much closer than they'd need to. They're not even saying anything and yet Jaehee feels like she will be reduced to an inarticulate, blushy mess in mere seconds.

There’s nothing she can do but pointedly look to the side to stop her brain from short-circuiting. No matter how much she wants to look at her stunning friend, she can’t, knowing that, if she would, she couldn't rip her eyes off the lips she so badly wants to feel on hers.

And at that moment, there's just one thing Jaehee can do.

"While investing in the stock market, it's very important to maximize the possible outcome for your transaction while simultaneously minimizing the risk you take."

Although she's speaking her native tongue, Jaehee stumbles over her own words with how quickly she is saying them. Also, she's not even sure if what she just said actually makes sense.

Yet, the words have the effect she was desperately hoping for - Lila softly shakes their head, the threateningly teasing expression on their face making way for utter confusion as they subconsciously draw back a few inches.

Jaehee hates it as much as it makes her feel relieved.

"What?"

"Nothing!" Quickly, Jaehee turns to face the table again, unnecessarily starting to sort the flowers still laying there by size. If she's confronted with that gorgeous face any longer, she won't be able to hold back anymore. "We should-"

Before she can bring up her suggestion to give the cake more layers than they'd originally planned, Lila gently places their hand on hers on the table between them.

If she is honest to herself, Jaehee knows that she wants nothing to be between them anymore, to separate them.

At first, she still refuses to look at Lila. Even without getting lost in those lovely eyes of the person that saved her from the miserable life she has been living - the speed of her heartbeat is already concerning.

But the light caress of their soft fingers on her skin makes her slowly, carefully, look up at them again, bringing her even closer to the figure she wants to embrace and never let go.

She really wants the piece of furniture gone.

"Do I truly make you this nervous?"

Lila's voice is low and raw, not hiding the emotions behind their words. They sound surprisingly hopeful and… a little scared?

Not trusting her voice to do what she wants, Jaehee just nods. Shouldn't Lila know about the effect they have on her? With how much they've been playing around with it, Jaehee has been convinced they know.

But Lila shakes their head.

"I mean, is it me who makes you nervous? Or is it the flirting, the teasing? Would you get flustered by anyone acting like this?"

Trying to calm down her rapidly beating heart, Jaehee shakes her head. She swallows, wanting her words to be audible and the truth in them to be apparent.

"I get flustered because it's you, Lila. It's not just the teasing. Everything you do makes me nervous somehow. But at the same time, you're the only person that can truly calm me down."

As to prove her statement, she nervously averts her gaze. She doesn't know much about friendship and how it works, she's worried she's said too much. And Lila is so close… Concentrating is impossible.

Time seems to be standing still.

This may be because Lila stands still, a thing they usually never do. It makes Jaehee feel a bit uneasy, she isn't sure what to think of this or what to expect, it's so atypical for her friend.

Her thoughts keep running, trying to figure out what exactly is happening right now and how to act further. Eventually, after not finding any satisfying answer, Jaehee decides to slowly turn her head back to look at Lila again.

The intensity in Lila's eyes keeps her in place as soon as their gazes lock. Now both of them seem to be frozen in time, just staring at each other.

(by @braincellbank)

Jaehee has no idea what this means or what step should be taken next, let alone by whom. She just knows that she doesn't want to look away.

When Lila finally moves, it happens suddenly and fast.

Jaehee's eyes widen when they suddenly jerk forward, and they widen even more as Lila presses their lips to hers.

It takes Jaehee's brain a moment to catch up to what's happening, to understand it. To understand that this is real, that what she's secretly dreamed of and fantasized about for weeks and months truly is happening, right here and now.

But as soon as it sinks in, her eyes flutter closed and her free hand, the one Lila isn't touching, finds their cheek.

The kiss feels like heaven.

Soon, Lila relaxes into Jaehee's touch and the frantic, nervous hectic of the firm pressing of their lips shifts into a soft, loving exploration.

In no time, Jaehee is entirely captivated, forgetting that the world exists around them and even if she would remember, she wouldn't care. All she cares about is Lila.

Lila's touch, their warmth, their scent. The fact that this kiss feels even better than she could have ever imagined it.

Her heart beats so fast it seems like it's trying to fly out of her chest to catapult itself into the sky to rejoice.

And Lila's lips taste so sweet…

Too sweet.

With a gasp, Jaehee breaks the kiss.

"You did snack on the chocolate! I knew it!"

Throwing their head back, Lila laughs, their earlier stillness nowhere to be found anymore. Their smile is just as wide as Jaehee's and they look just as happy as her.

Jaehee couldn't care less about the chocolate.

"Guess you've caught me." Another sly smile makes it to their lips. "Guess I'll have to make up for it…"

A quiet, displeased noise slips over Jaehee's lips as Lila draws back. But soon, they've made their way around the table and Jaehee finds herself in their arms, embracing them as well on instinct.

"I don't think I want to bake anymore today."

They're both grinning at each other before their lips meet in another kiss.

#mysmerbb #mysme #mystic messenger #mm #mm fluff #fluff #jaehee fluff #mystic messenger jaehee #mystic messenger fluff #jaehee kang #Jaehee Kang Fluff #mysme fic #jaehee fanfiction #mm jaehee fluff #collaboration #braincellbank #braincellsart

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izzielizzie · 3 years

Text

Footnotes in the Story of Your Life

Nancy Drew never wanted to move from everything she knew in New York to an unwelcoming town in Maine, and she secretly refuses to enjoy her upcoming final year of high school, but that might not even happen when she and four Horseshoe Bay natives - Bess Marvin the socialite, Ace the stoic son of a single mother, George Fan the town foster child/screw up, and Ned Nickerson HBPD’s favorite ex-con - are accused of attempted murder. Nancy’s startled - when she said she wanted something interesting to happen she didn’t mean this - but soon she starts to notice that not everything is as it seems here (AU).

Title from “Tolerate It” by Taylor Swift

Nancy’s mother finds her sitting on her bed on the first day of summer with a framed photograph in her hands. Kate Drew softens at the sight of her daughter, her usually perfect posture long forgotten as she wilts into the bed.

“Nance,” she says quietly, and Nancy instantly looks up, her face crumpling. Kate crosses the bare room to sit next to her only daughter, wrapping a secure arm around her shoulder. “Moving must be hard, huh?” For the past month, the family of three had been packing up their New York home in River Heights, loading things into trucks as their friends came by with endless casseroles and ceramic dishes they didn’t know what to do with. Nancy, as social as her mother before her, had drawn into herself more and more as she made her goodbyes.

“Liven up Nance,” Carson, Kate’s husband and Nancy’s father had said not too long ago as they ate the tuna casserole Helen Coring - Nancy’s best friend - had brought earlier that day as they put the contents of Nancy’s room into a U Haul truck. “We’re moving to River Heights Drive. Not that much of a change, right?”

Nancy had spent the rest of the night glaring at her father, resenting his audacity, and Kate had taken over with the reassurances.

“Yeah. I just hate the idea that I’m missing senior year.”

“Well, you’re not missing it per say. You’re still going to school here.”

Nancy looks at the picture of her, Helen, and another friend named Burt at the junior prom, their arms around each other. Nancy sighs. She considers launching into a tirade about how New York and Maine are very different places and no she is missing school, the important parts at least, but she knows that this move is hard on her mother too, so she refrains. “I guess so,” she says, reluctantly putting the picture on the stand she had placed next to her bed.

Kate kisses the top of Nancy’s head. “Good. Now why don’t you explore and I’ll see what casserole I can heat up.”

“Ugh Mom,” Nancy says, already grinning as she pulls her blue raincoat from one of the boxes on the floor in front of her.

Nancy’s wanderings lead her to a small seafood restaurant with a great view of the Atlantic. Nancy’s not used to being this close to large bodies of water, and it’s making her a little nauseous. Her father, a native of Boston, assures her that she’ll get over the salt air smell, but Nancy’s not so sure.

She looks up at the claw shaped sign, creaking eerily on its pole. The Bayside Claw Nancy reads. What a fitting name. And a fitting sign. Nancy’s about to turn and keep walking, since she’s not a big seafood person, but she sees a handful of well dressed men enter the restaurant. Nancy’s spent enough time in New York City to know when a well dressed person is just fashion conscious, or when they’re rich and up to something. These men are definitely the latter. Nancy pauses for a few moments to make sure that the men have had the time to settle, since she locked eyes with a young man with sandy blond hair and the beginnings of a goatee, and she doesn’t want him to think she’s following him.

Nancy is an unnecessarily paranoid person.

She pushes through the doors of the restaurant and is nearly mowed over by a person the moment she steps into the dining area. “Whoah, I’m sorry,” she says, stepping back in time to see a woman with long black hair and an oversized cardigan stagger backwards, clearly discombobulated by well… everything.

“Ugh, Victoria,” A girl about Nancy’s age in a green uniform grumbles. She catches sight of Nancy. “Sorry about that ma’am,” the waitress says, reaching down to haul the woman (presumably Victoria) off the ground. The waitress pushes Victoria out of the door that’s still held open by Nancy. “Go be drunk somewhere else!” The waitress - whose name tag reads George - turns to Nancy. “Can I help you?”

Nancy freezes, not quite sure why to say she’s here now that she’s been spotted by this rather vocal waitress when she’s saved by another waitress, this time in yellow.

“George, Mr. Hudson wants us to give his wife food,” the waitress says in a posh British accent. She’s holding a wobbly plate of fish and salad in one hand.

George turns from Nancy to the new waitress, annoyance crossing her face. “Well what do you want me to do? Roll it onto a cart for her? Go bring it outside!”

“Mr. Hudson left his wife outside?” Nancy asks, without thinking.

“Yeah, that fellow over there,” the waitress in yellow points to the sandy haired man Nancy had tailed into here.

“And that fellow is both incredibly rich and able to give us a boost and my foster dad so maybe you should shut up and give Tiffany her food,” George snaps. Both Bess and Nancy flush.

“Sorry,” Bess mumbles, stepping away and around Nancy to slip through the front door. Nancy’s a little jostled when Bess passes her, and she spins a little, turning towards the kitchen. She catches sight of a young man in a colorful Hawaiian shirt ringing the bell to signify an order. They lock eyes - ice blue on sky - and Nancy feels a wave of déjà vu pass over her, but she shakes it off. She turns back to George, who’s still looking at her, waiting for Nancy to say something.

Finally, Nancy makes up her mind. If she’s going to be stuck in this tiny town she might as well do something to occupy her time. “Are you hiring?”

George looks her over. “Are you new here?”

Oh. So it’s that kind of tiny town. “Yes, my family just moved here.”

George nods. “Right. Well, we could always use a new waitress. We had one leave for college and Bess isn’t the brightest so…” George trails off, cocking her head. “Do you hear that?”

Both Nancy and George tilt their heads towards the front door of the restaurant, where they can hear muffled shouting. Both girls look at each other for a moment before Nancy spins and pushes the door open. George is hot on her heels, and after a few moments, a third pair of feet joins them. Nancy turns to see shaggy blond hair under a black cap and knows that it’s the boy from behind the counter.

Nancy stops suddenly when she sees Bess standing over a body, shock on her face. “Omph,” Nancy says as both George and the other guy come barreling into her. She stumbles, and George catches her around the waist. Nancy opens her mouth to ask the very obvious question hanging in the air-

“Bess? What happened?” a decidedly male voice asks, taking the words straight from Nancy’s mouth. She looks up to see a tall boy with cocoa skin exiting a blue truck parked a foot behind Bess, the body, and the sleek car looming over the person Nancy can only assume is Mrs. Hudson.

A strangled cry escapes George, and she rushes forward, dropping to her knees next to the woman. “Help her!” George says, looking up at the four of them as she lifts Mrs. Hudson’s head to rest on her knees. She cradles it in her hands like an injured bird.

“What happened?” the Hawaiian shirt boy repeats. Bess is sobbing now.

“I turned to go back to the restaurant and all of a sudden she cried out and fell! I don’t know!”

Nancy, still not quite sure what in the world is happening, crouches next to George and Mrs. Hudson. She lifts one of Mrs. Hudson’s hands, feeling her wrist for a pulse.

“She’s not dead,” she says as sirens come wailing towards them.

Fifteen minutes later, Nancy, Bess, George, and the two boys are sitting in the hospital waiting room with Mr. Hudson, George leaning against Mr. Hudson’s shoulder.

“The Hudsons have been her foster parents for the longest out of any of her homes,” Bess says, leaning over to whisper in Nancy’s ear. Nancy smiles at her. “I remember what it’s like being new. I only moved in with my aunt here in Horseshoe Bay last month. I used to live in London. I’m Bess by the way.”

“Nancy,” Nancy says.

“Welcome. Where did you live before?”

“New York.”

“City?”

“State.”

“Oh that’s nice. I love the city, did you go often?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Nancy says as the waiting room doors swing open. She’s startled to see a man in a uniform striding towards their little group. He’s probably in his thirty or forties, and he’s got a no nonsense look on his face.

“Are you the people found at the scene of the crime?” he asks in lieu of greeting.

“Woah, woah, crime?” Mr. Hudson asks, standing up, startling George, who had been dozing on his shoulder.

The officer turns to Mr. Hudson solemnly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “There was poison found in your wife’s system, Mr. Hudson, which means that someone had attempted to kill her.”

Everyone turns to Bess, except Mr. Hudson and the officers.

Mr. Hudson stares at the officer for a moment before sinking into his seat, a look of genuine fear on his face. “Who would want to kill Tif?”

“Not me I swear!” Bess cries, latching on to Nancy’s arm. Nancy gently pries her fingers off her arm.

The officer shakes his head, ignoring the distraught waitress. “I’m not sure sir, but it’s our job to figure it out. Why is why I need to speak to these five.”

They all look at Mr. Hudson: Nancy, George, Bess, and the two boys whose names Nancy still doesn’t know. But Mr. Hudson’s face is ashen, like he’s going into shock. The officer motions at the young people. “Come along.”

The five of them look at each other uncertainly before standing and following the officer into the hall. Nancy catches sight of his badge: Chief E. O. McGinnis.

Now, Nancy, being the daughter of a lawyer, should know her rights, and the right to remain silent is the biggest one, especially since she’s a minor, but she’s too confused and terrified to think straight.

She’s being investigated for attempted murder. Attempted murder. God her mother’s going to kill her.

The unlikely five line up against the wall. Chief McGinnis paces in front of them. “Alright. I’m looking at an ex-con,” he pauses in front of the guy from the truck. “The town screw up,” (this time he’s in front of George). “A city girl,” he’s in front of Bess now, who looks rather guilty in Nancy’s opinion. He moves to the fancy shirt guy standing next to Nancy. “An HBPD legacy and Nancy Drew.”

Except, that’s not what he says.

He pauses in front of Nancy, and tilts his head at her. “Who are you again?”

Nancy stares at him as the weird feeling of déjà vu hits her again. No. That’s not right. He knows who she is.

But she doesn’t know who he is.

Nancy feels her hands start to shake. Everything here is wrong. She should be sitting at the police station. She should know what’s happening. But she doesn’t because she’s being accused of attempted murder.

But it shouldn’t be attempted. Nancy slides down the wall, her hands pulling at her skin where she can feel the ghost of a locket.

My mother’s gonna kill me she thinks. But no, her mom’s dead. And Ryan isn’t George’s foster dad. He’s her dad.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t ri-

“Okay just give her space.”

When Nancy comes to, she’s looking up into the face of the boy who had been working at the Bayside Claw. Nancy’s laying on the ground, her head against the cold tile. The boy gently slips an arm under her shoulders, helping her to sit up.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks.

Nancy doesn’t know the answer to that. He can tell, so he tries a different question. “What’s your name?”

“Nancy Drew,” she croaks. He smiles.

“Hi Nancy Drew. My name is Ace Hardy.”

“Hi,” Nancy mumbles back.

“And that’s Nick,” Ace says, pointing to the boy from the truck who’s hovering on the outskirts of the circle of people around her. “I hear you’ve met the girls.”

Nancy nods and Ace gently slips his other arm under her knees, lifting her up in his arms like she weighs nothing. He walks her towards the waiting room, talking as he goes. “That, Nancy, was a panic attack. Have those often?”

Nancy leans her pounding head against his muscular shoulder. “No.”

“Well, first time for everything. Got anyone we can call?”

“My dad,” she mumbles. Ace nods to Bess, who rushes forward with her phone out. Nancy recites her father’s number, and Bess puts it to her ear.

“Hello? Hi, yes, this is Bess Marvin. I’m calling about your daughter. She’s in the hospital, she had a panic attack.” Bess is quiet for a moment. “Nancy Drew, yes.” After a moment, Bess rattles off directions and hangs up.

Ace puts Nancy down on a chair next to Mr. Hudson. Nancy looks at him sideways. She’s about to say something to him when suddenly - as if her brain has been reset or something - she forgets what she was going to say.

“Want some water Nancy?” Ace asks. Nancy smiles at the unfamiliar boy.

“Yes, please,” she says. He stands and heads to the water cooler, Bess taking his spot. “What did the officer mean by Ace is a legacy?”

“Oh, that,” Bess says sadly. “Ace’s father was a Captain on the police force. He was in a chase once when Ace was a child. His car got hit, and he didn’t make it.”

“That’s so sad,” Nancy says.

“I know,” Bess agrees. “His mother is all he has. She’s a librarian, but she doesn’t make a lot of money. They just get by with her salary and the pension from the state. That’s why Ace turned down MIT. To work at The Claw.”

“That must be so hard,” Nancy says. She can’t imagine giving up her dream of going to Columbia.

“It is,” Bess agrees as the doors to the waiting room are pushed open. Nancy sees her father and mother being trailed by an annoyed McGinnis.

“You can’t just take a suspect home! She has to be fingerprinted! She has to give her statement!”

Carson turns on McGinnis. “Excuse me, but my daughter is a minor and she’s had a panic attack.”

“We’re taking her,” Kate adds. She spots Nancy and rushes to her, crouching to put her hands on either side of her daughter’s face. “Nancy, baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Okay, we’re taking you home, don’t worry, Mom’s here.”

It’s a simple statement, and normally Nancy would complain that it makes her sound like a child, but it relaxes her nonetheless. She slumps into her mom, letting the exhaustion and confusion sink over her.

Kate runs her fingers through her red hair as Carson argues with McGinnis, who finally relents.

“Fine, fine, you all can go if Drew is going. But I expect you back at the station at eight am sharp.”

Nancy is pulled to her feet by her mother, and before she moves, she puts a hand on Mr. Hudson’s shoulder. “Your wife will get better sir,” she says. Mr. Hudson puts his hand over hers.

“Thanks.”

Nancy waves goodbye to everyone else before following her parents. As she falls asleep in the back seat of her dad’s car, all she can think is that something about this entire night is off.

#cw nancy drew fanfiction #nancy drew #ace #bess marvin #george fan #nick nickerson #au #queued

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xx-ingie-xx · 3 years

Text

Final? Forgotten Excerpt

As usual this chapter is taking a long time to write, but it is content I never planned on writing. So I had to outline it first, and that took a great deal of thought. But it's mostly done, and I'm happy with it so far. I have finished the first scene, so I figured I would post it here. This will likely be the last Forgotten excerpt I post before the story is completed, but who knows. If I take too long I might post another one. It will probably be the longest chapter in the story. 😀

---

“When peace returns to Hyrule... it will be time for us to say good-bye…”

The flight from Hyrule Castle, which Zelda remembered to be endless and terrifying, proved a quick and surreal experience when she lived it a second time. Transported back to the body of a child, she found herself tightly grasped in Impa’s arms as their steed tore across Hyrule Field. Yet the pouring rain had eased to a drizzle, and winking stars peeked through the dispersing clouds.

Minutes passed before Impa registered the change and slowed their horse to a halt. Her iron grip around Zelda’s small frame eased to a comfortable embrace as she heaved a sigh of relief. The princess clutched her arms in response, closing her eyes as a cool breeze swept across her face. With each breath she smelled grass and fertile earth, and the hum of nighttime critters caressed her ears—so different from the lifeless world they had left behind. Impa held their embrace for several moments, letting them absorb this new reality. Then she gently loosened her arms, took up the reins, and urged their horse back toward Castletown.

Smoke and ash stung Zelda’s eyes as they crossed the drawbridge, and with a sinking heart she saw that most of the town market stood in ruins. Carcasses of slain monsters still lay in the streets, and the sounds of mourning rang in Zelda’s ears.

“What happened?” Her people asked each other. “Is it over?”

The castle grounds were all but destroyed. Stone walls had been torn down, greenery burnt away. The dead had been covered or carted out of sight, and piles of rubble had been moved off the fractured, bloodstained road. Everywhere people worked to reverse the damage, moving in a trancelike state while their superiors issued commands. Others hurried to install temporary defenses, fearing another wave might come.

Zelda knew that attack would never come. Ganondorf had been sealed away in the Evil Realm, never to return. Most of his servants had fled with the dawn, and rest had been killed on sight. For these people, the war had ended as quickly as it began.

It was a triumph destined to remain unwritten in the pages of history. Zelda had never concerned herself with glory, but she had not expected to feel so hollow in the wake of victory. Hyrule’s future held a renewed promise of peace, yet all she could muster was a weary sense of relief.

As the days passed, life in the castle slowly returned to normal. The veil of fear had lifted, allowing light and laughter to fill the halls once more. The guards and staff resumed their routines, and the nobles flocked to her father’s court. Gossip was the worst offense Zelda witnessed, and luxury was no longer a dream.

Yet despite the merry atmosphere, Zelda found herself in low spirits. She sought solitude between lessons and prayers, wandering the manicured gardens with her eyes downcast. A strange sense of loss festered within her, and a familiar loneliness crept into her heart.

Her thoughts often strayed to the boy in green, the unsung hero of Hyrule. She assumed he had returned to his quiet life in the forest—a life she disrupted when she woke him to his destiny. Like her, he had been given the chance to relive his childhood in peace, but they were both forever changed. Time had reversed Ganondorf's devastation, but the memories remained, carved into their minds and imprinted on their souls.

Every day she recalled their last farewell, wondering if she had imagined the reluctance in his face. Sometimes she fantasized about traveling to the Lost Woods to find him, if only to see he was happy. Of course she never attempted it. She did not wish to intrude, but more than that she feared what she would find, that he might look upon her with indifference… or resentment.

The Gerudo tribe, Ganondorf's people, had appointed Nabooru as their new leader. When Zelda's father received the news, he invited her to Hyrule Castle in the name of peace. Nabooru arrived in a small but impressive caravan, bringing lavish gifts of spices, artifacts, and jewels of exotic beauty, along with a proclamation that Ganondorf had been executed for his crimes. It was a lie based in truth, the only explanation the people of Hyrule could accept.

Zelda had not been present for Nabooru's reception, but she had watched the scene unfold through a window outside the audience chamber, just as she watched Ganondorf's reception. This time, however, Zelda felt no ominous foreboding brought on by prophetic dreams, and Nabooru's pledge to form an alliance was genuine.

Zelda did feel something familiar, however.

For it was in that moment, just as she began to turn away from the window, that she felt a tingling on her right hand, one she had not felt since the final battle against Ganon. The hairs stood on the back of her neck, and she found herself frozen in disbelief.

It cannot be…

With a pounding heart she slowly turned around, one hand drifting to her parted lips.

And there he stood, clothed in the same green tunic and cap, just as he had on the day they first met—minus his fairy companion, she noted. He greeted her with a smile—a hopeful, nervous smile, void of the resentment she had feared. Zelda's heart swelled, and for the first time in weeks a delighted smile lit her face.

“...Link!”

Her eyes opened.

Slowly Zelda sat up, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight filtering through the window dressings.

How… did I get here…?

She threw off the covers and left the bed, pulling on her robe as she left the room—only to pause in the doorway. There she found Impa, seated in the next room with a book and a steaming cup of tea.

Zelda observed her a moment, feeling an unbidden rush of affection for the woman who once served as her guardian. Memories of those seven long years they spent in hiding seemed unusually fresh in her mind…

Memories, Zelda realized with amazement, that she could not recall mere hours ago.

"Zelda, you're awake...”

Impa had barely risen from her seat when Zelda rushed forward to embrace her.

"Ne'lear, what is it?" Impa murmured, lifting a hand to smooth Zelda's hair. "Was it a nightmare?"

"No," Zelda whispered, pulling away to give her a tearful smile. "Not a nightmare. Impa… I don't know what happened last night, but something has changed."

#Zelda #fanfiction #Fortitude #Forgotten #excerpt

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wienerbarnes · 4 years

Text

Left for Dead (1/2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,803

Warnings: mentions to bombs and mission stuff, mentions to past torture

A/N: a lil two parter! I'm def a shorter writer so I split up reader’s first mission as opposed to posting like a 5k one shot (unless y'all dig that better for the future???) I’m gonna queue the second part to post on Friday idk what time but otherwise we all know id forget... so. enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

It was finally time for your first mission. The night before, F.R.I.D.A.Y. prompted you with the fact that there would be a briefing this morning at 8 A.M. You’d figured the superheroes weren’t the type to sleep in.

As much as you’d been enjoying the return of your clothes, you figured it’d be safest to keep the black-on-black outfit for these briefings and anything else you’d be involved in. Attention is not necessarily something you’d want to draw on yourself right now.

You finally find the room you’re supposed to be in and find about eighty other agents. A wave of anxiety rushes through you and you feel your stomach churn. You want to look around and find someone you recognize but Sam is the only one you see; you don’t know anybody. You’re scared to talk to new people, to have small talk, you’re scared of what they’ll say to you, if they’ll remember your face from the news.

You see near the front a blonde head of hair - Sharon. You haven’t spoken to her, but she’d be the safest bet, except there’s no empty seat on either side of her. She’s conversing with a woman with ginger hair to her left and a large body with short brown hair occupies the seat to her right - Bucky!

You notice there’s an empty seat next to him and quickly make your way over before your luck diminishes and someone takes it.

Bucky registers somebody take a seat next to him, which surprises him because most of the agents are still a little scared of him after spending seven weeks training with him. He certainly doesn’t treat them like shit, but he doesn’t baby them, either. He almost doesn’t notice it’s you when he glances up; he forgot you’ve changed your look a bit.

The tattoo on your next is covered with makeup, the angry face too much of an identifying feature. He knows you hate it and were planning on getting it covered anyway. You’ve removed all of your piercings and all of the tiny holes remain empty along your ears. You’ve managed to keep the tiny stud in your nose, though. Your hair is a jet black color now and it shines in the light. How has your hair survived that many dye jobs? Stupid rules for this job; no brightly colored hair or large body modifications, excluding tattoos. Draws too much attention.

He can sense your anxiety next to him; your heart is beating a mile a minute and you’re super tense. He wants to say something, do something to make you feel a bit better, put you at ease, but he can’t think of anything before Sam calls the attention of the room.

“Morning, everyone. NCIS has requested our help with finding a bomb on a Navy ship and figuring out the identity of the woman who told them about said bomb,”

Images flash up behind him projecting pictures of said woman, looking scared with a bloodied bandage on her forehead. She has a fluffy pixie-cut style dark hair and pale skin, or perhaps her skin is pale in comparison to the caked blood matted on her head. Her eyes are a bright green with minimal wrinkles adorning the outer corners. She couldn’t be older than thirty-five.

“A citizen driving by saw her wandering about the street next to a forest and when he approached her she claimed she was buried alive and couldn’t provide any information about herself; not her name, age, where she came from, or who buried her. All she kept repeating was something about a bomb on a Navy ship that was going to kill a lot of people.” Sam continues.

“I’ll be sending some of you out to Rock Creek Park to scope out the scene and some of you to Georgetown University Hospital to talk to Jane Doe. You’re dismissed but await further instruction and be prepared to ship out.” Sam finishes and everyone begins to stand, engaging in small conversations as they exit the room.

You begin to stand and follow suit but a metal hand reaches out in front of you to encourage you to take your seat once more. You throw a confused look over at Bucky, but he’s not looking at you. You glance over to Sharon, who’s staring down at her phone, and to Sam who is flicking through the file in his hands. The four of you, you notice, are the only ones still in their seats, and you quickly make the connection that you’re supposed to wait until the rest of the agents leave after a briefing.

Maybe they’re gonna haze you, newbie. You roll your eyes at that little voice as the door shut and hear it lock audibly.

The three of them glance up and stare at you expectantly. You glance between all three of them before you give up on figuring out what exactly they’re waiting for.

“Are you guys gonna haze me?”

Sharon smirks and Bucky full on chuckles at your question as Sam clarifies, “Do you see anything?”

“Oh! Oh, right, right. Uhm… It kind of doesn't work like - um, I’ll try. I’ll try and concentrate.” You excuse, and close your eyes to force yourself into that mindset.

Most of your visions happen unexpectedly and randomly, otherwise you need to put yourself in a kind of entranced state of concentration in order to, essentially, force a vision. Forcing it is usually what causes you to get the most emotional and frazzled, but nothing you can’t handle.

You feel your face heat up at the shyness your abilities are presenting right now; “Um, can we turn the lights off?” You ask quietly.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Sam speaks up.

The lights dim and you try to slow your breathing.

She’s covered in leaves and wet from humidity, the stickiness feeling unbearable on her skin. Her skin? Whose skin is that?

“It-It’s a shallow grave, and - and there’s leaves, um -” All you see and feel is pure confusion. You don’t know anything. “Why is it so shallow? They bury people six feet because - because that’s the depth where animals can’t smell dead, rotting flesh - except - except polar bears because they -” Your rambling is cut short at the sound of Bucky’s soft voice and his warm hand engulfing your shaking, clammy one.

“Sweetheart, try and focus on the Navy ship she was talking about, the bomb on the Navy ship.” He tries to get you back on track.

“Right, right, sorry,” You take a deep, shaky breath in and let out with force to calm yourself a bit.

It’s all quick white flashes, so fast and so bright that can’t see the images in between. All you get are feelings of fear and guilt -

“Do you know if she set the bomb?” A deep voice interrupts.

“Sam,” A feminine one scolds.

“What? There’s only one person that seems to know about this bomb and we’re not going to consider her a suspect?”

“She doesn’t even know who she is,”

“But -”

“She didn’t set the bomb!” You exclaim, everything becoming incredibly overwhelming all at once.

“How do you know?” Bucky asks, his calm demeanor influencing your own as you rub your face to somewhat pull yourself together.

“I - I - I just do! I don’t know! I - I keep seeing bomben hersteller, what - what is that?” You ask.

“That’s bomb fabricator in German.” Bucky translates.

“Okay, let’s stop for a second.” Sharon says, “This is a lot of new information, we should wait and see what evidence and samples come back from the crime scene and see what we can get out of her when the agents interview her at the hospital, maybe her condition’s changed and she remembers something, yeah?” You quickly realize that Sharon is the piece of mind between the dynamic of her and Sam while he strategizes the plans. They work extremely well together.

“Okay, okay. Agent, you did very well. Good job.” Sam praises before leaving to exit the conference room, you assume to go give the agents their orders. Sharon sends you a sweet smile before following Sam out.

You look back at Bucky and he’s already looking at you, smile on his face. “You did really good.” He tells you.

“Thanks.” You respond, feeling a lot calmer.

The two of you are sitting awfully close to each other, you notice, bodies turned to face each other in the rolling chairs you sit in. Bucky’s leaning closer towards you than you are him, his forearm pushing on the armrest and you find yourself pulling your eyes away from his and they travel around his face.

Bucky has beautifully long eyelashes and tiny sunspots and freckles that decorate his skin; skin that’s had over a hundred years of wear. He’s kept his hair short but has been growing out his beard, not to an uncomfortable burly length, but enough to leave quite the dark shadow. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and your eyes flash down there.

You don’t even remember the last time you kissed someone, let alone someone you actually wanted to kiss, not a kiss that was forced upon you. Is he actually about to fucking kiss me right now?

Panic quickly rises through your body and you clear your throat and look away, “Uh, now what?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I can’t go out on missions or anything, so do I, uh, just wait to be summoned, I guess?” Summoned? Why are you so awkward?

“Pretty much, yeah. I’ll, uh, be sticking around, too. Sometimes for ongoing missions I stick around in one of the spare rooms until the case is over.” He softly tells you, unmoving from how close he’s sitting next to you and voice still low and smooth, not looking away from you. Can he tell how nervous and awkwardly attracted to him you feel right now?

“What about Alpine?” You whisper back.

“What?” His eyes are the ones drifting down to your lips, now. Soft looking lips that look like they could kiss him silly and unconscious.

“Alpine?”

“Oh, uh, she stays with my, uh, my neighbor. This little old lady next door to me.” Great, now I’m thinking about my old lady neighbor. You’re biting that lip now and he thinks he might start drooling when you stand suddenly.

“I, uh, just remembered. I have to… clean! I have to clean up, so. I’ll see you.” You push out before finally exiting the room and making your way down the hallway.

You release a frustrated, “Fuck…” as the elevator doors close in front of you.

Meanwhile, Bucky lets out his own groan of frustration in the conference room, hands pushed against his eyes rubbing harshly, “Fuck…”

#bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes one shot #Bucky Barnes fan fiction #marvel #marvel fan fiction

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wingsofkpop · 4 years

Text

Hiraeth — I.II: Curosity Killed the Cat

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, Angst, slight Fluff, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature language, descriptions of death and murder, mentions of blood, mentions of traumatic experiences, mention of reader having an anxiety attack, etc.

word count: 6,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

“Jihyo, please just—OW!” Pain shoots like electricity through your limbs as your hip catches the railing of the stairwell while your ankle rolls dangerously along the edge of the top step. You cling to your roommate’s shoulders, trying to find balance in the midst of her steel-like grip to avoid inevitably breaking a bone… or your entire body.

“Shit. Sorry, (Y/N).” Jihyo murmurs apologetically, hoisting your arm higher around her shoulders. You bite back a frustrated retort and instead, find the patience to allow your support to haul you toward your shared apartment’s door. There’s honestly no need for Jihyo’s help in scaling the stairways, seeing as somehow, after the incident in the alleyway, you were completely unscathed, but she insisted. And when Jihyo puts her mind to something, there’s no pulling her out.

Jihyo kicks open the door after unlocking it, and tugs you forward with a proud grin, “Home sweet home. All in one piece.”

“The bruise on my hips says otherwise,” You groan, breathing a sigh of relief when you finally escape her hold. “I think I’m more hurt than I was in the actual hospital.”

“Hush, child.” Jihyo drags the warm jacket from your shoulders before bending down to undo the laces of your boots. You sigh, but make no complaint about her fussing—you’d only receive another long lecture anyway. After another minute or two, Jihyo finishes sliding off your boots and guides you into the living room. Your eyes meet the sight of Sana nestled inside the giant, olive beanbag cushion, and two unfamiliar girls settled on the sofa beside her.

“Look who’s home!” Jihyo calls cheerfully, turning the three sets of eyes away from the Pretty Little Liars rerun playing on the TV screen and in your direction. In the blink of an eye, Sana leaps from her seat and throws herself against your body. You almost lose your balance from the force of impact, but manage to return her hug without fault.

“I was so worried when Mark called us,” Sana’s arms tighten around your waist. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay?”

“I’ll try,” You rub her back, “I’m okay, Sana.”

“You should sit down, (Y/N).” You pull from your friend’s embrace to nod at Jihyo, accepting the spot on the sofa where one of the girls had given up for your benefit. You shoot her a grateful smile, receiving a shy one in return.

“Oh, that’s right! (Y/N), Jihyo, this is Mina, and Momo—” Sana points to each girl with their respected names, “the friends from my high school in Japan I was telling you guys about. They’re visiting for a few weeks.”

“Welcome to Moon Dye,” Jihyo nods politely. “Sorry about all this chaos right off the bat. (Y/N), here, managed to land herself in the hospital last night.”

“It’s a long story.” You chuckle, your cheeks growing hot at both Mina and Momo’s concerned stares. “But I’m perfectly fine. Good as new.”

“What even happened, (Y/N)?” Sana asks curiously while lowering onto the arm of the couch beside you. You open your mouth to answer, but Jihyo’s voice emerges instead:

“(Y/N)’s already had a rough enough night as it is. Let’s not put her on the spot.” Again, you try to protest your good health, but the girls had already moved to a new subject by the time you open your mouth.

To be honest, you still don’t believe the story that you fell in that dark alley, hit your head and knocked yourself out—the one that everyone is shoving down your throat. Even Mark didn’t believe you when you tried to explain the details you remember from last night. His words were similar to the very ones that Jinyoung had said: ‘You hit your head, (Y/N). Your memory is probably all sorts of fucked up.’

But he’s wrong. Jinyoung is wrong. Everyone else is wrong. You know you were attacked, and maybe you don’t know what it was, but someone—something tried to kill you. And it was pretty damn close… but that just begs another question: How the hell did you survive and come out with not even a scratch?

“—was just so sudden. I just couldn’t believe it when I heard the news.” You return to reality just in time to see Jihyo shake her head, a pained expression written across her round face. “I mean, how does something like that just happen? You know?”

“What are you talking about?”

Four pairs of eyes turn at your voice as Sana answers, “Im Nayeon was found dead in Eclipse Cemetery. My mom said she was killed by an animal.” You heard Mark mention Nayeon’s name a few times in past conversations, but had never spoken to the woman herself. She works in a tiny shop in Poison Square, Moon Dye Bay’s most infamous shopping complex, reading tarot cards and giving fortunes—she worked there, that is. Still, Mark and Nayeon were friends, so he must have known. Is that why he broke down at the hospital? But why wouldn’t he tell you?

Your eyebrows furrow, “An animal? How is that possible?”

“What goes around, comes around.” You perk up as one of Sana’s friends, Momo, you believe, speaks up for the first time. She returns your glance with a blank stare, which sends a violent chill up your spine, “It happens to the best of us.”

“How can you say that?” You scoff, “A girl is dead—”

“I’m so sorry,” The other friend, the one who relinquished her seat, Mina steps in this time, “My sister can be a little intense sometimes. She didn’t mean it in a condescending way.”

“You’re sisters?”

Mina shrugs, “Fostered, actually. We’ve kind of just… stuck together.”

You nod, “I get it. I was a foster kid too.” Mina nods too, but doesn’t say anything in response. As she’s turning back to the surrounding trio, your eyes catch sight of a shiny, gold necklace tucked into the collar of her shirt. You can’t see the charm on the end, but just by the chain, it looked ancient. Probably a family heirloom of some sorts.

Your mind returns back to Nayeon before wandering to your own attacker. At the connection, your blood runs cold. Is it possible that whatever monster that attempted to take your life had succeeded in ensnaring Nayeon’s instead? It may explain the reluctance toward your true story, and the attacker’s animal-like behavior… but what of your miraculous recovery? And what does Jinyoung have to do with any of this?

Something is going on in Moon Dye Bye… and you’re going to find out what.

“By the way, Momo, I love your tattoo.” You barely catch Jihyo’s comment as you rise from the sofa and begin to make your way toward your bedroom. You hadn’t gotten much sleep at the hospital, partly because of Mark, and partly because you just couldn’t find the will to close your eyes. To be honest, you don’t even know if you’ll be able to catch sleep in your own bed any better. Too lost in your own exhaustion, you don’t catch Sana’s laugh just as you’re shutting your bedroom door:

“Momo doesn’t have a tattoo, Ji! Are you sure you’re not the one who hit her head!?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

The fogginess of his dreamworld fades as Mark gradually begins to awaken from his slumber. He parts his eyelids, only to immediately shut them with an annoyed hiss as a ray of sunlight stabs into his sensitive pupils. To escape the day’s wrath, he rolls to his opposite side and away from the lone window, reminding himself to invest in a set of curtains in the near future.

Mark forces his upper body upward on the sofa. He groans, the movement placing a strain on his back, and lifts his arms over his head to alleviate the knots of his muscles. With a sigh, Mark wipes the remnants of a poor night’s sleep from his face before glancing back to the window. Judging by the brightness of the sun, he must have slept through the entire morning and early afternoon.

Mark sighs again, recalling the gruesome nightmares that plagued his slumber: Nayeon’s loud screams stabbing into his soul as an unfamiliar shadow drove a large knife into her immobile body over and over again until he could feel her blood splattering all across his skin. Then, in the midst of his terror, Nayeon’s face would shift to yours… and he could do nothing but watch as the monster stole the life from your eyes…

He pushes the thought away, suddenly nauseous, and rises from the sofa, heading toward the small kitchenette in the corner to start up a pot of coffee. As he passes the window, Mark notices a couple figures congregating around an array of chipped, ancient headstones. At first, Mark believes them to be the forensic cleaners finishing up the removal of the crime scene, but he catches the sight of the back of Youngjae’s head… and someone he definitely does not want to see.

“God fucking damnit—” He curses to himself, abandoning his coffee and stomping outside with the beginnings of a sneer pulling across his face. At the call of his name, both Youngjae and his companion turn to face Mark just as he reaches their meeting place, “What the hell is he doing here!?”

“I’m sorry, hyung… I thought it’d be better if I didn’t tell you about this…” Mark glares at the younger who seems to shudder beneath its intensity. Youngjae looks down guiltily, before silently mumbling something to himself.

“Don’t be upset with him,” At the voice, Mark shifts his angry gaze to the vampire. “I came on my own accord. I want to make a proposition.”

“You’ve got to be kidding, right? Why would we ever want to make a deal with you?”

“Because I can help you find out who killed your seer.” Jinyoung replies coolly, reaching inside the pocket of his casual, navy blazer to pull out a pocket-sized, leather-bound book with cream colored pages. He offers it to Mark, “This is an old journal that belonged to a powerful witch who was a descendant in a long line of Pagan Witchcraft. It contains thousands of ancient scriptures and symbols dating back to the first century.”

Mark snatches the book and immediately begins to flip through it. None of the text encrypted along the pages are anything he’d ever seen before, likely being written in a different language. He allows the cover to shut and passes it to Youngjae before narrowing his eyes at Jinyoung, “How did you know we were looking for an old symbol?”

“I have contacts at the morgue, so I paid her body a visit myself.” Mark bites back a frustrated slur and wills himself to let the vampire finish, “In all the centuries I’ve been alive, I have only seen a symbol like that once—in dark magic.” The loathing Mark feels for Jinyoung completely vanishes at the mention of the dark arts, shifting back into the nausea from before. “I believe whoever killed your seer drew power from something, be it a spell or an object, in order to gain enough strength to overpower her, which means—”

“Whatever doing this is supernatural.” Youngjae finishes with a grimace, “They must have used dark magic to strip her of her powers before she was killed. I couldn’t trace any magic use from her body.”

“She’s not the first.” Again, Jinyoung retracts a set of papers from his jacket and hands them to Mark, “I’ve traced hundreds of unexplained deaths in dozens of towns. Each witch had that same symbol carved into their chest.”

“They’re specifically targeting covens— ” Mark breathes, glancing over the provided documents, “Slaughtering them and… fucking hell.”

Jinyoung nods, “You and your people need to be careful. Whoever is doing this will try to kill again.” Mark hesitates for a moment before mindlessly closing his hand into a fist, crushing the papers in his grasp. He resumes his glare at the vampire.

“What’s in it for you? Why are you helping us?”

Jinyoung’s eyes soften, “This town has already seen enough death. I don’t wish for it to see anymore.”

Jinyoung’s response delivers a harsh punch to Mark’s gut, leaving him almost breathless. Unwanted memories rush into his head like a parasite—the guilt he had pushed down so long ago beginning to eat away at his soul. Too lost inside his own head, Mark remains silent as Jinyoung and Youngjae exchange a couple final words, before the former gestures toward the book in the younger’s hands.

“I have places to be, but let me know if you manage to find the symbol. I’ll see if I can find more information about the murdered covens.” The vampire offers a nod of farewell and turns to leave, but surprising himself, Mark snaps from his headspace and calls out:

“Jinyoung…!”

Jinyoung halts to peer over his shoulder, “Yes?” Mark hesitates again, somewhere in between what seems to be long-harbored resentment and mental exhaustion. His eyes glance toward the gravel pathway meters away where Nayeon’s corpse had laid only hours ago, until his mind shifts to thoughts about you: The warmth of your arms… The genuine promise of your voice… The gleam of your eyes… All of his anger immediately dissipates.

He nods, “I don’t want anyone else to die either.” Jinyoung merely blinks in response before continuing his journey toward the exit of the cemetery. Mark watches his silhouette fade into the glare of the afternoon sun with the documents still tightly grasped in his palms. Only once the vampire is out of sight does he release a sigh and face his younger companion:

“Call Minho, Jisung and Lia, and get them all here.” Mark combs a hand through his hair with a huff, “No one leaves my sight until we catch this fucker and put them so far underground, they won’t be able to climb back up from Hell.”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Splashes of water splatter across your ankles and wet the bottom of your jeans as you sprint through a massive array of puddles. Although it does little to protect your body from the pouring rain, you tug your jacket tighter around your shoulders. The one evening you choose to take a spur-of-the-moment book run to escape your overdramatic and overbearing roommates, it has to be raining cats and dogs. Luckily, the town’s only bookstore is not too far from your apartment.

You manage to reach the shop just as the wind begins to pick up and hurriedly push past the door. A sigh falls past your lips, briefly pausing to relish the warm, rain-free atmosphere before receding further into the store. Ever since you moved to Moon Dye, the Bookshop of Lullabies has become one of few places you frequent often. It’s a quaint, little place stuffed from top to bottom with texts of all kinds, and barely enough space for a single person to squeeze through the aisles. If you travel deep enough through the maze of shelves, there’s a tiny nook complete with a window seat and throw cushions softer than a bed of silk—you like to spend a lot of your time cuddled up there with a nice book.

“Look who finally decided to show up and cure my boredom. Good thing—I was just thinking about chewing my arm off.” Unsurprised, you turn to find a familiar face behind the cashier counter. One that, like the store itself, you have seen quite often.

You first met Bambam through Mark—the two were friends in high school—at a dinner event his mother, the mayor of Moon Dye, held for his birthday. Aside from the occasional rich kid personality quirks, you’ve found Bambam to be quite a humble and reliable person, especially in providing you discounted books and helpful tips for living in town.

“Hello to you too, Bam.” You smile. “How are things?”

Bambam shrugs, “Slow day, and the rain really doesn’t help. Anyway, what are you looking for today? Maybe an edgy dystopian with way too much backstory? Or a sickeningly sweet love story where the simp dies? ”

“I'll honestly take anything you deem acceptable at this point.”

“You’re giving me way too much trust there, babygirl.” He chuckles, pilfering through a nearby box of books in order to gratify your request. “Mark told me you had a pretty rough spill last night. You okay?”

“To be completely honest—not really.” You traipse over to the counter and lay your bag across its surface. Bambam moves aside some books to make room before offering a nearby stool for you to sit, “I just, I’m still confused on what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everybody says I fell and hit my head, but I don’t think that’s what happened—no—” You shake your head, “I know that’s not what happened, but it’s like everyone is just, I don’t know… hiding something.” Through the corner of your eye, you notice how Bambam’s shoulders tense at your comment, but brush it off as an odd tick. “But I guess what I don’t understand is why they’d want to… I mean, Mark would never keep something that important from me…” Once again, the clerk’s body fidgets uncomfortably—this time, furthering the suspicion brewing in your gut.

Your eyes narrow, “Bam… Do you know something that I don’t?”

He seems to hesitate, running a hand through his tousled ivory-dyed tresses before peering toward the door, as if expecting someone else to enter. You open your mouth to pry, but Bambam’s answer beats you to it, “There’s a lot of things I know that you don’t…”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean—?”

“It means that this town has secrets…” The abrupt change in his tone increases the uneasiness in your stomach, temporarily changing your frustrated mood to one of fear. A violent shiver crawls down your spine at his next words, “...secrets that can get you killed.”

“What secrets?” Your annoyance returns at his ambiguous response, “What does this have to do with what happened to me last night?”

“Well, you were attacked, weren’t you?”

Your blood turns cold. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“I told you, I know a lot of things.” He releases a sigh before bending down to disappear behind the wood of the counter. He returns only seconds later with a seemingly old, leather-bound book clutched in both hands. You watch, wide-eyed like a fish, as he slides the object toward you.

“This journal belonged to my great-, great-, great-grandmother, the first ever mayor of Moon Dye Bay.” Bambam begins, watching closely as you cautiously grab the text as if it would turn to dust in your grasp. “It contains private information about the town you won’t find anywhere else.”

“And you’re just giving it to me?”

“I’m pointing you in the right direction.” He states matter-of-factly, “If you live in this town, you should know what you’re up against.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because if anyone were to find out, it would be dangerous for the both of us.”

“But why—?”

“Please just trust me on this, (Y/N).” You can do nothing but stare at Bambam, your thoughts too much of a jumbled, chaotic mess to come up with another reply. You want to insist—you want to insist over and over again until the clerk eventually spills—but you know it’s hopeless. There are few moments where Bambam is ever this serious, so whatever mess you managed to get yourself into—it’s crucial.

You finally nod after another eon of silence and tuck the old journal inside your bag, “How much?”

“Consider it a six-month late welcome-to-town gift.” Bambam’s poor attempt at humor does little to lift your spirits, but you still scrounge up a weak smile and an even weaker thank you. As you make your way toward the exit, you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your head, and for once in a lifetime, you can’t wait to head out into the pouring rain. Just as you’re pushing through the door, Bambam calls out:

“Hey, babygirl?”

You turn with a sigh, “What is it, Bam?”

“Just be careful, okay?” He murmurs heavily, “Those monsters that used to hide under our beds when we were kids, well… They grew up too.” You don’t bother to answer, send the clerk a parting nod and take off into the blurriness outside the bookstore. Your lungs welcome the damp air, attempting to soothe the racing of your heart with each breath. Even though you’re all wrapped up in your coat, your hands still tremble.

If what Bambam said is true, and this town is hiding something, and you eventually do find out what that something is, then how badly will it change your life? You moved to Moon Dye Bay to escape the traumas of your past… not to create new demons that will haunt your mind day and night. It’s been so long since you’ve felt what it feels like to belong somewhere, but then… Do you really want a place full of darkness, secrets and lies as a home?

You quickly dash across the street, barely avoiding an approaching car driving way over the given speed limit. The rain only makes the atmosphere more ominous, both obscuring your vision and deafening your ears. Images from last night pop into your head which fuels the hurriedness of your pace. You can’t seem to control your breathing, or the anxiety swallowing your form.

What if that monster was following you as you think? Is he aching to finish the job he failed to last night, and take your life as his prize? What if there’s no miracle there to save you this time? What if you die in a wet, dark alleyway where nothing but the rats can—?

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?” You hadn’t realized somewhere in your rush you’d paused to rest against the building, awakening from your panicked trance at the warm voice that invades your ears like honey. You quickly compose yourself, shove your now vibrating hands in the pocket of your coat, and turn to face the familiar face with a confused expression.

“Jinyoung? Are you following me?”

“Where would you get an idea like that?” Jinyoung hurriedly pulls you underneath the awning of a shop and out of the rain. “I just left the police station and saw you out here by yourself. You seem… stressed.”

“Aside from wet socks, I’m alright.” You shake your head, “Why were you at the police station?”

“I had some business to take care of,” He answers, obviously not desiring to provide any more details to satiate your curiosity. “Anyway, what brings you out in this weather?”

“Honestly, I just needed to escape from my crazy, overbearing roommates.” You shake the rain from your hair with a chuckle, “Just left the bookstore actually.”

“I didn’t take you for the bookworm type.”

“What? Just because I don’t exude the ‘shy, silent, glasses-wearing’ stereotype?”

Jinyoung chuckles at your comeback, the sound gritty and amused, before placing a hand over his chest, “My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Well, choose your words more carefully then.”

He nods with a smile, “I’ll definitely do that.” The raindrops pelting against the top of the awning creates a comfortable rhythm as you and Jinyoung fall into a heavy silence. Jinyoung continues to wear his tight, close-lipped smile while you continue to stare, not knowing whether to comment on his odd talent in appearing out of nowhere or reminisce in the storminess of his brown irises. You choose neither, and opt to end the conversation where it is:

“It was really nice to see you again, but I should get back before the weather turns into a full-blown hurricane.”

“That would probably be best,” Jinyoung steps aside, allowing you the room to pass by, and hums, “It’s always a pleasure, (Y/N).” You shoot him a grateful smile before launching back into the raging of the storm, immediately missing his uniquely charming aura and caramel-like gaze. Just from the interaction with Jinyoung, both your mind and body feel much more relaxed and in a way… almost safe.

Too deep in your own thoughts, you fail to catch the second shadow that slinks out of a nearby alleyway and behind Jinyoung’s broad body.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Have you lost your goddamn mind!?” Mark pinches the bridge of his nose at the high-pitched wail of the fuming, dark-haired witch, suddenly craving a drink to take the edge off of his nerves. Maybe they have some leftover grey goose in the cupboard— “You must have, cause you just made a deal with the fucking devil!”

“Can you at least try not to yell?” From the center of a nearby ring of burning candles and sage on the floor, Lia sighs in annoyance, “I’m pretty sure the entire town can hear you at this point.”

“Shut up!” Minho hisses at the female, before replacing his laser-like glare back on Mark. “I mean, you do understand how utterly stupid this entire thing is, right!? Things suddenly turn to shit and you run to those bloodsucking bastards for help!?”

“He gave us a book, Minho. It’s not like I signed our souls away.”

He scoffs, “You might as well have! Didn’t it ever occur to you that the Primes just want an opportunity to pick us off like flies? I mean, how do we know they weren’t the ones that killed Nayeon?”

“Youngjae’s tracking spell would have picked up their trail.” Mark sluggishly walks toward the stove, retrieving the whistling kettle before its volume reaches that of a shrill scream. He sighs and generously refills his coffee cup, “And you know very well that if they wanted us dead, we would have been in the ground months ago.”

“You’re not listening to me!” Mark takes a sip of the steaming stimulant, the liquid doing nothing to ease the pounding of his head as Minho continues to rant, “We are all going to end up dead! We should have run them out of town when we had the opportunity in the first place—”

“Oh my fucking god! Can you shut your mouth for a goddamn second!?” Lia’s anger sends chaos throughout the mausoleum. Jisung barely avoids a barrage of books spilling from their shelves while Youngjae ducks in time for a potted plant to fly over his head and shatter against the wall. Lia storms across the room, a trail of hot flames following her steps, and pokes a single finger into Minho’s chest with a sneer, “Nayeon-unnie is dead, okay!? And there is a psycho out there right now with their eyes on another witch in this room!? Mark is doing the best he can so it’s not your moronic ass that’s next on the hit list!”

Minho remains silent, visibly surprised by the younger witch’s outburst. For a moment, Mark notices a spark of guilt behind his eyes before they shift to their usual cold exterior.

“I don’t want anyone else to die, okay? But making a truce with one of the oldest vampires in existence is not a good plan—”

“Well, it’s the only plan we have right now.” Mark sighs, “I do what’s best for my people—to keep you safe.”

Minho stares coldly at Mark, “Yeah, just like you kept Jackson safe. Right?”

Stunned by the witch’s sudden question, Mark is both physically and mentally unable to respond. He simply stares back at Minho with his jaw practically dropped to the floor. Minho shamelessly meets his eyes, as if finding joy out of Mark’s shock.

“Hey, guys…” The brief moment of tension breaks at Youngjae’s call, who all this time, had been stationed behind the lectern flipping through the journal Jinyoung had gifted only hours ago. Mark feels the many cups of coffee sitting in his stomach churn at the absolute terror spread along Youngjae’s face. Though at his next words, Mark almost believes his entire insides turn inside-out, “I found the symbol that was on Nayeon’s body…

“It means ‘Hunter’.”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung watches your silhouette recede into the blur of the rain with a smile. His mind reels back to your conversation, and how prettily your eyes shimmered in the mist. If it were any other person, Jinyoung wouldn’t care much for the spitfire-type of attitude, but with you… He actually enjoys your ferocious nature. It showcases your livelihood—and mortal strength.

Jinyoung had planned to keep his word to Mark and steer clear, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when he spotted you standing in the midst of the storm. Something inside him is drawn to you, almost like a moth to a flame. It excites him, but startles him all the same. Never before has Jinyoung felt such a magnetic pull to another person—certainly not a human woman. Though, the rational voice in the back of his head still believes some part of you is not all that mortal…

A wave of chill dampens the cheeriness of his mood, pulling a sigh of annoyance from his lips. He doesn’t have to turn around to feel the stealthy presence behind him. With one last glance toward the direction in which you vanished, and another huff, Jinyoung tugs on the lapels of his blazer and speaks:

“Following me again, hyung?”

A deep-set chuckle carries into Jinyoung’s ears, “In all our centuries together, I’ve never quite succeeded in getting anything past you… huh, Jinyoungie?” Jinyoung turns to face his brother, immediately growing more annoyed at his usual, nonchalant stance complete with lazily crossed arms, tilted head and a devious smirk along his lips. “Though, if I knew any better, I’d believe you’re not exactly thrilled to see me?”

“Well, do you know any better?”

Jaebeom laughs, “You’re still upset with me. What else is new.”

“Forgive me if I’m not jumping through the roof because of your erratic behavior.” Jinyoung shoots his brother a glare before shoving his right hand in the respected pocket of his jeans. “Nine bodies all drained of blood, hyung. Do you not understand the concept of remaining inconspicuous?”

“What can I say? I was rather famished last night.”

Jinyoung stares at Jaebeom with a blank expression, “Does human life mean that little to you? Truly?”

Jaebeom releases a heavy sigh, pushes off the brick wall in which he was leaning against, and takes a couple steps forward until he and Jinyoung are only inches from sharing oxygen. He provides his younger brother another smirk and shrugs, “There was a time we used to share the same perspective, brother. And if I remember correctly, you were much, much worse than I am.”

“That is in the past.”

“Ah. Of course.” Jaebeom retracts a silver-coated lighter from the pocket of his black, shredded jeans. Jinyoung watches the older play with the tool, repeatedly striking the light over and over again as he continues, “So… Are you going to tell your dear brother about the lovely girl that’s caught your eye?”

Jinyoung’s patience immediately gives out at your mention. His features pull into a sneer, glaring at the amusement spreading along Jaebeom’s face.

“Leave it alone.”

“You do like her then?” Jaebeom’s smirk widens to a grin, “Wow. I’d never thought I’d live to see the day Park Jinyoung falls for a human.” Jinyoung tries to keep his self-control intact as Jaebeom proceeds to laugh, lifting the flame of the lighter up to the level of his eyes—malice visibly flickering in the light of his irises. “She must be very, very special…”

Jinyoung growls, “I said, leave it alone. I’m not playing your games now, hyung.”

“I only want to know what sweet (Y/N) has done to gain my little brother’s attention. Maybe it’s her spunk? Or her beautiful face? Or just maybe, the delectable taste of her delicious blo—” In the blink of an eye, Jinyoung has Jaebeom pressed against the same wall he was leaning against only moments before with an arm at his throat. Jinyoung can actually see his own rage in the reflection of Jaebeom’s black eyes.

“You will stay away from her.” Jinyoung murmurs dangerously, relishing proudly in Jaebeom’s stunned expression. “Do not push me on this. Or I will push back.” Jinyoung releases his hold on his brother, pausing to straighten out the wrinkles of his blazer. Jaebeom continues to stare at the younger with bewilderment, unable to say anything in response.

An annoyed breath leaves Jinyoung’s lips as he peers down at his watch, “I’m late. We will discuss this when I return back to the manor.” He shoots Jaebeom a pointed glance, “Please refrain from getting yourself into any more trouble. If you even can.” Without as much as a goodbye, Jinyoung brushes past Jaebeom and into the rain that’s coming down even heavier. He tries not to think about the paranoia and fear budding in his gut and instead focus the soaked path ahead, but even his own mind betrays him.

Jinyoung knows Jaebeom. He’s known him for almost a millennium. He knows that if he makes one wrong move, Jaebeom won’t hesitate to retaliate against him—retaliate by using you. Jinyoung shakes his head with a sigh, savoring the chill of the rain against his body. If it comes down to it, he won’t hesitate to to protect you from his brother in any way he has to…

He should have kept his word, and stayed away.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“You sure you don’t need anything else? Water? Another blanket? Some ramen?” You roll your eyes at your roommate’s barrage of questions, unable to help the soft smile that lifts to your lips. As smothering and irritating as Jihyo’s overprotectiveness can be, it’s nice to have someone looking out for your well being—even though she can be a helicopter mom sometimes.

“It’s not like I’m paralyzed, Ji.” You reach forward to take her hand into your own, “I’m okay.”

Jihyo squeezes your fingers, “I just… worry about you, you know? You’ve been through a lot.” Though she doesn’t specify, you know for a fact that she isn’t talking about the hospital visit. Your heart aches for as long you allow it to, before pushing the unwanted feelings away. You playfully nudge her shoulder with a chuckle.

“You worry about everything. Now seriously, clear out.” Jihyo follows your lead to your bedroom door, staying still to allow you to check up on her hair and makeup. When you deem her appearance to be nothing less than perfect, you nod, “Sana won’t let either of us hear the end of it if at least one of us doesn’t go clubbing with her, Momo and Mina.”

“What will you do, tonight?”

“I have some stuff to finish for the university. Or I’ll just binge-watch some Sex and the City.” Jihyo accepts your answer, lifting her arms to bring your body into a short, tight hug. When she pulls away, you send her a wink, “Try not to get too trashed, alright? I really don’t want to be picking your drunk ass up at three in the morning.”

“No promises,” She hums. “Thanks, (Y/N).”

“Go have fun, gorgeous.” You give Jihyo a thumbs up as she steps from your bedroom. No sooner does Sana pounce on your roommate, and in a matter of seconds, drags her toward the exit with Mina and Momo not far behind. You wait through the girlish giggles and chatter until the slam of the front door carries from the front hallway—you’re finally alone.

You quickly shut your door, making sure to turn the lock, and hop over to the tiny desk you somehow squeezed in the corner. When you moved in with Sana and Jihyo, they had to convert a storage closet into a bedroom since the apartment only came with one small master, now Sana’s space, and an even smaller office, where Jihyo resides. So your room is basically a shoebox with a single window and enough room for a bed, clothing chest, and a desk and bookshelf set. Even so, you’ve managed to spruce the place up with frilly rugs, decorative succulents and some cheap fairy lights,

After yanking the curtains above your bed closed and double-checking the door, you retract the journal Bambam had given you from where you hid it earlier underneath your pillow. The leather is shockingly cool against your palm, almost searing into your flesh. Whether it’s the nerves or the excitement that’s making your pulse beat like a racehorse, you’re not so sure. But to be honest, it doesn’t matter to you… not as much as the truth that awaits. You settle back into your desk chair and open to the first page.

There’s a name scrawled on the inside of the cover in a handwritten font you’ve only seen in historical documents and creative poetry projects. You recognize Bambam’s last name, Bhuwakul. The next page holds a diary entry in the same handwriting, dating back to 1770. Not desiring to wait any longer, you begin to read the entry:

Day 1 — I have been traveling day and night for many months. My long journey has been filled with hardship, starvation and exhaustion. But my efforts have finally paid off. On a night when the moon was full and bright, I stumbled across a small village only miles from the edge of the sea. The townspeople welcomed me and my brother into their borders. Fed us. Clothed us. And even offered us a home to where we could reside as long as we wished. I believe we will stay here in Moon Dye Bay. For good.

You flip through the rest of the pages, delving into the story of Bambam’s great-, great-, great-grandmother and her new life on the bay—how she bettered the town and its inhabitants, soon earning her title as the first ever mayor. You find yourself immersed in the personal account of her life, relating to her worries, wants, and wishes. Somewhere in the story, you completely forgot about Bambam’s warning… until you reach an entry that makes your skin crawl:

Day 196 — There’s a murderer in town. We’ve lost eleven of our people. Three men. Seven women. And one child. I believe this person, no—this monster enjoys it. This monster enjoys draining the blood from their victims like rum, and tearing open their throats like a child opens a gift. This monster enjoys hearing them scream for mercy—watching the fear in their eyes blossom like flowers. But mostly, I believe this monster enjoys the hunt. I spoke to the Wang faction the other night, and some of the ladies said they felt as if they are being watched at night, when they are alone—as if the monster is lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right chance to kill.

The passage reminds you heavily of what happened last night. Your attacker had done everything in which Bhuwakul described, even the part about tearing your throat open. You don’t bother to acknowledge the spinning of your head and instead, mindlessly flip through the journal. Your lack of attention no longer allows you to fully read the entries, only skim—until you reach another that catches your eye:

Day 209 — It’s unlike anything I could ever imagine… This pain—this grief… My brother is dead and it’s because of those murderers… Because of those demons… We’ve all been blinded by their charms… but no more… I will expose them to the villagers for what they truly are… so no one else can be victimized by their deceit…

You almost faint as you read the next sentence that follows:

—Park Jinyoung and Im Jaebeom are vampires. And they’re coming to kill me next.

86 notes · View notes

writeyouin · 5 years

Note

You're Jareth's betrothed. A masquerade is held on the eve of your wedding, but a jealous Fae woman poisons you with sleeping potion. You collapse in Jareth's arms & the woman's arrested, taunting him. If he can't find the cure before the stroke of 13 on the 13th day, you'll die. He goes nearly mad slaving over books & traveling everywhere, desperate to save you. On the last day, he finds the cure & you wake up confused, but Jareth's so relieved he holds you tight & cries into your shoulder.

Jareth X Reader –Slipping Away

A/N – Fun fact, Sluagh are part of Irish folklore, I didn’t make them up. They’re the spirits of the restless dead, sometimes viewed as fae with no loyalty, reason or mercy, doomed to wander the Earth in hordes.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Extravagance. It was the only word that could be used to describe the tremendous scene before you. The once crumbling pillars of an ancient temple now supported growths of creeping plants. Without a roof, the moon bathed everyone in its peaceful beams, illuminating the iridescently divine forms of fae dancers, celebrating your wedding to Jareth; unlike human weddings, the fae celebrated beforehand, claiming the wedding night was intended only for the newlyweds.

You stood at what would have been the entrance in a time long past, taking steadying breaths and trying to remember your exact instructions from Jareth’s previous tutoring. The fae had a very complex social hierarchy which you had to adhere to if they were to accept you as the future spouse to their king. You stood at the start of a long glistening silver carpet that led to two thrones, one for Jareth and the other for you. On the carpet were woven depictions of black and gold blooms. Your job was to step only on the tiny golden blooms which represented a fortuitous life; stepping on the black blooms would supposedly condemn your marriage to the evil spirits of the Sluagh, souls of the sinful humans trapped between the borders of the fae and human realm.

After the walk down the aisle or rather the ‘Dance of Blossoms,’ as the fae called it, you were to wait in front of your throne for Jareth to stand with you, signalling you were worthy of his attention, then a drink of Vinum Aeternum would be brought forward in two heavy silver chalices. You and Jareth would have your hands bound in golden silk and you would feed Jareth his drink first without spilling a drop, then he yours. After that, the two of you would finally be able to sit or take part in the festivities at your leisure.

The whole affair seemed far too complicated to you, but it was imperative you succeeded, otherwise the wedding would not proceed. Naturally, you’d practiced for this moment, but the practice had never been a complete success. From your left, a delicate bell rang and though you weren’t sure how the entire temple heard it, they all stopped, forming two perfectly straight lines on either side of the carpet to watch you complete the ‘Dance of Blossoms.’

Feeling nauseated, you began your journey, wobbling several times, though you regained your balance as you forged on, no doubt ungraceful in comparison to the fae of the past who had completed the journey. You ignored the hawk-like eyes of the spectators, some of whom looked like they wanted you to fail their king; instead, you found solace in Jareth’s unwavering gaze as you made your way to him.

Finally, you made it to the end of the aisle, where you dropped to your knees for Jareth’s inspection. He rose dramatically, circling you gracefully as was his role. Gently, he grasped your forearms, pulling you to your feet and ‘accepting’ you for the kingdom to see.

“You did well,” He whispered so nobody else would hear.

Although the praise itself was small, it emboldened you, quelling your previous fears. Neither of you said anything else as your hands were bound in their silk manacles by the high priestess. Taking a step back, the priestess waited for another fae woman to step forward, delivering the wine. As she poured the drinks you held back a gasp for it looked like liquid starlight.

Passing you your chalice, the fae waited whilst you held it to Jareth’s lips with shaking hands; it was much heavier than the ones you’d used in practice. Through the sheer intensity of his gaze, Jareth willed you to be okay until he had sipped the last of his wine. You set your chalice down on a tray the server held and waited in trepidation for Jareth’s turn. Jareth’s lips quirked up in a small smile, just another tiny sign that he was eager to be wedded. You found it funny how such a small action could speak volumes of his personality, for it wasn’t that long ago that you couldn’t decipher him at all; it seemed that everything the fae did was either a huge explosion over a small emotion or the smallest of reactions to their more intense feelings.

Gracefully, Jareth took the chalice that was presented to him, holding it up for you to sip. The second the liquid met your lips, you knew something was wrong. You didn’t know what the wine was supposed to taste like, but the acrid flavour that met your tongue was all wrong, and everything in your body knew it. With a pained cry, you fell backwards, losing consciousness.

Jareth dropped his goblet, moving with inhuman speed to catch you, even with his bound hands. Using his magic, he freed himself of the ties and, reaching out with his mind, he summoned the court healer. The healer appeared in less than a second, suspending you in the air so you were levitating at her waist height. Every time Jareth tried to ask what he could do, she shushed him and waved him away, even as the crowd watched on.

While the fae healer set about using the arcane arts, Jareth turned to the onlookers with such fury, the very ground shook.

“WHO DID THIS?!” He demanded, using gales of wind to carry his words across the entire Underground, distorting it to sound like that of a Wraith or some equally disturbing beast. He needn’t have shouted so far for there was only one smiling face amidst a sea of grim and fearful expressions.

Jareth pointed accusingly at a hag, not at all beautiful like the other fae. It was clearly a guise and one used only to show contempt or disrespect. Although it was well within Jareth’s power to strip the hag of her guise, he offered her one chance; it was not an act of mercy, but of power, aimed to show that he was in command. “SHOW YOUR TRUE FORM FOUL CREATURE, SO I MAY PUNISH THE REAL YOU.”

Despite her old, leathery face, the hag hadn’t bothered to change her true, melodious voice; it was one that would have made the very birds stop singing so they could hear its beauty. “Why, my king, do you not recognise me? Was it not your cruelties that bade me to be hideous before thee?”

“SPEAK NOT IN THE OLD TONGUE WENCH!” Jareth cried, though by now he knew her true name for such a voice could not be mistaken. Everyone knew of the Witch of the Wastes, Desdemona. Once Jareth’s lover, Desdemona committed the worst crime any fae could do against another; adultery. Such heartbreak would have killed any other fae, but that was how Desdemona found that Jareth did not truly love her as he had tried to for many centuries. The sheer fact she was willing to let him die to prove her theory only enraged him further.

As punishment to her crime, Jareth created a special prison in the Labyrinth for her. An oubliette wherein she could see any event she wanted outside, but never interact with it; at the time, it amused him greatly to show her that she’d inspired an Aboveground play by the Medium, William Shakespeare. Now however, Jareth cared not for foolish trifles, only to know how she had escaped her gilded cage.

“How did you escape wench?”

“Oh, please my sweet. Let us not forget the old pet names we once used, was I not once your peach as your new betrothed is now?”

Jareth flinched as if struck, an ominous air encompassing him, filled with the unknown. When he did not answer, Desdemona sighed, shucking her disguise to reveal beauty enough to rival Aphrodite herself. Skin as dark as the blackest night, a plump figure so luxurious even the Abovegrounders would make it a fashion again if they saw her instead of their emaciated models. Her hair, a mix of black and gold was woven into magnificent braids, making the gold look like the very stars themselves had lowered themselves from the night sky to kiss her. Even the filthy rags she wore for her guise could not do anything to dampen her beauty.

“You are not as fun as you used to be, my sweet.”

“Still your tongue for I am not yours to be claimed. My heart belongs to another and yours is a shrivelled piece of coal, if it even exists. Tell me how you escaped,” Jareth demanded, though he no longer shouted, he didn’t need to for he had more power under a mere whisper than he ever would with a thunderous tone.

“Escaped? No, no, no. I was freed by those who are no longer bedazzled by you as I used to be. You are not so popular as you used to be, my sweet. Marrying a human will be your undoing.”

“Name the cretins who betrayed me, so they may suffer the same fate as you Witch,” Jareth sneered. He knew Desdemona well. She was powerful, maybe enough to match him in combat, but she was also vain and arrogant. If he could stroke her ego long enough under the pretences of listening to her, he could finish the spell he was silently weaving to finish her off, once and for all. He was under no impression that she wasn’t also doing the same, hoping to avoid a long, tiresome duel, but if he could finish his spell first, there wouldn’t be anything more to worry about.

Desdemona chuckled, “And give you my only subjects? I think not Jareth. It would not be fitting. Ah,” she looked past him to the healer caring for you. “You’re wasting your healer’s time, my sweet. That poison is from the bark of the Belger Tree. There is no cure.”

The ground shook in an Earthquake even more ferocious than the last at Jareth’s fury, and all the fae before him, except for Desdemona were sent sprawling to the ground. He hadn’t meant to do that and it distracted him momentarily from his spell, wasting precious seconds. However, he couldn’t help his despair. The Belger tree had once been a fae, poisoned by the one she was betrothed to. Instead of dying from the poison, the fae woman Belger lived and grew hateful, then fearing that she would have her heart broken again, she cut it out, using her last moments to bury it deep in the soil. The still-beating heart bore a mighty black tree, caught between life and death. It always grew, yet never bloomed and anything that touched it was destined to die. No doubt, to get such a vile poison as its bark, Desdemona had been very careful indeed.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jareth abandoned his spell and bellowed a single word, “BALOR!”

Forgetting any previous grace, Desdemona rushed at him, throwing him to the floor and clamping her hand to his mouth. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU FOOL?! YOU CANNOT SUMMON THE DEMON KING! HE’LL KILL US ALL!”

Desdemona’s warnings were too late however. From the sky came a tornado of shrieking wind that would challenge any banshee. The world fell silent again as Balor stepped out from the tornado, letting it die into nothingness. Balor was a giant among the fae. A God of Death, he wore warped armour, made of the hardened bodies of his victims. Fortunately, he kept one of his flaming red eyes shut, for it was well known that whenever he opened both eyes, everything before him died.

With a blast of quick magic, Jareth threw Desdemona off him, summoning manacles to bind her arms, though they would not last for long. Speaking with reverence befitting the God, Jareth bowed, “Balor, on the day of my wedding I have committed a great injustice to you. I did not invite you to approve of the festivities. Therefore, I present you with a gift. The Witch of the Wastes, Desdemona.”

Desdemona screamed loudly, trying to break free of her manacles, but Jareth ignored her, talking all the faster. “Do with her what you please. Feed off her magic, kill her, toy with her, whatever you wish, for she is yours. Do you accept my gift Demon King?”

Balor’s eye narrowed sharply and for one short moment, Jareth was afraid he was going to open his other eye. Instead, he stomped over to Desdemona, saying nothing as he grabbed her bound hands and dragged her to the centre of the temple. Desdemona kicked and screamed, shouting curses born of terror. Her screams were soon drowned out by another shrieking whirlwind that carried Balor back to his realm.

Free of any further distractions, Jareth ran to your side, looking into the Healer’s wise eyes that held centuries of knowledge. “Is it possible to-”

The healer shook her head, cutting him off with an ancient voice that sounded odd coming from her perfectly young body. “The best I can do is keep (Y/N) stable and in the land of good dreams until (s)he passes to the great beyond.”

“Do so then, until I find a cure.”

“My king, there are only thirteen days until that happens. Best to spend the remaining days treasuring your love.”

“Please,” Jareth begged, not daring to order the healer around for she was revered by all the fae.

The healer bowed, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Jareth threw another old tome against the wall of his study, watching as some of the pages fell out on its journey to the floor. Nine days gone, and he was no closer to finding a cure to your ailments than before. He couldn’t even enter your dreams to at least tell you he was searching because the poison that was slowly killing you would infect him as well, or so the nameless healer told him.

Turning away from his books, he receded into the depths of his mind, viewing everywhere in the Underground at once. He had to think of something, for he would go crazy if he didn’t. Finally, he screamed in anguish, despairing that the Underground had nothing to show him that might help.

Raving mad, Jareth transformed into his owl form, flying through an open window and setting out on a journey to the Belger tree; if he couldn’t save you then he could join you in your fate by touching the tree’s bark. However, he would first make sure nobody shared your and his fate again. Before he let the tree kill him, he would destroy it, saving a piece of its bark to take back so he might die by your side.

Too weak to teleport after his constant efforts to find a cure, Jareth resolved himself to the flight. It took him two whole days to reach the tree and in that time he had an idea; it was desperate and probably doomed to failure, but an idea nonetheless.

Soaring down to the long abandoned dessert of the ancient ones, Jareth landed in the sand before the imposing Belgar tree, careful not to touch the monumental roots which had grown so large, they stuck out from the sand in multiple places. Instead of destroying the hateful tree like he had planned, Jareth transformed into his usual fae self and did something he had never done before in his long life. He kneeled.

“Oh, great Belgar, I Jareth the Goblin King kneel before you so that I may plead your aid. Just like you, I was wronged by an old lover and now I need you to give me an antidote to your very bark, for without it, my one true love will die.”

Nothing happened and Jareth squeezed his eyes tightly shut so he didn’t cry before his quest was over.

“Please,” He whispered.

He waited an age before he was graced with an answer. The tree lifted some of its roots from the ground, weaving them together to form the image of a fae. The branches hissed when they moved to move her mouth, “Why should I save your love when no-one protected me from mine?”

Although Jareth would have normally argued, he was humbled by the Belgar tree’s ethereal power which washed over him even before she spoke. “I have no reason that you should help me.”

“Then let me rest young one.”

“But-” Jareth choked out, finally crying from days of pent up fear and exhaustion. “But if you do not help me, does that not make you as bad as the one who betrayed you?”

The tree-woman roared, summoning more branches to make her larger in size, so she dwarfed Jareth. “DO NOT PRESUME TO LECTURE ME ON MORALS! YOU HAVE NO IDEA OF THE CENTURIES OF TORMENT I HAVE SUFFERED!”

“No,” Jareth agreed, bowing his head, “But if you don’t help me now, I’ll soon learn, for I will be just like you; I would sooner cut out my heart than lose (Y/N). (S)he is my everything.”

“How do I know if I give you my cure that you won’t simply hide it away so nobody else may have it?” The tree-fae lamented mournfully.

“You would not, but is it not better to help someone than spend more time suffering? This may well be your one chance to save yourself from more pain, and if not… Well, I for one would not forget your generosity.”

The tree was silent for a long time, and Jareth feared he’d lost her audience. Finally, the tree-woman reached out a hand, holding out a single fragile flower. It had pale-blue petals shaped like teardrops and looked so frail, it could die any moment. “This flower took me ten-thousand years to grow. If anything will cure your love, it is this. Take it and be gone, young one. I do not wish to be disturbed again. Leave me to my long rest.”

Careful to only touch the flower, Jareth took the blossom, bowing deeply to thank the Belgar tree who promptly disassembled its humanoid form, returning to the way it had been before. Placing the flower in a protective orb, Jareth transformed once again into a barn owl and took off into the night sky, flying faster than he’d ever gone before, hoping he would make it back to you in time.

As a fae who’d spent most of his life pitting people against time itself, Jareth felt the cruel irony of his own plight; he was painfully aware of each second that passed, leading closer to your demise.

He didn’t go back to his study, instead he headed to his chambers, where you were resting on the bed, tended to by the healer. Instead of flying through an open window as he had when he left, he crashed through the closed one, bleeding heavily in his owl form, but only lightly when he transformed back to his usual form.

“(Y/N),” He ran to your side, clutching your deathly cold hand in his free one, for the other still held the bloom in its orb. “How fares (s)he?”

The healer shook her head, “You only have minutes, my liege. Spend them wisely.”

Jareth shoved the orb at the healer, “No, not minutes. I have eternity. That is the cure we need. Please, find some way to administer it, and quickly.”

Although the wizened healer would have loved more time to examine the curious plant which she could feel the power emanating from, there wasn’t time as the clock above the bed started chiming thirteen. Chanting a few short words, the healer turned he plant into liquid, using its protective orb as a cup. Placing the cup to your lips, she forced the liquid down your throat, then stepped back and waited.

Jareth held one of your hands tightly in both of his, waiting for you to do or say anything that would inform him you were well. As the clock chimed its last bell, Jareth drew you towards him, sobbing into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry,” He cried. “I should have done more, I should have been better.”

“I do,” You mumbled tiredly, causing Jareth to freeze.

The healer smiled knowingly, excusing herself silently for what would no doubt be a tearful reunion.

“(Y/N)?” Jareth whispered.

“I will marry you, I do,” You groaned, half-dreaming. Slowly, you opened your eyes, coming face to face with Jareth. “Why’re you here? Weren’t you on the um, the… the fancy chair?”

Exhausted and over-emotional from a lack of sleep, Jareth clung to you, breaking down into a flood of tears.

“Okay…” You said, still confused on what was a dream and what was reality. “I’m sorry I forgot it was called a throne, but is it really worth crying over?”

With a reassuring squeeze, Jareth whimpered, “I love you, so much. You are my heart.”

Rubbing his back comfortingly, you smiled hazily, “And you are mine.”

Later on, Jareth explained everything that had happened during the time after your wedding. Despite requesting an audience with the Belgar tree to thank her for her gift to you, Jareth refused to take you, remembering his promise to leave the tree alone. He did however check on the tree through his mirrors and what he found made him smile. For the first time ever, the Belgar tree had a covering of lush purple leaves like those of a weeping willow, complementing her beautiful black bark; it was the most beautiful thing Jareth had ever seen, and he made sure to never forget it.

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#the labyrinth #labyrinth #jareth #jareth x reader #the goblin king #the goblin king x reader #jareth the goblin king #jareth the goblin king x reader #reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #slipping away #Anonymous

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soulsickened · 4 years

Text

She had only woken up mere minutes ago, and yet it felt like she had been up for over an hour. The girl had a headache the moment she awoke, something she thought had been associated with her illness at first... but the more she sat in thought, the more she began to remember. It was an odd experience. Ellen knows that it had to have been her that was experiencing what the memories were showing her, and yet they felt like someone else’s entirely. It reminded her of a certain spell she had learned not too long ago... one she wished had stayed persistent in this place. Then she wouldn’t be so sickly again.

So weak again.

It wasn’t so much the memories themselves that disturbed her. No, what disturbed her the most was the warmness she could associate with them. They were only memories, and yet she could feel the warmth coming from them as if she was just experiencing them at this very moment. However, it only seemed to be at its most consistent when the memories were focused around one person in particular. A woman. Caroline. If memory served her correctly, she hadn’t met someone with that name since her time here... and her mind was far too preoccupied to try and logically think about who it could be. For all she knew, they could’ve just arrived in the middle of all this!

...Hands finally placed themselves on mattress to push herself up, falling into her lap once she was sitting against the headboard. The sudden compulsion to attempt to recreate the warmth she felt was something she wanted to deny, but at the same time, craved it so much. Arms attempted to wrap themselves around frail body. Only... she got nothing to gain from it. Just the cold reminder of how freezing her body was. Unfortunately something she had become quite familiar with, so instead of feeling cold, she felt...

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Arms unwrapped themselves from herself, now looking around the room to see if there was anything else that could be used... eyes immediately fell upon the plant whose growth schedule was far out of proportion now. Taking a couple of minutes to make sure her legs weren’t still asleep, she carefully pushed herself out of bed and tried to walk over to her leafy companion. Her legs didn’t seem to agree very well to that notion though and she almost found herself collapsing onto the floor. ...Right. Apparently she had thought she no longer needed her medication during whatever experience she just went through. Her legs looked worse already, and it had only been a couple of weeks since she last took it.

Eventually she found herself right underneath ginormous plant, staring up at it as she began to manipulate it yet again. Two of its leaves made their way towards her, trying yet again to replicate what she had tried to earlier. As if she had expected something different from something not illness-plagued, she had actually gained a little bit of hope. Only to have it completely crushed once she realised that while she felt a little warmer, it wasn’t the same as she remembered. Scowl made its way onto her face as she allowed the plant to go back to its normal manipulated schedule. Clearly, she wasn’t going to get what she was looking for here... so she wandered out of her room. Surely she had left something; a clue, if she truly liked what she was receiving during the past few weeks... right?

The rest of her time was spent searching through her home, her diary in the making, anywhere that looked like it’d have something useful. And yet all she found was a crudely-made drawing. Has she ever drawn like that before? She couldn’t recall so clearly anymore, but hands clung to this drawing. It was the only thing that mattered in this room. While it didn’t help much in telling her who the mystery woman was, it at least gave a little bit of an insight to the context of her memories. This woman... she must’ve trusted her greatly if she suddenly had the desire to draw the two of them. Which would mean that the woman had to have been concerned for her in the first place and have spent some time together... but how would she find out where she was now?

...She knew what she had to do. Eyes trailed over to the kitchen counters, where all of the utensils were. Or, more specifically, the only thing she could use to defend herself right now... she might not know how to look for the woman, but Ellen knew that she definitely stood out with her odd appearance and illness. A little bit of... influence into her publicity would help, right?

The next couple of hours were a blur to her. The screams that came from unsuspecting strangers didn’t matter to her, their blood splattering onto her clothes, face, knife or the ground didn’t matter. And before long, there was only silence in the secluded space she had specifically chose to lure them to. Well, aside from blood making contact with the ground. It was so quiet that she could even make that out. People must’ve been trying to make sense of what was going on right now. Ellen was just... doing it in her own way.

Normally she would dispose of the bodies... but she needed them to be found this time. She needed to be found at the crime scene, needed to become public knowledge. She needed to see her again. And as long as that opportunity could arrive, she would stay here for as long as she needed. So the girl simply sat down next to the pile of bodies and... waited. Patiently. The only thing she seemed to do was sway from side to side, occasionally taking the time to play with her knife. But silencing times made way for her more logical thoughts to come in. Thoughts she never liked to think about. And that’s when the sudden realisation hit her.

...She... wasn’t going to come, was she? In her sudden desire to get back the love that was shown to her, Ellen hadn’t realised that the way she chose to make herself known would only draw people away. Draw her away. Blank eyes now stared at the bodies in front of her, occasional breaks of giggles getting out of her the more she chose to think on this. Sometime during this, she began to felt the corners of her eyes burn up, but did nothing to stop it. Who was around to care?

Bloody knife fell out of her hands, eyes now gazing down at them. These weren’t the hands of a lovable child... these were the hands of a monster. Something about that realisation made the tears fall at a much faster rate than she thought, and yet she still tried to mask the sudden sobs with laughter. Unknown to the girl, however, it wasn’t just tears that were making their way out of her eyes. Occasionally, there was a slight red tint to them. The presence of blood. Having chosen to not take medication during the last few weeks was only now beginning to take its toll on her body.

Bloodied hands now made their way up to her face, attempting to rub the tears and blood away, only to bring more in the process. The bodies could go and burn in hell for all she cared, she had done this for the sake of love... for the sake of finally feeling something other than the cold. The hatred she had for everyone. But like everything else, she managed to make that go away too. She hadn’t even realised that her crying had turned more desperate in the wave of her thoughts, no longer sounding like someone struggling to cope with reality.

These cries were the sound of someone broken by it.

#( drabbles. )#( event; proxy. )#// death tw #// murder tw #// knives tw #// blood tw #// eye gore tw #( okay so we're being REAL cautious with these trigger warnings rn but...#here we go!! drabble!!#muses can react to this if they want!! just... be careful if you try confronting the child... )

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skost-skribbles · 4 years

Text

The Shore

AKA, Sad Dad Takes Son on Depressing Roadtrip, AKA I can’t think of good titles I’m not sorry

More OC nonsense with our ( @bogglebabbles and myself) characters in a scene that happens before the story even takes place but consider the following: so what

What was she like?”

The soft but endlessly inquisitive voice of his son rose above the clatter of the train storming along the tracks. Faramund turned his head so slightly downward, met immediately with hazel eyes, staring solely at the older gentleman. Already he could see the striking slivers of grey seeping into the hazel.

“I…” Faramund licked his lips, adjusting himself upright on the bench. “I can’t say much for certain. She…”

She was in so much pain, and we were powerless to help.

“We didn’t have many opportunities to talk on the ship, y-you see,” he mumbled, hooking his fingers along one of his cufflinks. “Everyone rather kept to themselves.”

The uncertainty was not caught by the young boy. He leaned closer, hands pressing firmly into the wool seating. “Did she look like me? What did she sound like? Did she have a pretty voice?”

Desperately, his fingers searched for a loose button or even a thread to pluck at. Finding that the tailor’s immaculate work lived up to its infamy and neither were found, he prayed for a distraction among the blurry scenery outside. The country landscape offered nothing.

“I don’t…” Faramund paused, gulping down the hesitation trembling in his voice. “I, ah, I don’t recall. It was risky to go out on deck during the day, and even at night any trace of light would have alerted us to unwanted eyes. On the chance I did see her before… I wouldn’t have remembered.”

“Oh.” Sotiris sank into the seat, shoeless feet dangling and swinging to and fro off the bench. Lips pursed, and suddenly his head lifted with a wide grin. “Maybe she was really nice…! And she sang as good as you do!”

A small, somber smile played on Faramund’s face and he chuckled. “You’re far too kind, son. If you believe my singing is good, then hers would have been the voice of angels! You certainly got your generosity from her.”

The younger beamed, throwing a brief look to the empty seat across the way. “How come Da didn’t come with us? He said he loves traveling!”

“A-ah, he does, yes! It’s, well…”

I worry he’s done what he always does with things that put him in great distress: he avoids it at all cost. He’ll always tell me he’s fine, but it upsets me to know how much he’s allowing to build on his shoulders. I fear it will be too late for me to pull him free when it collapses on him.

“He thought it better to stay at home to oversee the factory’s remodeling. But, I know any other day he would have loved to join us.” His smile broadened and he mussed the curly mess that was Sotiris’ hair. A moment later, the smile dropped. “Are you certain you want to do this now? We can always come back when you’re older, no one will fault you for that.”

When I can be stronger for you. When even I can accept this.

Sotiris was quiet for a passing minute, then leaned against Faramund. He pulled his knees to his face and lowered his gaze.

“I do; I don’t want to wait. I… I want to see my mom.”

~ ~ ~

In dreams, he would see the beach.

He saw the same shoreline, walked along its eerily perfect curve over and over, to the point where he could spot even a grain of sand out of place. He would see the same waves roll and crash along the shore leading to the forest on overseeing hills. Sometimes, the sky would be as blue as the ocean’s surface, with nary a cloud to be seen; sometimes, it would be hidden by the dark blanket of the moonless night.

For a moment, Faramund would hold a hand in the air, running his fingers through the incoming winds, and in that moment, he believed all would be well.

Truly, what a fool he was.

It would happen so quickly, so suddenly that he would stumble and fall on the rocks. The flames swelled high from the scattered ruins, a sickening odor of smoke choking his lungs. In both the distance and within an arm’s reach, he heard the cries and pleas of the faceless, nameless passengers before they succumbed to silence, swallowed by the fire, or the dark waters. Tomas was nowhere to be seen, and his own hands began to burn to a ghostly heat. Somewhere, elsewhere, a woman -- no, a child cried for help…

In a blink, the calm waves returned below a gray sky, the melody of crying seagulls echoing far away. Faramund’s hands started and he threw a panicked glance downward. Uneasy relief in the form of a gentle breeze slithered past him; they were not burning, but shaking.

A small voice calling for him pulled his head upright and he turned. Sotiris stood at his side, hands grabbing the back of his heavy coat. His eyes followed the child’s sight, spotting the barren, skeletal remains of a vessel lodged in the shallow waters. A hand cupping the boy’s head, they walked towards the looming, metal wreckage. Perhaps a curious passersby would mistake the sight for an unlucky ship running aground, never to make it back to the vast waters; perhaps the House of Gilroy succeeded in wiping the ambush off the face of the beach to mask their crimes on innocent lives before one became wise.

Sotiris tightened his grip on the coat, taking a cautious step forward towards the waves. They sputtered to a stop before his feet and retreated in haste. One, both hands slipped away from the safety of the thick wool and he edged around the coming of another wave, eyes wandering up the bare frame trapped within the sand and ocean.

Softly, Sotiris spoke. “Is this, is this where...”

Faramund nodded, his voice wavering slightly. “Her and many others, yes.” He forced a swallow and exhaled faintly. “We were to dock in a small fishing mill down the coast, go about our new lives.” A shell crunched beneath his foot as he stepped towards his son. He rubbed his thumb in circles along Sotiris’ hair. “Had they mistaken us for the enemy, or they simply despised the idea of newcomers, I’ll know not, but… it won’t change what they did. What they stole.”

The last words lingered in the air; like a hot knife, they poked and prodded at invisible wounds thought to be healed years back. Across the waters, he spotted the protruding, smooth rocks of the foreshore making itself known; at the hitch in his breath, day swirled into night, and he stood, rooted in place, watching a scene so utterly familiar to him play out.

Two obscure silhouettes pull themselves upon the rocky outcrop, towing along a single lifeboat. Through the roaring flames, the crashing water, the whimpers and gasps of a young woman are barely audible. One slumps to their knees, the other scrambles to grab hold and gently ease her out of the boat, immediately dipping and catching as she collapses upon setting foot on land. She shrinks closer into herself, and a sharp, keen sound of shock breaks into the night sky.

The cry is not from her.

“I don’t see Mom.”

Night flashed back to day in a fell swoop, wiping the tidal pools clear of any beings, of any boat. Faramund started in place, shuddering at a swell of goosebumps riding up his arms and neck and a patch of cold sweat breaking across his neck. Shaking his head, he rubbed furiously at his eyes with the heel of his hand before catching a trail of footprints leading away from him, aimless in their journey as they stopped in numerous directions in the sodden sand, stopping at the foot of marram grass atop a small mound further from the shore. There, he saw Sotiris, head and body twisting and turning for a destination he knew not.

“What was that, Sotiris?”

Sotiris wrung his hands along the hem of his capelet, frowning slightly. “I don’t see her. All the people in the cemetery had graves and headstones, and so did the people in the churchyards back home. How come there’s not one for her, Dad? Or for the others?”

“O-oh,” Faramund whispered, his heart sinking like a stone. “I,” he continued, louder, his own hands now pressing tightly against one another. He feared both would break under the mounting pressure any moment, and he forced them to latch onto his coat. “I’m afraid… I’m afraid there aren’t any.”

Sotiris turned quiet, eyes downcast. “Why?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Faramund found his voice to be dry, bare. What could he say to the child? That their attackers likely held no interest in granting the passengers a proper burial, for doing so would bring to light their crimes?

Faramund’s head drooped, his gaze at his sand-coated shoes. “I’m sorry, Sotiris, but… I don’t know.”

The distant lapping of waves turned heavy to his ears, accompanied with the howling of winds that were once faint and soothing. Above, the gray clouds split apart to reveal blue skies, and rays of the summer sun found their way to the crescent shore and waters. The warmth it delivered, however, was but a fleeting touch to the man.

“I wish I could tell you so much more.” Faramund exhaled heavily, his eyes settling upon the tidepools. “I wish I could tell you with certainty that her voice was soft and surpassed those of the angels. Of what she looked like, of how you have her eyes, her smile. I…” Heat bit at his eyes, and tears trickled freely down his cheeks. “I wish I could say why there’s no grave for your mother. I wish… And knowing that I can’t, knowing that my memory is as dark as that night… I-”

He found himself at a loss of what to say when a cutting, sudden sob broke into the air. His head snapped up, panic written across his face before, trembling, guilt swept over him in a landslide.

Rooted in place among the marram grass, small fists clenched at the capelet’s hems, Sotiris stood, his own tears brimming and rolling wildly downward and disappearing within the grassy sea. Immediately, Faramund stumbled over to the mound and rested his hands lightly over Sotiris’ arms, kneeling as he gave the boy’s arms a reassuring squeeze.

He opened his mouth to speak, to freely utter words of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Sotiris choked out. He shut his eyes and tugged at the capelet, shaking. “I-I’m sorry!”

Rigid, he furrowed his brows. “Sotiris, wh… what are you…”

“I, I…” The boy sniffled sharply, raising his hands as if to wipe away the tears before they fell limp at his sides. “Y-you’re supposed to r-remember all the good times you had with s-someone before they died, and you’re supposed to know wh-who they were when you visit them. But, but… I don’t remember Mom. I don’t kn-know, know anything about her. I thought if y-you o-or Da knew, seeing Mom would...” His breath began to hitch between deep, heaving sobs.

All Faramund could choke out was a shuddering “Oh,” and with it came a devastating realization that gripped his soul. “Oh, Sotiris-”

“I… I…” He threw himself at Faramund and buried his face within the man’s shoulder with a mighty whimper, his small arms wrapping tight around his torso as his fingers dug and twisted into the coat’s fabric. Though muffled, his voice rang clear as day. “I wanted h-her to see I was a go-good son and m-make her, her proud! How can I do th-that when I…” His voice cracked and devolved into hoarse, sharp sobs, each one a striking flinch through the child’s body.

Faramund absorbed each snivel, each flinch with the same countenance one would find on a prisoner facing the judge. The persistent questions shot at both he and Tomas to the point of exhaustion; pressing requests to return to the island, a land once home to them all, hidden over the ocean’s horizon. These questions were not to fulfill a child’s curiosity; they were to earn sole gratification from those of the past, from those whose voices were as silent as the night stars.

Both arms easily took up Sotiris in a warm embrace, pulling him closer with a gentle squeeze. “My dear, sweet boy,” he said slowly. One hand trailed up and rested upon the boy’s hair. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Not for this. You can’t fault yourself for something far out of your control, out of anyone’s control. You were much too young when she passed; it would be maddening to think she or anyone else would condemn you for it.”

He shut his eyes, exhaling shakily. He fought to keep his voice steady. “I know it hurts, Sotiris. I know it hurts to have your mother’s image as nothing more than a blank slate, and the memories you would hold close to your heart are vague details told from others. But, she did not leave you stranded. What she left you is something that surmounts everything else, something no one else could provide or take away.”

Sniffling, one teary, reddened eye peeked from the shelter of the coat, staring upward.

“Your mother… she loved you more than anything the world could have given her. When the ship was attacked, through the destruction she made certain you were safe, e-even when it meant risking her own well-being in doing so. She…” He stilled, swallowing down a growing break in his throat. “It didn’t matter to her that she was hurt, how far she had to pull that lifeboat through the cold ocean waters that night. Nobody or nothing else mattered to her. Only you, Sotiris. The love she had for you, even in her last moments… Try as your father and I might, there’s no such affection or obstacle that can master it.”

His gaze flickered back to the tidepools, and through half-lidded, misty eyes, he saw her.

It’s a challenge to keep her head upright, to stop herself from completely slumping over and away from the lifeboat. In slow, harsh gasps, she puts on a rueful smile and stares at the crashing waves along the rocks. It takes minutes for her to gather her bearings, more to utter a pained request. There’s no hesitation from the two figures at her side, and immediately a small bundle is set in her shaking arms. Her smile only grows, the tranquil demeanor along her face a stark contrast to the grim injury stealing her life. She lowers and presses her forehead into the bundle, holding off the trembles that took over her body a short while ago as she murmurs a hushed promise to the infant wrapped snug in the dry blanket.

‘You’ll protect him, won’t you?’ She breathes out. Her eyes don’t leave the bundle. ‘Please, he deserves what I can’t give him anymore. My Sotiris, he…’

He found himself nodding, an anguished, silent reply to her plea that night. Neither he or Sotiris moved or pulled away from one another, and it wasn’t long before a growing wet patch broke through his coat and seeped past his shirt. His hand lightly rubbed circles into the boy’s back as the sobs rumbled against his shoulder, dying off into sputtered coughs before a spell of stillness fell over them both.

After a long while, sniffling, Sotiris withdrew from Faramund, the heels of his hands rubbing at his eyes. Faramund wasted no time, fishing out a small, green handkerchief decorated in red holly leaves and carefully taking hold of Sotiris’ arms in one hand, dabbing away tears fresh and old along the child’s eyes and cheeks with the other.

He mustered a small, melancholy smile. “One does not require memories to mourn the loss of a loved one, Sotiris, and let no one tell you otherwise. You’re allowed to grieve for your mother, now and forever.” He paused to wipe a new tear from the corner of Sotiris’ eye. “Her love for you, you carry it wherever you go, and it will stay strong through your own love. I know… if she were here now, she would be proud to see how far you’ve come. To have such a bright and passionate child as her son… she’d be honored.”

Sotiris’ voice was meek, croaky. “R-really?”

“Of course.”

Sniffling again, his eyes bloodshot, Sotiris glanced to the tidepools. “Can we stay here for a while longer? Please? I don’t want to go back to the inn yet.”

Faramund blinked in surprise before his face turned somber, patting the boy’s shoulder. “We can stay here for as long as you’d like. Come, the tide’s still low, and we can look at all the little plants and creatures nestled in the pools…”

~ ~ ~

He found himself thinking of her.

With the exception of a single candle fluttering in an ashen-coated lantern in the corner, the inn’s room was completely dark. Outside, the clouds returned in hordes and hid the stars and moon from curious onlookers, much to one’s displeasure outside their window. Much to Faramund’s relief, their outcries of vexation did not disrupt the sleeping occupant in the bed across the room, curled halfway into a ball beneath a patterned quilt.

In the dark, his back and shoulders pressed along the headboard and hands wringing themselves, Faramund thought of her.

How would she react, knowing he brought her child to not only her unmarked grave, but to the grave of the other passengers? He came to the only reasonable conclusion he could think of: furious. No doubt she would have berated him for such a foolish action, and he wouldn’t have blamed her had she decided to strike him.

Children should be basking in the care of their parents, running around and exploring imaginative worlds.

They should not be led to an area once clenched in death’s cold grasp.

Ah, a voice sang in his head, but the boy was in those cold hands once not so long ago. Is he not already familiar with its ways?

He winced at his fingers nearly choking one another, prying them away with some hesitation. He shook his head, shutting his eyes closed with a shaky breath.

What was your name?

Quiet.

Why were you on the ship? What were you running from?

Nothing.

Had she survived, he wondered what would have become of her and Sotiris. Would she have gone the way of her unknown goal, possibly to be never seen again? Would she have accompanied him and Tomas to Amaranthine, perhaps extending a branch of friendship and camaraderie?

He shook his head again, shifting his position on the mattress. He had all these questions and more, questions to answers that will forever be out of his grasp.

“Dad?”

A sudden creak of wood against pressure snapped him from his thoughts and he started, his hand nearly slipping from the bed and almost throwing him to the floorboards below. He righted himself, fumbling with the ends of his undone necktie when he turned his head. In the dim light, Sotiris’ outline wrapped in the quilt stood out clear.

“Dad?” he repeated, hushed. “How come you’re not asleep?”

“Ah, unfortunately it’s one of those restless nights I picked up from your father. Did I wake you?”

He could barely make out Sotiris shaking his head. “I can’t sleep. I did all the suggestions you and Da say to do and I can’t. I don’t feel tired.”

“Given today’s events, I’m not wholly surprised to hear that.” There came a moan from the bedframe, and Sotiris’ mattress dipped from the newfound weight shifting on the edge. “It was a lot to take in, I’m sure.”

A moment of stretched silence crept through the room.

“I suspect, however,” Faramund added, slowly, “that today isn’t all that’s currently on your mind.”

“No,” came the shy response. The quilt rustled faintly in the dark. Then, “Da said you were an orphan, and… a-and you didn’t know your parents, either.”

His brow knit, Faramund said nothing at first. His hands took to tugging at his cufflinks once more, and he swallowed. “He is correct. Why… How did he come to tell you this?”

“I asked,” Sotiris mumbled. “I was asking him about his family, and then about yours, b-but he didn’t say anything else after it. Da wouldn’t talk about his family, either.”

“That… sounds like your father. But don’t take it too hard, Sotiris. He…” The corners of Faramund’s lips flickered downward. “The less he’s asked about that particular subject, the better.”

The fabric of the quilt continued to swish in Sotiris’ grip. “Did you miss them? Your parents?”

Were the lantern closer to them, a shadow would have fallen over Faramund’s eyes. “Truthfully, I did not think of them with pleasant thoughts growing up. I was about your age if not younger when th… When I lost them.” He licked at his lips, pinching his fingers deep along his cufflinks. “I didn’t miss them.”

“Oh.”

The candle sputtered out its last flames, then the once feebly lit corner turned black.

Sotiris’ voice was barely above a whisper and he shuffled closer to Faramund. His head rested along his father’s arm and he said, “Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Is… is it okay if I miss Mom? Even if I can’t remember her?”

Against the window, faint droplets of rain tapped and splattered along the glass and shutters, falling to a rhythm lasting seconds before it unleashed a mighty torrent to the inn and streets. For but a moment, Faramund feared some had broken through the ceiling, as the sleeve of his shirt became damp. His heart sank at the reality, but he shifted and closed his arm around the child’s shoulders with an assuring squeeze.

“Absolutely.”

In the distance roared thunder. Neither seemed to notice, nor care.

“I miss her.”

Faramund closed his eyes tight at the brimming heat poking at them.

“So do I, Sotiris.”

#skost scribbles #i started this thing like 2 months ago and my one braincell wanted to keep this sht going why am i like this #more OC writing sht

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scarletta-ec · 4 years

Text

Original Sin Story: Re_Crime

CHAPTER FIVE: THE ESCAPE OF THE WITCH SALMHOFER

Scene 1

Meta dreams of running away from orange flames, and an endlessly black, warped figure standing among them, shining, dead eyes. She has to keep running— for she is a fugitive.

Scene 2

Meta is in a bad mood that morning— not just because of the dream, but because she’s being woken early by a pounding at her door and angry shouting. It’s Raisa Netsuma. She ends up busting in the door before Meta can get up.

Raisa has burn scars all over her body including her face, from Eve’s lightning strike earlier. She and her people are refugees from Jakoku, and she leads the White Army in the southwest of Levianta. She is also one of Apocalypse’s top brass. Meta worries deeply about her— she thinks she’s too passionate and too wild in battle for her own good. In person, Raisa spoke little, but in a fight she had earned the title of a fiend. It was Pale’s idea she join, hearing of her prowess, and Meta originally agreed because it added the entire White Army and the Second Regiment to their forces, coming to know her better as they lived together in Merrigod.

Meta is distracted from Raisa's upset ranting by staring at her mouth scars, which are not covered with a mask like they usually are.

Raisa is visibly in pain since a lot of her facial muscles are stiff, and her skin sensitive, but is too upset to stop yelling. She hadn't even waited for Meta to get out of bed, having climbed onto it. Meta thinks her hair looks even whiter against her reddened skin.

Raisa says that their base in the north has fallen.

The security forces have become the Royal Capital Army, and are cracking down on Apocalypse— an organization which seeks to disrupt as much of the world’s order as it can, just because they think that’s how things should be, thinking things like laws and such are foolish. Meta is one such person.

She has tried hard to forget her past. She was an orphan, grew up alone, and hated everything in the world. Her life only gained meaning in her eyes after she turned twenty.

She wandered the streets of Levianta, living off of what she stole from vendors and unlocked homes. Whenever she was caught, she would always manage to charm them and be let off with a warning. She didn’t know it at the time, thinking it was because she was a pitiful child, but this had been a result of her Gilles Inheritor powers, which she had no idea how to use, manifesting without her direct control.

She was sometimes allowed into homes and invited to stay as long as she liked, though she never did stay long. Watching the family dynamic around her somehow only made her even lonelier. So when people came to her with their arms open, she always chose to run.

One day, Meta found herself in the midst of chaos, with lots of bodies and fire and destruction around, but she did not run. Not even when she was surrounded by armed men, and one of them (Pale) approaches her with a knife in one hand and a person by the hair in the other. Recognizing her as a Ghoul Child and fellow HER, he offers her the knife, which she accepts.

With his encouragement, she kills the hostage with the knife.

This was her first murder. And she finally felt at home.

She and Pale have committed a great many crimes together at this point. Gammon is the new head of the senate, and is the reason why the royal capital army is pursuing them so fiercely. They’re having trouble fighting them off— in addition to their skill, neither Meta nor Raisa’s powers or magic can breach their bulky armor. They have to come up with a battle plan for here on out.

Meta zones back in and embraces Raisa in bed. When Raisa stops speaking, she lets go and orders Raisa to go retake the northern base, or at least stymie the soldiers there. She’ll send the rest of the former White Army and half of her Red Devotees to give her aid. Raisa, still teary, points out this’ll leave them short-handed to the west, but Meta says they should leave that to the “baron”, Yegor.

Raisa awkwardly runs off the bed. Meta gets dressed, and then thinks she’ll head over to see Pale, her “darling”.

Scene 3

Meta changes into her favorite clothes, and then goes to Pale’s room. She can hear him talking with a woman in there, and then sees a scantily clad Milky laying on the bedsheets, next to Pale who is under them, when she opens the door. Milky greets her politely, and then leaves to go to her own room. Meta goes inside to see Pale is smoking in bed.

He asks if she’s okay, and she shakes her head at the notion that she has anything against "that girl". No matter who Pale sleeps with or loves, she’ll love him still. And she believes he will always come back to her— her powers don’t work on him, so she is certain that they really do love each other.

She wryly asks if he's okay with Raisa, to which he says it's not his business.

Pale has a unique physiology. He has to absorb magical power from another person periodically, or else he’ll lose his youthfulness. His preferred way of doing this is by sleeping with them, with women, specifically. Meta’s magic is not enough alone to sustain him, great though it is. The other person’s magic replenishes once he's done, though the initial drain exhausts the person being fed on.

Meta notices a black box on the nightstand. It is a music box with a winding key that Pale is taking apart. Apparently he’s not very good at reassembling it, though he's disassembling it for the practice.

Meta tells Pale about their base falling, the two speculating that they might have a traitor in their ranks.

Meta worries about Raisa— she's been rampaging worse than ever before. Meta thinks she may be taking out her anger on everyone, including the Royal Army, as the woman who might have been queen that she was trying to get revenge on (Eve) for her injuries is missing.

Pale asks if Meta is implying Raisa is the traitor, or a liability. Meta flusteredly jumps to her defense, insisting it must be someone else.

Pale decides to head north. His “older brother” told him to lay low, but Seth hasn’t contacted him in a long time— thus, they think he might be dead, in which case, there's no need to hide anymore. He tells Meta to go west, to enlist Yegor’s aid in suppressing the forest of Held.

Meta would like to go with him, but knows he wouldn’t like her to go against his wishes. They kiss and part ways.

Scene 4

Yegor is the baron, as suspected. He is cruel and brutal despite having once been the head of a religious temple, having already crushed the villages living in the forest’s eastern half by the time Meta arrives there. Though curiously enough, despite the buildings being in ruins, she can’t see any corpses around. She figures he must have cleaned up the corpses, wondering why for a moment. The place has a fog rolling over it.

Yegor is the “Black Baron”, his army is called “The Black Army”.

One of Meta’s devotees tells her they found some survivors. He takes her to an area before a trauben field to the west of the village. It’s a green haired woman, covered in blood and crouched down, cradling a half-conscious man with blue hair, surrounded by devotees. She’s crying about her missing children— Cecil and Vell.

Meta thinks she’s stupid, figuring that the woman should be grateful she’s alive, and that she can just make more children, that is, if Meta allows her to live. She’s about to order her men to kill the woman when she realizes her men have collapsed, foaming at the mouth. She realizes that the fog is actually poison.

Meta is almost as bewildered to find both she and the woman seem unaffected, noting she can't tell with the man in her arms as he was already out of it.

Meta hears Raisa's hoarse shrieking as the fog grows too thick to see anything. The couple seems to have vanished.

Meta is confused because Raisa shouldn't be here, meanwhile Raisa can only scream about "treason".

Raisa's words are slurring, indicating she may not be immune, protected from complete incapacitation only by her mask to cover her scars.

By the light of the moon, Meta sees figures approaching her from the fog, all wearing masks. They clasp one of her wrists in chains.

The meaningless shrieking crescendos as a sudden impact around her waist brings Meta to ground as a bright red flash explodes, and everything turns black.

Scene 5

Meta is in a dark, inhumane, cold jail cell. She tells the girl in front of the window that she wants a jacket or hot food or something, but no dice. It’s not mealtime yet and they have nothing else for her to put on. There are no men in this jail, so she can’t use her powers to escape.

Upon being asked, the girl introduces herself as Elluka Chirclatia (Zellana’s younger sister). She is a young looking teen. Meta threatens her, expecting her to cry, but Elluka calmly states that she’s more powerful than Meta is, and, in fact, now that her sister is gone, Elluka is the strongest person there.

She reveals Meta is not in an actual prison— she is in Lighwatch temple. Elluka is a virgin priestess there. This is a very special jail cell in the temple designed for someone of Meta’s magical talents. The walls and the ceiling are covered in anti-magic runes— meant to weaken and negate magical power or spells.

They hear footsteps, and Elluka declares it must be the head of the temple— in other words, Yegor Asayev, who has long black hair and thin, black facial hair. Meta accuses him of being the traitor— he claims that Apocalypse merely disappointed him. He abandoned his post believing them to be patriotic warriors, but defected when he realized they were just thugs. Meta accuses him of merely wanting to satisfy his cruel urges. Yegor doesn’t deny or confirm this— merely saying that unlike them, he wants to live a long life.

He tells her (and Yegor really does give the impression that he might enjoy making people suffer) that Pale has been captured, and is in Welvya prison. Raisa wasn't captured— but she was killed immediately after her attempt to protect Meta. That means that Apocalypse has essentially been beheaded.

Yegor isn't sure how Raisa managed to catch wind of his betrayal soon enough to arrive there at that time, and wonders if he may have a traitor of his own.

Yegor mocks Meta and Raisa a little more and tells her to wait for her execution like an adult. He claims to have been divinely pardoned for his crimes— Meta thinks it’s a mix of his family connections and his reward for selling out Apocalypse. He leaves.

Meta is nearly in tears, of both grief and rage. She's shaking in her seat, which rattles the chains.

Meanwhile poor Elluka has been watching this whole thing from the sidelines. She notes that while Meta is a bad person, so too is Yegor. Meta advises Elluka to leave this place as soon as she is able to. Elluka says she’ll think on it, and then leaves the room.

Scene 6

Meta is moved to a new room, similar to the old one except that there is a smooth white chair in the middle. The legs are affixed to the floor, and it has several leather straps on it. Meta figures this is the execution chair.

The executioner (who has his face covered) tells her to sit down, and she does. She tries to think of a way out of this, but the executioner tells her that her Gilles power won’t work on him— she quickly recognizes his voice as sounding like Pale. And when he takes off the cloth covering his face, she quickly realizes that it’s Seth (he was thinking of messing with her by pretending to be Pale, but decided not to at the last second).

Seth remarks that they haven’t seen each other since she tried to kill him at Merrigod (which he thinks Pale ordered her to do, though she denies it). Not that he holds any ill will for that. Pale has apparently been growing more and more rebellious towards Seth. He insists that he is not their enemy, even if he isn’t really on their side.

He says that he came here to help her. His plan is to have her “killed” to get her out of the capital— Gammon decided that all criminal corpses are to be taken to an installation outside of the city. Meta jokes that he’ll revive her as a zombie, to which Seth nods— seemingly to freak her out, as when she objects he goes into his real plan.

It skips their discussion of that. Seth reminds her that the condition for him saving her is that she participate in his experiments at his research facility, and hands her a glass bottle. There is a map to the facility rolled inside.

He starts affixing the straps to her arms, legs, stomach, and head. She asks if this’ll hurt— Seth says he wouldn’t know, as he’s never been executed before.

He throws the switch. She’s electrocuted, and then falls unconscious.

Scene 7

After the execution, Meta’s body is taken inside a casket to the installation as planned. Right after it leaves the temple, Yegor and the priestesses all say a prayer for her. A tearful Elluka is the only one who notices Yegor smiling a little as he makes his prayer.

Meta awakes in the coffin in the installation. She gets the lid open and climbs out, amazed that she’s alive. Seth regulated the electricity so that it would only temporarily disrupt her heart. She takes out the map, though of course has no intention of keeping her promise. She’s about to tear up the map when she sees a message in there from Seth.

He has Pale. And if she doesn’t show up, he’ll kill him. She runs across the cold stone to the institute.

Scene 8

Ever since Gammon’s coup, the twelve capitals have been in an uneasy governmental state. The 12 senators are supposed to be the heads of each family that governs the 12 cities— but Gammon has shuffled them all out, including his father. Fearing too much backlash, Gammon selected sons of the same families instead of getting new family lines altogether. Making the new senate SIGNIFICANTLY younger, in their twenties.

Gammon also made public the matter of Gavriil brainwashing the queen, promising to bring the senate back to something that serves the queen rather than using her. The prophecy of destruction also becomes common knowledge, and to help ease the unrest, Gammon appoints Seth in charge of a new Project Ma.

Seth is explaining this to Meta in the royal research institute. He has since hired on a great deal more researchers, though they are actually political informants, there to make sure she doesn’t run away. This is several months in— she’s already pregnant, and showing.

Meta asks if she’ll be made queen, but Seth says not this time (though she will get a higher status and various rewards). Apparently he had to do it this way because otherwise the Senate wouldn’t have given him permission to have her birth the Twins of God. They talk a bit about the politics of this a little. As a note, Seth marks the time of destruction as being “ten-odd” years away, so probably no more than a year has passed since Adam and Eve disappeared.

Seth says that Gammon isn’t like the other politicians, though— he faced the queen and came into contact with the “truth” though Seth doesn’t know what that was exactly, and as such he is legitimately desperate to avert the country’s destruction. This is part of why he accepted a criminal as the potential mother.

Since becoming pregnant Meta has been living hidden away in the institute. They don’t want the public to know that she’s the mother. She considers her situation a little, like that they might just kill her when they don’t need her anymore. She can reasonably assess that the government isn’t a monolith— Seth, whether ordered by Gammon or acting on his own, wouldn’t have had to go to such measures to break her out of jail if Yegor was in on the plan. So while Seth may promise to keep her safe, there’s no guarantee the others will. She also just doesn’t trust him.

She asks (as she has many times without being told yes) if she can see Pale. Today, Seth agrees. He explains that Pale had not been able to sustain himself without taking magic from people, and as such he wasn’t likely to live much longer— so he had him swap into a more sustainable body. He calls someone into the room, a boy. This is Pale.

Meta is really confused, so Pale explains. He is a Ghoul Child— an artificially created being, comparing it to Meta’s children, saying that they are different only in that his mother was a glass vessel instead of a human being. Meta has to agree with that, she was not impregnated by sex but by a procedure, after all. Ghoul Children were the fruits of Seth’s research on the Next Queen Project as Horus.

Pale notes that he started having the issue with needing magic once he became an adult, though he’s better off than the other Ghoul Child made alongside him, who was little more than an empty shell. They ended up transferring his soul from his degrading body into the empty shell to save him. However, it took some time, which is why Seth couldn’t have them meet until now.

Pale knew this from the beginning, and it is why he ordered Meta to try to kill Seth— he wanted to become the “true” one by killing the original. Meta is moved by sympathy for Pale and goes to hug him. Pale asks Seth if they can be alone for a little bit, and Seth agrees because he’s not a monster, come on.

After hugging a little while, Pale tells her they should escape together— he can live as he is now, so there’s no need for Seth to keep him alive. They can’t flee while Meta is pregnant, so he figures he’ll do something after the babies are born. He wants to restart Apocalypse with her, and Milky if they can afford to find her.

He’s living at Seth’s house right now, under the guise of being his nephew. Figuring the conversation is over, Seth enters to fetch Pale, taking him away. Meta sees Pale as nothing more than arms and legs connected to Seth’s fingers by thin strings.

Scene 9

Several months pass, and the babies are born. They are immediately put into a life support system. The “baby room” is in the institute, with the twins inside two large glass tubes, that run from halfway up the tower to the ground floor, full of fluid. Gammon is looking at them with Seth.

Like normal premature babies, Meta's babies weren’t able to breath well after being born, but they’ve recovered now, the tubes are a precaution. Gammon wants to have them taken to Alicegrad soon, so they can be made into the receptacles for Levia and Behemo’s souls.

Gammon explains that Alice herself will do this using the “Swap Technique”. He claims she is the only person in Levianta who knows how to do it, and that supposedly all of the queens through Levianta’s history have had this power. Their ability to receive revelations is, according to him, a result of temporarily allowing the gods’ spirits into their bodies.

Seth doesn’t let on that he already knows all about it, because he can do something similar.

Gammon has been wearing his hair differently, setting his ponytail low instead of high. He's been smiling more often, too.

Seth also thinks that this is all quite unlike Gammon, being much more knowledgeable than he would have thought. He thinks maybe someone has swapped their soul into his body. Whether Gammon is still in there or not is something Seth can't tell.

The day after next, Hansel and Gretel’s birth is told to the public, and the new Evillious calendar is made to mark their birth date.

Scene 10

Four days later, at night, Meta is looking at the babies and thinking to herself how cute they are, despite the fact that she never had an interest in kids before now. She’s not happy though that they aren’t her and Pale’s kids, she can’t even hold them, and that they’re going to be taken away to be used as vessels for gods tomorrow.

Looking upon them, it triggers memories of her past. Gretel’s eyes are open, and she is reaching for her mother inside the glass. Meta puts her hand over hers on the glass, and then has a flashback.

Scene 11

It’s her dream from the beginning of the chapter, running from orange flames with a figure in the middle. She has to keep running. When she glances back, she sees Seth Twiright.

Scene 12

Meta's reminiscing is interrupted. She can hear screaming, shouting, and gunshots. Realizing it’s Pale at work, she dives inside the tanks, taking the babies with her as she shatters the tubes. The remnants of Apocalypse are wreaking havoc. Pale calls to her from a window in the hallway, bidding her to leave the building through it.

He objects to her taking the children along, saying they’ll only get in the way, but she refuses to leave them behind. She realizes his current body is too small to run with babies in his arms, so she carries them both herself.

She thinks about her birth, her early childhood, that time she hated so much. Seth declared her a failure, and, fearing being put in refrigeration like her “brother”, escaped from him during the same attack Adam disappeared in. She knows it’s selfish, but she doesn’t want the babies to suffer as she has. She doesn’t want them to be the toys of gods.

Scene 13

Meta and Pale are running through a foggy new moon night. They think that they’re safe— but Pale suddenly trips and falls, starting to lose consciousness. Meta remembers what happened in the forest, and realizes the fog is the same poison as before.

Seth approaches (wearing a full-face mask), wondering why it’s not affecting her babies. He says the fog was a sort of byproduct of producing Venom— it won’t kill anyone, but they’ll be put to sleep for a few days. Seth already knew the fog likely wouldn't affect Meta, but he's certain the babies wouldn't be inheritors like her. He wonders if a god could be interfering.

Pale urges Meta to leave him behind and run south to escape the country— he knows Seth won’t kill him; Seth confirms, saying basically he’s too good at being evil to kill. Meta says she’ll wait for Pale in the forest, and runs off. Seth tries to follow her, but Pale grabs his leg and she gets away.

Seth kicks him to get him to let go. He won’t kill Pale, but he does plan to “reset” him.

Scene 14

Meta is running away, referencing the last part of the song.

Meta’s part ends in her declaring that she’s a fugitive.

#infoedit #ec #evillious chronicles #meta salmhofer #original sin story #story #fanfic #seth twiright #Pale Noel #Raisa Netsuma #yegor asayev #elluka chirclatia

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nothingeverlost · 4 years

Text

Fic: Henry Gold (5/?)

Summary: Regina asked for Gold’s help in procuring a child, but when he held the wee boy in his arms he couldn’t give the child up. Ten years later it’s Henry Gold who arrives in Boston, looking for Emma.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3/ Chapter 4

A/N: Very Henry-lite, but . Emma meets Mary Margaret, a pregnant girl, and applies first aid. More show dialog than past chapters.

"You had us all worried, Henry." At Henry's request Emma walked him to school the next morning. They were greeted in the playground by a woman with short hair who looked strangely familiar, though Emma knew that they'd never met. "I'm glad you're safe."

"Thanks Miss Blanchard. I have to go talk to Paige. Bye Emma, thanks for walking me." Henry was off before Emma had a chance to respond. Ever since the call had come from Franklin's that it would be at least a week before her car could be repaired, thanks to a part that needed to be ordered, Henry had been much more relaxed.

"So you're Henry's teacher." Who happened to be the woman that Henry thought was her mother. The mother who was, from the looks of her, the same age as Emma herself. "I'm Emma. I'm, uh…"

"His biological mother. You're also the one that got him and Archie out of the mine." Miss Blanchard shrugged. "It's a small town, and there's not a lot to talk about. News travels fast. Also he apparently used my credit card to find you, or at least I assume that’s why a site called www.whoseyourmama showed up on my bill."

“I don’t have much experience with small towns.” She wasn’t used to people knowing much about her, either. She was more used to stolen credit cards, but hadn’t realized that Henry had inherited that talent. Was stealing hereditary? If so he came by it honestly.

“Sometimes if can be really wonderful, having so many people know you. Sometimes it can feel lonely, when it feels like nothing ever changes.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid I have to take some of the blame for yesterday, and for you being here.”

“Because of the credit card?” Emma wondered if Henry would have still run for the mines if she had never been in the town. If he had would he have found a way out?

“Because of the book.” Mary Margaret looked to the corner of the playground where Henry was sitting and talking to a little blond girl. It was the first time Emma had seen him with a kid his own age.

“You’re the one that gave it to him?” That was weird. Or maybe it made sense. She gave him the book so maybe seeing her as one of the characters was logical, for a ten year old. And if his teacher was a character in the book then he’d just started naming other people too. “Why?”

“Henry is a very special boy, so smart and creative. But he’s also very lonely. Perhaps because of who his father is, or because he’s so clever he’s never been very good at making friends. I thought the book could help.”

“How does a book make him less lonely?” For a moment she was back on the bed in one of her group homes, walkman playing music through her headphones and a book in front of her. She knew what lonely felt like, but her books and music had been a shield, not a solution.

“What do you think stories are for? These stories are classics. There’s a reason we all know them. They’re a way for us to deal with our world. A world that doesn’t always make sense to adults, let alone ten year old boys.” Mary Margaret sighed. “What’s the first fairytale you remember someone reading to you?”

“I didn’t get a lot of storytime.” There had been a family once, that had almost kept her, but then they’d had a child of their own. She’d tried to forget most of that home; it made the rest of them harder. “I remember sneaking into a theatre to see Hunchback of Notre Dame once.”

Mary Margaret bit her lip, looking a little like she wanted to cry. People raised in happy homes with parents usually assumed that everyone else had the same. “I gave the book to him because I wanted Henry to have the most important thing anyone can have. Hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

Emma was grateful when the bell rang and kids started running for the building. She didn’t want to know what Mary Margaret’s next question might be.

“It was nice meeting you, Emma.” Mary Margaret offered her hand, but before Emma could shake a bird landed on her finger.

“Yeah.” Maybe Henry’s stories were getting to her too, because for just a second she could understand how Henry could look at his teacher and see Snow White. “I’ll see you around.”

“Are you okay?” All she’d wanted was a cup of coffee, but she’d barely managed a sip before spilling it on her shirt. The diner’s owner had directed her to the laundry room of the bed and breakfast next door to clean up. Now she was faced with a very pregnant and very unhappy pregnant teen that reminded her way too much of herself. Well, except for the lack of a prison jumper.

“Last night, I felt contractions and the doctor said that the baby could come any day now.” She rubbed her belly, one hand resting on it even when she poured bleach into the washing machine. Apparently the sheets weren’t supposed to be pink. Emma remembered waking to find her hand on her belly, feeling the movement inside and forcing herself to move her hand, wrapping it around the metal frame of her cell bed.

“Ah.” What could she say? Labor was scary and painful, but being that pregnant wasn’t comfortable.

“It’s just that, um, when the… When the baby comes, no one thinks that I can do this. No one thinks I can do anything.” She looked down at her belly. “Maybe they’re right.”

“Forget what they think, what do you think?” She didn’t let herself think about what it what it would have been like to keep her kid. It hadn’t been possible and it wouldn’t have been Henry’s best life. She’d made her only possible choice, but that was her. “What do you want for you and what do you want for this kid?”

“I’m nineteen.”

“A year older than I was.” And from the looks of her not living on the street at least.

“When you had a kid?” The girl frowned, as if it had never occurred to her that someone else might have been in the same boat.

“Yeah. Everyone loves to tell you what you can and can’t do, especially with a kid. For me the right choice was adoption but I was the only person that could make that choice. You’re the only one that can decide for you.” Hopefully the mayor wasn’t still looking for a kid. The idea that she could have been Henry’s mom was still unsettling.

“You don’t understand. Sean’s father…”

“Doesn’t get to make decisions for you.” She didn’t wonder where this ‘Sean’ was. Clearly he wasn’t interested, nor was his father grandparent material. “You just got to punch back and say, ‘no, this is who I am.’ You want people to look at you differently? Make them. If you want to change things, you’re going to have to go out there and change them yourself, because there are no fairy godmothers in this world.

“Gold?” Emma was restlessly wandering the kitchen, trying to decide if she wanted hot chocolate or a drink from Gold’s decanter when she heard him come down the stairs.

“The alarm from my shop is going off.” He wore an overcoat and a scarf. She’d taken the trash out earlier and it had been see-your-breath kind of cold. That was more than an hour ago.

“Did you want me to come with you?” Apparently small towns didn’t have security patrols that answered alarms. So far as she could tell they had one sheriff, and that was about it.

“No, it’s probably just a stray cat trying to get someplace warm. I won’t be gone fifteen minutes. Henry’s asleep, I turned off his lamp before I came down.” He glanced up the stairs.

“Don’t forget gloves,” she suggested before going back into the kitchen to make hot chocolate with cinnamon. Just thinking about being outside made her cold. She drank her chocolate while wandering the rooms, looking at the photos on the walls and the odd trinkets. There was one display case that held nothing but a teacup with a chipped rim; she wondered if the chip made it more or less valuable. There were pictures of Henry all over the place, one tops of tables and hanging on the walls. She lost count of how many bookcases there were; Henry’s room had a couple as well. Gold probably did too, though she hadn’t seen his bedroom.

Emma was washing out her mug when she glanced at the clock and realized it had been more than half an hour since Gold had left, twice the time he’d expected to be gone. If it was a false attempt to enter the shop he’d be back already; they were only five minutes away. She slipped her phone out of her pocket and dialed his number. It rang five times before going to voicemail.

“Crap.” The way she figured it she only had one choice. She called the sheriff to ask for a ride.

“Gold?” She didn’t have a gun with her but she was fast and she was sneaky. She had the door to the shop open before Graham caught up to her.

“Potential crime scenes are in my job description, not yours. You should let me go first,” Graham suggested.

“Habit,” she said with a shrug, scanning the room. “This is not that different from what I do.”

“Professional thief?” There was a hint of humor in his voice that was probably inappropriate but almost made her grin despite her worry. If anything happened to Gold Henry would be inconsolable.

“Sort of the opposite. I’m a bail bonds person.” At least that was part of her job. She did some bounty hunting as well but that was a little less official and she was talking to the local law.

“Not something we’ve ever had much use of around here.” There was no one in the main room of the shop so together they moved through the curtain to the back. Gold was on the floor and he didn’t look like he was moving.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She turned on the switch, flooding the room with light. Gold’s chest rose and fell so that was something, at least, but he didn’t flinch at the light.

“I’m going to check out back.” Graham headed for the door. Emma knelt next to Gold and looked for injuries. When she rolled him to his back his hair fell to one side and revealed a bloody gash near his temple. She didn’t know if the fancy squares in his pocket were supposed to serve any purpose but they were the first thing she grabbed to staunch the blood.

“I hope 911 works in this place.” She’d never lived in a town small enough to wonder before.

“Don’t bother on my account.” Gold struggled to sit up but Emma’s light hold on his chest was enough to stop him. She didn’t realize at first glance how bloodshot his eyes were.

“Slow down there, champ. Bleeding out on your own office floor is going to make for a pretty embarrassing story.” Emma frowned. She should probably ask him some questions or something, but the whole ‘do you know who the president is’ thing never made much sense to her.

“Bleeding?” His hand went up to his head, fingertips coming away sticky and red. “I must have hit the corner of the desk when I fell.”

“You fell?” Graham closed the door when he came back in, and the lack of a draft made the place feel warmer.

“Must have been an uneven patch on the floor. I should have turned the light on.” This time he did sit up, wincing a little as he did so.

“There wasn’t anyone else in here?” Graham looked skeptical, which was fair because Emma knew that Gold was lying through his teeth. It was the first lie she’d caught him in.

“No one but me and my shadow.�� He grasped for his cane but didn’t try to stand. “Thank you for your service, sheriff, but it was a false alarm. I’m sure Ms. Swan won’t mind driving my car home and you probably should get back to a warm bed somewhere.”

“I could follow you home just to be sure,” Graham offered. He seemed to be reluctant to leave.

“We’ll call if we need you.” Gold sat perfectly still until Graham was gone and the sound of the front door closing meant he’d left the building.

“Are you going to tell me now why you were lying?” Emma stood and held out her hand. After a moment Gold held on firmly and let her help him to stand. She didn’t comment on the fact he’d needed help, or that he leaned on the cane more heavily than usual.

“I’d rather wait until we’re home, if you don’t mind. I don’t like leaving Henry alone in the house. If you wouldn’t mind locking the back door, please.” He limped towards the front without waiting for her reply. She made note of the fact that the lock was pretty crappy and there was a pane of broken glass that she would bet anything wasn’t broken an hour ago. Calling it locked was a joke, really. The front door at least had a bolt.

“So are you going to tell me now?” she asked when they were back at the house and she’d run upstairs to check on Henry. He was still sleeping. Gold was patting his face dry with a towel, his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. “Do you need a bandaid?”

“It’s fine,” he said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “I’m having a drink, would you like one?”

“I’d like the truth.” She took the drink, though, when he led her out of the kitchen and into the library.

“There was someone in my shop tonight. A young woman that clearly needed help; she was quite wound up, not acting like herself at all.”

“And she hit you?” Who in the world broke into a pawn shop and stole things?

“No, no. She used pepper spray on me, threw me off my balance. I really did hit the desk.” He touched his wound lightly with a couple of fingers and winced. At least it wasn’t bleeding. “I’ve never seen her like that before.”

“You know her?”

“She’s a client, of sorts.” He paused for a moment to sit on the sofa, raising his leg to rest on the ottoman. “You see, Emma, there’s no lawyer here in Storybrooke. I’m rather good with contracts, and sometimes people come to me for help with deals. Ashley Boyd sought me out a few months ago. She’s a young girl, only a year out of high school, and there’s a babe on the way. Neither her family, such as it is, or the father are helping her. She wanted to discuss options.”

“You were brokering an adoption?” She had a sinking suspicion that she knew exactly who he was talking about. It couldn’t be a coincidence that she’d talked to a young pregnant girl hours ago about ‘punching back’ and a young pregnant girl had broken into the shop and assaulted Gold. Great.

“I was. There’s a couple here in town, actually, that has been trying for years to have a child. They have a nursery ready and names picked out. I have a keen interest in helping families find each other.” He glanced towards the hall and the staircase going up to his son’s room. “She never seemed happy but she was relieved that someone would love and raise her child. Perhaps reality is setting in now that she’s so close to having the baby. She was raving about changing her destiny, and something confusing about godmothers.”

“Where is she now?” Shit, it was the same girl. And a family that might not get a baby they’d been waiting for, but if Ashley wanted her baby she deserved that chance. Either way someone was going to lose.

“I don’t know. She lives at the bed and breakfast and doesn’t have a car. Her parents are both dead but there’s a stepmother. I didn’t want to send the sheriff after her, she doesn’t need a record for one confused moment, but we should find her.”

“In the morning.” She frowned, and wondered again about his wound. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor? How do you know it’s safe to go to bed?”

“I’m far too stubborn and thick-headed for a little bump to cause any problems.” He downed most of his drink in a single gulp. Maybe the drink helped, because he was more steady on his feet when he stood and left the room. Emma was about to follow when her phone rang. It was a Maine area code.

“Hello?” She hadn’t given her number to anyone except Gold and the guy at the repair shop. It was a weird time to be calling about her car.

“I just wanted to be sure you made it home safely. No ill effects?” The sheriff’s voice was easily identifiable.

“Are you really conscientious or really bored?” She didn’t bother asking how he had her number. She was curious why he’d gotten it.

“Actually I have an ulterior motive. I have discretionary funds in my budget for a deputy, and since your job isn’t that different I thought you might be interested.”

“I’m only in town for a week.” Less than that now, but she wasn’t counting the days.

“Are you sure? I can offer you dental, as well as donuts. The hours are flexible and the boss is easy to work for.” He laughed, and Emma found herself smiling. She couldn’t say yes, though. She had a job and a life in Boston. Well a job at least.

“Donuts, really?” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Sometimes the cliches are true. I know a place that makes really good donuts. Maybe I can show you, even if you’re only staying a week. And maybe you’ll change your mind about staying.” He reminded her of Henry for a moment. “Anyway the offer’s genuine if you change your mind. Both the job and the donuts.”

“Thanks.” She couldn’t accept the job offer, of course, and it probably was a bad idea to go out with Graham even if it was just donuts. Donuts could easily mean coffee too, and then they were heading into dangerous pseudo date territory. This time next week she’d be in Boston. Leaving behind Henry would be hard enough without making friends with more people.

Emma drained her glass and carried it into the kitchen before heading up to bed. She deliberately didn’t check in on Henry before closing her bedroom door. She didn’t need it to become a habit.

#verse: henry gold #emma ruth swan #henry gold #mr. gold #graham humbert #my fic #mary margaret blanchard

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princess-of-the-worlds · 5 years

Text

dance with the devil

For Day Two of Klaroline AU Week 2019: Crossovers and Fusions.

Happy KC AU Week! @klaroline-events

This is for all the Lucifer fans and is based off this picspam I made several months ago.

***

ao3 link: here

word count: 1668

summary: Detective Caroline Forbes of the LAPD questions an eccentric nightclub owner who claims to be the devil, not knowing that he'll change her life.

***

LAPD clusters around the sidewalk, bright yellow caution tape separating the bullet-ridden, bloodsoaked body of the young blond from the public. Uniforms take statements from shock blanket-covered witnesses, and crime techs swarm the scene, picking up shards of glass and bullet fragments with tweezers and gloved hands.

As Caroline Forbes, formerly Forbes-Lockwood, approaches the scene, sensible boots tapping out a rhythm against the pavement, she eyes the bright flickering sign from the nearby nightclub The Abattoir. She’s immediately grateful for the sunglasses shielding her eyes, tossing her blond ponytail over her shoulder as she arrives besides her ex-husband Tyler.

“Care,” he says, greeting her with a civil nod. Their divorce was finalized two weeks ago, and based on the tightness of his jaw, he’s apparently still not over the fact that they now share custody of their seven-year-old daughter Lizzie.

“Detective Lockwood,” she replies coolly. “Fill me in.”

Tyler struggles not to sneer. He definitely used to be a lot more supportive before they separated. “It’s pretty basic.” He turns towards the body. “College student Camille O’Connell was leaving The Abattoir when she was gunned down by a nearby driver. Based on the cocaine we found in her pocket, she likely owed some low-level drug dealer some cash or something, which makes sense. She wasn’t exactly rolling in it.” He nods towards the nightclub. “O’Connell used to work here as a bartender. Maybe this is where she formed some connections.”

Caroline hums. “Any prime witnesses?”

“One. The nightclub owner.” Tyler grimaces. “Says his name is Niklaus Mikaelson.”

Following the slope of Tyler’s finger, Caroline eyes the man he’s pointing to. Niklaus Mikaelson is a mouthful of a name for a multifaceted man. At first glance, he looks nothing like the rich club owner he apparently is; dressed down in a Henley, dark jeans, and boots, a subtle string of wooden beads around his neck, he wouldn’t be out of place traipsing around in the woods. The devil, however, is in the details: if one looks more closely like Caroline is, they’ll spot the expensive authentic leather of his boots and the handsome Rolex around his wrist or the sleek smartphone he’s slipping from his pocket, a model that Caroline’s quite sure hasn’t even been released yet. Mikaelson is also undeniably pretty: expressive stormy eyes, a dimple grin, mussed sandy curls, lean but muscular.

“So,” is the first thing Caroline says to him as she arrives besides him, “Niklaus Mikaelson? Is that a stage name or something?”

Mr. Mikaelson shakes his head, eyes twinkling strangely. “God-given, I’m afraid.” He pauses, studying Caroline. “You know, you look familiar. Have we met before?”

No, they haven’t. He’s likely seen her in one of the few chick flicks that she starred in before she decided to follow her mother into law enforcement, but to keep his mind from wandering to the full-frontal nudity role that really made her stand out to the public, she quickly shakes her head. “Yeah, five minutes ago.” She purses her lips. “And I’m the one asking the questions.” When he hums in acknowledgement, she nods. “Tell me about your relationship with the victim.”

“Well,” Mr. Mikaelson says consideringly. “Cami used to work here a few years ago; she was trying to gain admittance into a prestigious undergraduate psychology program. She’d dropped out from college when she was younger to help her twin brother with some family problems. I pulled some strings.” He frowns. “She was about to graduate, so she came by to thank me.” His eyes flicker a shade darker. Caroline blinks, swearing she spots a glimmer of red in his pupils. “Then someone decided to end her life.”

Huh. So Mr. Mikaelson definitely had some personal investment here. Could he have been in a relationship with the victim? What kind of strings had he pulled for her?

“Did you know the shooter, Mr. Mikaelson?” Caroline asks.

He grimaces at the name. “Please, call me Klaus,” he requests with an easy smirk. “And no, but we did have an interesting little chat just before he kicked off.” His smirk becomes a bit subdued. “I asked him why he did.”

“Like to play cop, do you?” Caroline cocks a disbelieving eyebrow.

Klaus chuckles. “No, I like to play in general, Detective.” He eyes her form appreciatively and smiling amicably at her. “What about you?”

Caroline ignores his question, delving forward with her investigation. “So you had a conversation with a dead guy?” She knows that it’s her case, that she’d insisted on it to Tyler, but why does she always interviewing the weird guys?

Frustratingly, Klaus shakes his head, but his eyes are still indecipherable. “Oh, no, he wasn’t quite dead.” He taps his elegant fingers along his upper thigh, drumming out a rhythm that only he seems to be able to hear or make sense of. “His soul hadn’t crossed the threshold.”

Seriously?

It takes all of Caroline’s willpower to keep her expression neutral and calm. “I see,” she replies sharply. “Did he tell you why he did it?”

The nightclub owner fixes her with an amused glance. “Why, money of course. You humans love your money.” He says it ever so strangely.

“Yes,” Caroline retorts, suddenly defensive. “Yes, we do.” She raises her chin pointedly. “And, uh, what planet are you from? London?”

To her surprise, Klaus tosses back his head and laughs full-bodied. The sound, although charming and handsome, catches the attention of several of the uniforms, and they turn to stare at them. Amongst them is Tyler. Caroline nearly flushes. “Yes,” Klaus admitted. “He also said, ‘I just pulled the trigger.’”

“Now, don’t you think that’s interesting?” She lifts her head, fixing Klaus with an appraising glance. “Cami was shot to death by a drug dealer and looks like Cami herself kept the guy pretty busy.” Her ponytail swings over her shoulder with her movements. “You know, it’s sad, it’s ugly, but it’s not rocket science. Something probably went south between them. She gets riddled with bullets, and a nice little act of God takes him out.”

Something dark passes over Klaus’s eyes, and his lips press together tightly, voice becoming strange. “You know, it doesn’t quite work like that, Detective,” he tells her.

Caroline hums, tapping her foot against the pavement. “It’s quite a neatly wrapped little present for the LAPD, don’t you think?” She raises a critical eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me something?” She pauses. “How did she end up dying in a hailstorm of bullets, and you get away without a scratch? I think that’s interesting. Don’t you?”

“The benefits of immortality,” Klaus says.

“Immortality.” Dryly, Caroline shoots back, “Mm, of course. Uh, you spell that with one or two M’s? I always forget.”

“What will your corrupt little organization do about this?” Something about the way Klaus says it makes Caroline look at him strangely. There’s something off about it, something strictly non-human, but she can’t put her finger on it.

A moment later, she shrugs it off, shivering, and focuses on his question. “Excuse me?”

“Will you find the person responsible?” Klaus asks her directly. “Will they be punished? Will this be a priority for you?” He fixes her with a stern look. “Because it is for me.”

Under his gaze, Caroline bristles. “You’ve got some balls on you, pal.”

At her remark, he looks delighted, eyes twinkling, anger slipping away like mercury. “Oh, thank you very much, but they’re really...quite average.” He smirks.

“I bet.” Caroline allows an edge of steel to slip into her voice. She’s used to her colleagues and the public underestimating her as a woman and as a detective, but she won’t stand for it.

“Now, are you sure that we haven’t met?” Klaus ignores her warning. “I could swear I’ve seen you naked.” He looks considerate now. “Have we had sex?”

A wave of anger washes over her, her vision flashing red. “We’re done here.” Her boots scrape against the pavement as she storms away

“Uh, Detective! Wait!” Klaus chases after her. “Someone out there needs to be punished,” he says as he catches up to her and matches her stride. Something about the way his accent caresses punished strikes her wrong. “We’re not done.”

Turning her back on him, Caroline peels off in the opposite direction, heading towards one of the uniforms. “Yeah,” she calls behind her. “Yeah, we are.”

***

If someone had told Caroline later that this was the moment her life would change, that this man, this nightclub owner, who looked like an angel, claimed to be the devil, and would sometimes smile like a demon would uproot everything she had ever known, she wouldn’t have believed them, but it would entirely be the truth.

Not much later, Klaus Mikaelson would show up everywhere on the Cami O’Connell case until they finally found the killer, a former classmate named Aurora de Martel. He would try his little “desire is my superpower” trick on her and fail, though he would somehow use it to trick Aurora into stuttering out her confession. Eventually, he would somehow convince Caroline’s boss, the police chief, into letting him become a consultant. Then she would see him every single day at work.

Soon, he would save her life over and over again while she danced around his flirtations and rolls her eyes at his claims of being devil, even when he introduces her to his bartender Marcel - apparently a demon - and his brother Elijah the angel. He would meet her daughter Lizzie and treat her better than even Tyler at times despite inching away desperately whenever she launched herself at him to hug him. He would belittle and irritate Tyler too, but both men would begrudgingly work together.

Unbeknownst to her - and to him, Caroline would fall in love with him and Klaus with her, and when he revealed his true devilish form to her and when she finally believed him, she wouldn’t recoil.

Because she would be in love with the devil.

#kcauweek2019 #klaroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #klaroline drabble

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