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cordonian-literature · 3 years

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Forever Mine

chapter seven

❦ summary — The time for Princess Riley to step into her role as queen fast approaches and finding the future king is Cordonia’s top priority. Commander Liam is aware of that, and has plans to make sure the princess ends up with someone suitable.

➺ chapter warnings: implied smut, manipulation, mild language, violence, character death

❦ catch up here!

➺ word count: (+/-) 1960

*all characters belong to Pixelberry, except those unique to my story*

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The soreness on Riley's hips and wrists along with the ache and emptiness between her legs paired with Maria, her handmaid, still calling to her from the other side of the door, served to fuel her panic and drive her near tears.

After quickly redressing himself, Liam gently pulls Riley's gown back over her, patting her hair down and wiping tears from her cheek.

"What are we supposed to do about," Riley begins to ask, but pauses when Liam squeezes her wrist.

"Stay quiet. I will do the talking," he commands, and Riley is too frightened to do anything but obey.

As he walks them over to the door, Riley feels a warm liquid traveling down her inner thigh. She looks again towards Liam, wanting some sort of assurance that they weren't going to get into trouble with her father, but he doesn't spare her a glance.

"Princess?" The royal secretary, Jean, calls out. "Your father requests your presence! I still must go and collect the Commander as well. Please, do not make this difficult for me."

Liam opens the door in one swift motion. "No need to go collect me, Jean," the Commander says to the royal secretary. "I was with the princess taking a complaint about one of the nobles." He taps her lower back, which Riley takes as a cue to nod.

"Ah... I see," says Jean, taking a moment to stare at Riley's fallen tears. "Well, then, let me lead you to His Majesty's office."

As Maria walks away, Riley and Liam follow closely behind Jean, the dark hallway illuminated by small streaks of light from the windows.

"Why do you think my father is calling us over so late?" Riley asks Liam, hoping for some gentle conversation. She was still trying to wrap her mind around what had occurred between them in the library. The pain in her inner thighs increased with every step she took.

Instead of answering her, Liam pulls out his phone, illuminating his shadowed face for a few seconds before he puts the phone back in his pocket.

Riley asks her question again, and when he turns to look at her, she looks away. His gaze brought a sense of shame in her, even though at that moment she wanted nothing more than his comforting arms around her.

"I'm not too sure," he says plainly, and they continue their walk in the dark.

When they reach the King's office, Constantine sits at his desk with Leo across from him. The old man motions for both Riley and the Commander to sit, then dismisses Jean.

As the man leaves the office, he tries to read the Commander's expression from the corner of his eye.

Was Liam proud of himself, Jean wonders? Being with the Princess alone so late at night was not only dangerous for her but was guaranteed to cause rumors to go around. He was thankful that it was only him and Maria that had heard what was happening inside. For the princess' sake, Jean told himself that he wouldn't tell anyone what he had witnessed.

"I called you all in here to tell you," Constantine begins, "that the end of the season will be Riley's coronation."

Leo and Riley shift forward in their seats, surprised at their father's words.

"There's no reason for you to be surprised, Riley," the King says. "You knew of this before the season began."

"True, but," she stutters. "It... it was never finalized."

"It has been now," the man says. He opens his mouth to say something more, but Riley interrupts him before he can.

"But why? You told me that I would have months after the season to prepare for the wedding and for my role as queen. Why didn't you—"

"Your father has cancer, Riley," Liam interrupts her.

She turns her head to him in shock. "How long have you known?" the princess asks, a feeling of betrayal filling her eyes with tears.

"There's no way you've been telling your Commander these personal issues before your own children," Leo speaks out.

Constantine raises his voice to answer, "Trust me when I tell you that I wished to tell you sooner, but I truly couldn't."

"Bullshit," Leo states, falling back into his seat.

The room falls into stiff silence. Riley stares down at her hands, anxiety and confusion filling her chest. Leo couldn't shake the anger out of his head; how was Liam a more important person to tell compared to Leo and Riley?

Meanwhile, Constantine and Liam give each other a meaningful look, and the King instructs the Princess that she should get some rest before the morning. He tells Leo to stay in the room for a moment longer.

Liam offers his hand to Riley, and as she stands she sees Leo giving her a meaningful stare from the corner of his eye, but she can't guess what his unspoken words mean. The Commander and Princess walk out of the room arm in arm.

As the door to the King's office closes, Liam's elbow falls away from Riley's, leaving her to reach for him, but she takes a step back before her fingers graze his sleeve.

Riley notices someone else is in the hallway, but cannot recognize them. Liam greets the person with a nod.

"Is it still the same person from your message, Commander?" the soldier asks.

"The same three, Zacharias," he states.

"Of course, sir, my apologies."

Three? Three what? Riley wonders. She had complained to him about Michael, so it would make sense that he would call someone else to do the job for him. But who were the other two he was talking about? Could it be unfinished business?

She takes another step closer to him but stops when the soldier's eyes land on her.

Without another word, the Commander and his soldier walk away from each other, and Liam locks his arm with Riley's again to bring her to her room.

He kisses her hand when he leaves her outside her door, and when she's about to sit on her bed and is unexpectedly met with Maria, Riley jumps away.

"My apologies, Princess," the old woman says. "I just wanted to make sure that you made it back to your room safely."

"You don't have to worry about me, Maria. I'm not a small child anymore," Riley claims.

"I know, but," the woman pauses. "I do not think you should be spending so much time alone with Commander Liam."

"Why? Do you have something against him?"

Maria hesitates before answering. "I just think it's improper."

Riley doesn't respond to her statement. "I'm tired," she says instead. "Good night, Maria."

"Sleep well, child," the woman states, watching Riley roll into bed, then leaving the room.

As she walks the halls towards the servant's quarters, Maria feels a brooding presence behind her. She turns to look, suspecting that someone was following her, but the space behind her was empty; everyone had gone to sleep hours ago.

She continues walking through the palace, purposefully avoiding her room, until she circles back to Riley's chamber. Still, she feels something behind her, until Maria builds up the courage to ask, "Who's there?"

She waits for a response, staring at the dark space she had just come from. Maria stands still until the presence becomes dull, until the clouds outside cover the moon, and the small amount of light she had disappears, and she is left in the dark with an unknown stranger.

...

Even though the king had dismissed Jean, he had other duties to finish before his night came to a close. He made his way quickly to his small office and sighed as he sat down.

Jean grabs papers from the files he still has to work on, telling himself that he'll be fine sleeping on the couch in the corner of the office, but his thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Who's there?" he calls out, heart thundering, mind racing through the possibilities.

"It's just me, Jean," Zoe Zacharias laughs as they respond.

"Hey, Zoe!" Jean reacts to the pleasant visit. Though he and Zoe were not friends, they had been working closely since Liam became Commander. "Did the Commander dismiss you for the night, too?"

"Yeah, but I'm not too tired," they state, eyeing the pile of documents on the corner of Jean's desk.

Jean follows their gaze towards the pile. "Heh, must be nice being let out early. I can't go to sleep right now even if I wanted to."

Zoe responds with a light laugh. "How about we go get some drinks?"

"I can't," Jean states, motioning towards his pile.

"Afterwards I'll help you with your forms," they state, holding out a hand to lead him out of the room.

They walk quietly into the palace kitchen, which only has a few dim lights on, letting the two of them see around the room. Zoe walks towards a cabinet and grabs two bottles of wine, while Jean survey's their surroundings, worried that someone might catch them.

"You don't have to worry about someone finding us," Zoe states after they grab the bottles. "The Commander lets me get a drink whenever I want."

They start to make their way back to Jean's office, but Zoe stops and walks onto a balcony and Jean follows close behind.

The two of them listen to the melody of the night, the soft whisper of the wind, the gentle hum of life that had yet to sleep. When the bottles are open and they both take a swing, Jean wonders whether he should confide in Zoe about what he knew happened between the Princess and the Commander.

Zoe worked closely with Liam, even if she knew this information, she wouldn't blabber it on to other workers in the palace, would they?

But when Jean turns to look at Zoe, their eyes already stare daggers into him. Jean's body gives a jolt, and he almost chokes on his wine.

"You look like you have something to say," Zoe states.

"No. No, nothing," Jean claims.

Zoe raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Jean gulps and nods his head. He considers running back inside to the comfort of his office couch, but Zoe's gaze makes him too afraid to move.

"Is it something about the Commander?" Zoe guesses, causing Jean's body to go cold.

Noticing the reaction, Zoe throws their head back and laughs. They take a swing from their bottle and wipe the corner of their mouth.

"You can tell me, Jean," they say. "I've got plenty of embarrassing stories about Liam. Some that he'd kill me for if he knew that I'd told anyone." Zoe gives him a wide smile. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Oh, thank God!" Jean breathes a sigh of relief. "I thought you were going to tell the Commander and he would... would execute me or something!" The words fall out of Jean's mouth before he knew what he was saying. "I mean I didn't mean to walk in on him and the Princess, and even though I didn't see anything, I still think that it is beyond improper... I mean imagine if the king found out!"

"Exactly," Zoe states as Jean gives out a nervous laugh, staring out into the now moonless night. "Imagine if the king found out."

As Jean kept laughing, the clouds covered more and more of the night sky, leaving him and Zoe unable to see anything in front of them; the light from inside the palace wasn't even sufficient enough. And as the world around Jean becomes darker and darker, his vision turns black, and he is left feeling nothing but an increasing pain in the back of his head.

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a/n: i know this was short but i hope you all enjoyed this :))

@twinkleallnight @gkittylove99 @sweatyrysconnoisseur @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose @royalromancer @princess-geek @mom2000aggie @claireloutoo @tessa-liam @21-wishes @yourmajesty09

#royal romance fanfic #trr fanfic #trr #trr liam x riley #trr liam x mc #trr liam #trr drake #trr olivia #evil liam #trr drake x mc #trr drake x riley #the royal romance fanfic #trr au fanfic #trr au #choices fanfic #trr choices fanfic

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fortheloveoffanfic · 3 years

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Heaven, Hell and You

John Constantine x OFC (A/n- Just gonna toss in some cheesy tropes to move things along)

Masterlist Chapter 2

Warnings- Brief mentions of mental health

Chapter 3

John had made several mistakes in his life, though he couldn't determine if bringing Valerie back to his loft was one of them. She'd been eerily silent throughout the car ride, keeping closer to the door with her head cast towards the window as John drove in silence. And even when they'd reached his building, as led the way up to his apartment, she hadn't offered him the slightest pea. He needed her to talk though, so he could decipher what or who she was.

Valerie had to be special. Between his all too life like dreams and her being attacked by a demon trying to escape into their realm, she couldn't just be any regular human. Besides, she'd understood Latin as if it were English, and the only time he'd ever come across that was with angels. Nephilim, it was the only plausible answer. How could she not know though?

Taking off the whistling kettle from the stove, John filled up two mismatched mugs, both with tea bags he'd been surprised he'd had, leaving room for milk and sugar in one. He had never been the most hospitable, and usually preferred to not entertain guests, but he also supposed that the least he could do after essentially dragging her to his car was try to make her stay comfortable. And of course, get her to trust him so she'd talk.

After a while, he didn't really note how long it had been, Valerie emerged, wearing what he'd left out for her after offering to let her use his shower. Well, at least half of it, "I couldn't fit in your sweats," she blushed, certainly noting the way his dark eyes had landed on her exposed legs. Her very smooth, toned legs.

Clearing his throat, John tried to shake off the perverse thoughts, "Its fine," he dismissed, "Tea?"

Nodding stiffly, Valerie relieved him of the cup, only stirring in a spoon of sugar before bringing it to her lips, "Thanks," she smiled, her face half hidden by the ceramic mug, "And um……thank you for everything else too."

"No problem," he obliged, gesturing for them to sit, "Just part of the job."

"The job?" Her brows knitted in question.

"I'm an occult detective," and when she still showed no sign of understanding, he carried on with explaining, "I do exorcisms, investigate the supernatural, that kind of stuff.”

“I….” Trailing off, she tried to make sense of it all, “Exorcisms? The supernatural? That’s,” exhaling softly, John could already see that the little bits he’d given were too much for her, “That stuff isn’t real,” Valerie shook her head dismissively, though, he could see that thing in her frightened eyes, that thing that told John she wanted to believe him.

“You’ve got a better explanation for what happened back there?” Leaning back in his chair, John crossed his legs at the ankles, waiting for an answer.

Straightening her back, Valerie set the mug down, “Schizophrenia could easily explain that boy’s behavior, and it’s commonly associated with-”

Cutting her off, John interrupted her rambling, “And what about you understanding a language you’ve never learned?”

“Well there’s there’s not a lot of medical research on it, but I assume that a neurologist would suggest a brain tumor, or an-”

Chuckling dryly, John shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, “So you’d rather believe that you have a brain tumor than believe that demons and that stuff,” he quoted mockingly, “Is real?”

Clenching her jaw, Valerie stood abruptly, “That’s bullshit, that’s all nonsense and babble from the bible. Things meant to scare people into obedience,” emitting a dry, husky laugh, she rolled her eyes, “You expect me to believe that there are demons and one of them just knows me by name and decided to come after me. Cause that’s so believable!”

John stood too, fuming at her stubbornness. To think he’d actually thought he could like her! “If it’ll save your ass then yeah!”

“Save my ass from what?” Her yell was louder than his, and for a hot minute, all sorts of tension building between them, they just stood there, both red in the face, fuming.

“You should be telling me!” Running fingers through his hair, John turned away, walking over to lean on the skin, “You’re the one they’re after!”

“They?”

“Hell,” he clarified, “And maybe heaven too, I don’t know. Look,” his tone softened as John desperately tried to reason. Despite Valerie being extremely difficult, he still had the gnawing urge to help her. There was just something about her, he just couldn’t put his finger on it, “I know it’s a lot to hear in just one night, but believe it or not, they’re after you. And you’re the only person that knows why,” he sighed when she sat again, the gravity dawning on her just as she really started to let his words sink in, “Look, that couldn’t have been the first time-”

“It was,” she sniffled, swiping at her eyes, “I mean, it sort of was. I guess…..” Swallowing tightly, Valerie continued slowly and reluctantly, “I hear things sometimes…..they say they’re coming for me. Sometimes I see people that aren’t there, but the doctors-”

“Gave you a bunch of pills and told you it was all in your head?” John knew the story all too well, after all, it had been his story too.

“Sort of,” she shook her head, voice teary and smaller than before, “They said that I was being paranoid at first, and then this doctor that I went to when I was in college, gave me antipsychotics. She said that was delusional and when i graduated, my grandparents had to pay for the records to be suppressed so I could even get this job; no one’s gonna hire a crazy nurse.”

Her story, as little of it as she’d told, tugged at John’s heart. Going through something like that alone couldn’t have been easy and he didn’t want to upset her further, but the more he knew, the better he could help her, “Do you see things too?”

Thinking on it in silence, Valerie eventually nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze, “Yeah,” blinking away tears, “The meds never helped, so I stopped taking them. And now I just try to ignore it, but it’s so scary sometimes,” her already soft voice dropped to a sorrowful whisper, “Gosh,” her voice broke, “You must think I’m crazy.”

Finally pushing off the edge of the sink, John dragged the chair closer to Valerie’s tentatively resting his hand over hers on the table. It was so foreign for him, taking someone’s hand like that and the last hand he held was Angela’s, when they’d tried the whole dating thing, but holding hers didn’t feel half as right as holding Valerie’s and John, for the slightest second, though he could get used to it. If only he’d let himself. “I don’t,” he eventually reassured, causing her to look up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, a couple drying locks falling over her delicate features, “I see them too, when I was a kid, my parents sent me to a mental institute. They tried everything, electrotherapy,” at that, she gasped sympathetically, “Meds, but nothing helped. And I tried to kill myself.” It was hard to avoid the sympathy that welled up in her gaze, and the way she turned her hand beneath his, so she could circle his fingers in a loose grasp. He hated the vulnerability that came with telling someone the truth about himself, but though his mind protested, John came clean in one go, hoping it would help her open up.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, squeezing his fingers, and suddenly, she was the one comforting him, “That couldn’t have been easy, but now you have a second chance, right?” Finally, she was starting to admit that she, at least partly, believed him, “Not a lot of people can say they have that.”

“Right,” just realizing how close they’d gotten, both leaning over the table and hands still locked, John pulled away abruptly, resigning to the back of his chair at the kitchen table, “And I’m trying to make the best of it. But this isn’t about me-” When he caught her staring, frown down-turning full, pink lips, he furrowed his brows, “What?”

“You’re hurt,” as quickly as she stood, Valerie was dropping to her knees in front of him, their position leaving John a little more than flustered, “Let me see your arm.” Without his permission, she was already holding on to his left hand, undoing the cuff buttons of his dress shirt, ripped on the sleeve from the earlier confrontation, pushing it up to his elbow, revealing his tattoo along with a large slash running for about six or seven inches at the top of his arm, “It looks like it’s only just started to bleed through the fabric, but it’s bad. It doesn’t need stitches though. You’re lucky, it’s not close to the vein and not too deep either. Do you have a first aid kit? I have supplies in my car, but…..”

“I brought you here in mine,” he huffed. She was so close, and with her looking up at him like that, wide doe eyes so sweet and innocent and plump lips barely agape, it was kind of hard to think, “I have some things,” he breathed, feeling like he should be looking anywhere but at her face, lest he submit to whatever spell that it exuded, the only one he wasn’t immune to. “But you don’t have to-”

“I insist, you saved my life,” she smiled faintly, “Though, if you’d prefer an E.R, I could go with you, my Id’s in my bag so it wouldn’t take too long.”

“No,” he dismissed,” I mean,” floundering for his words, John fought to uncloud his mind, “I can take care of myself, you should get some rest.”

“Look, I’m staying with you so you can do your job, right? You want to help me because its your job?” Sitting back on her heels, Valerie’s hold on his hand continued, “Well since I’m here, you should let me do mine, please.”

Thinking on it, John could tell that Valerie probably wasn’t going to give up the matter so easily, thus, he submitted, “Okay, there should be some things that you can use in the medicine cabinet, above the sink in the bathroom.”

“Good,” she all but leaped up, scuttling off barefoot into the bathroom, only to return minutes later with John’s beat up first aid kit clutched in her small hands. Setting it down, Valerie pulled her chair even closer, so close that when she sat, one of his knees parted hers legs slightly. And when she leaned over to look over his wound, John could smell his soap mixing intoxicatingly with her natural scent. She’d put her hair up with a tie from her purse, and her eyes were trained on his arm, concentration equally reflected in her steady hands, gently dabbing his wound with Hydrogen Peroxide, trying to bring as little pain as possible, “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” He returned lowly, slightly wincing, “It did before, but I didn’t notice the bleeding until you pointed it out.”

“Okay,” when she was through with cleaning it, Valerie rummaged through the kit again with gloved hands, looking for an antibiotic cream or powder, searching for a while until she found something satisfactory, “There’s some bruising, it shouldn’t cause too many problems, but it’ll still hurt and we should keep an eye on it.”

“Alright, thanks,” John kept his eyes on her, admiring how she worked with a tenderness that he found often absent in other medical personnel. It was like, she cared in a personal way, as if he meant something to her already. He wondered if the treatment was exclusive to him, or if it was just something she carried within her. “So, you’re a nurse?”

“Nurse practitioner,” Valerie corrected, “I work in the ICU at Los Angeles General, most of a doctor’s work for half their pay,” she chuckled lightly.

Without warning, John found himself mirroring her smile, the mood lightening. “So why aren’t you a doctor instead?”

After a moment, she shrugged her shoulders, moving on to wrapping a bandage over his arm, to keep the gauze in place “When I was kid, my mother was an N.P in the E.R, I used to want to be just like her,” Valerie’s face fell, “She always said that I had…..healing hands, whatever that meant.”

By the time Valerie was done, she still held onto his wrist, her thumb tracing circles into his skin, “Can your mom…..or any of your other family see….things?”

As he asked the question, Valerie’s smile, as faint as it was faltered, “No, she couldn’t. I’m actually adopted, and my mom died when I was thirteen.”

“Oh,” his shoulders slumped as John realized that figuring out exactly what she was, was going to be much more complicated than he'd anticipated. Usually, it was easy for him, he could see past the surface, but Valerie, as far as he could see, was perfectly human. And who knew how much her parents, or at least her dad, would know. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago,” her forced smile was enough to tell John that Valerie was done with the topic, and when she moved her hands, starting to pack up everything she’d taken out, “And um, you should take something, for the pain, and try not to get it wet when you shower,” the chair scraped on the worn tiles when she stood, “Thank you for everything but maybe I should see if my dress is dried and-”

“You have to stay here,” John objected hastily, frightening her in the slightest, “I mean,” he tried to broach the matter again, “I mean, it might not be safe for you to get back or stay alone, we still don’t know why that demon was after you, and something else could come just as easily, you really should stay.”

“I couldn’t impose like that,” she shook her head, desperately not wanting to overstay her welcome.

Standing too, John placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, causing her to meet his gaze once more, “You wouldn’t be. Stay tonight, and tomorrow, we can talk about this some more, when you’ve gotten some rest. Please?”

Hesitating for a moment, Valerie weighed the options; go home alone at nearly two in the morning and possibly get attacked by something she knew nothing about, or stay with a somewhat trustworthy though abrasive, handsome stranger and be safe. "Fine, but I have to get my car, first thing tomorrow morning."

"Okay," he determined, "I've gotta take a shower, but you can take the bed."

Giving John's place a sweeping look, she noted his mismatched furniture; a rickety kitchen table with four chairs, a long sofa with a couple worn throw pillows nearby in front of her, and behind her, near the furthest window was a bed, haphazardly made. "Where will you sleep?"

"Couch," he gestured to the sofa behind him, trying to move around her, only for Valerie to grab his bicep, stopping him suddenly.

"You don't have to do that, we can share it," when his expression suggested that he wasn't readily on board with the idea, she offered, "Or I can take the couch, whatever is better for you."

It was weird, sleeping in an unfamiliar bed with a man she didn't know. Valerie had only ever had one, one night stand and even then, she'd been too drunk to care whose bed she'd fallen asleep in. But that night, with John, the alcohol had already subsided and though they'd come close to kissing, she was pretty sure he wasn't interested in her like that.

She'd been laying beneath his thin covers, pillows wedged between his sleeping body and her annoyingly awake one for nearly an hour and a half, and not once had her eyes felt heavy. Valerie was wide awake.

The digital alarm clock on her side, with its glowing red numbers told her that it was nearing three am and all Valerie could have mustered up by then was, at most, five minutes of shutting her eyes tightly and hoping for the best. Though, the best never came.

She laid like that for a while more, that was, until John started fretting in his sleep, mumbling incoherently as beads of perspiration gathered on his brow. "John?" Valerie sat up, shifting to face him, too scared of his reaction to rouse him. "John?" She called a bit louder, her worry building. Valerie had seen people have nightmares before, ex boyfriends or patients during a night shift, but they much unlike the one she was witnessing right then. John was thrashing, occasionally yelling.

When he eventually shot up it was minutes later with wide, disoriented eyes, hands reaching out wildly, and maybe she'd heard wrong, but her name leaving his lips in a babbled cry. It took him a while to settle down, but even when he did, Valerie threaded carefully, "Are you okay?"

Her hand lingered in his shoulder, actually itching to cup his cheek, and John gazed at her intensely in the darkness before speaking again, like he had to be sure she was really there, "Yeah," he swallowed thickly, chest dominated by deep, heavy breaths, “It was just a bad dream. You should get back to sleep.”

Ignoring his advice, Valerie squeezed his shoulder affectionately, scooting closer despite her better judgement, jamming her thigh against the makeshift barrier keeping them apart, “Do you want to talk about it? What was it about?”

Once again, their faces were too close, and it felt too comfortable, so comfortable that neither John nor Valerie showed any signs of moving away from each other. His throat felt tight and dry, though his heart was slowing with every second that her hand remained on his bare shoulder. Healing hands. She was there, and she was okay. When the word finally fell off his lips, lonesome, quiet though speaking immeasurable volumes in the silence, they just stared at each other, not knowing if to lean in or pull away, “You.”

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea @luxx-aeterna

#keanu reeves #Constantine #constantine 2005 #constantine fanfic #keanu reeves x reader #constantine x reader #constantine x ofc #keanu reeves x ofc #ff #fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #heaven hell and you

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sun-summoning · 4 years

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@serafina-constantine -- re tinder au: Aww I was hoping to get team sasuke’s reactions to them finally getting together 💖

ok here you go. everyone (not just team sasuke) is answering the same question: how do you feel about sasuke and sakura getting together?

i. karin and suigetsu

“wait, so why are we doing this?”

behind his video camera, naruto scowls at his cousin. his instructions were very simple and very clear and yet karin still needed to be a pain in the ass.

“because naruto wants to use this footage when sasuke marries sakura,” suigetsu replies instead.

“what the hell?” karin frowns. “is he...is sasuke going to propose to her? they’ve been dating for, like, five months!”

“the heart knows what it wants, karin.”

“the heart is illogical and--”

“sasuke isn’t going to propose!” naruto interrupts. “why would he do that?”

karin laughs. “the real question is why would sakura even accept?”

“true love?”

“tch.”

“anyway--” naruto clears his throat and nods to his camera. “answer my question.”

“answer mine!” karin snaps back. “tell the truth.” her smile turns devious. “are you actually going to try using this as retroactive footage at a wedding they’d have ten years from now? are you planning that far ahead? you loser.”

“of course not!” naruto denies. “and you’re definitely not giving me ideas!”

“what if you’re not his best man?”

“obviously i’d be his best man.”

“but he has a brother.”

“sasuke and itachi don’t have the same relationship that we do--you know what? just answer my question!”

finally, karin just sighs and looks at suigetsu. they both actually face the camera, now wearing looks of contemplation.

suigetsu goes first: “i didn’t really think he’d succeed.”

“really?”

“yeah, he’s so awkward, you know?”

“he is,” karin agrees with a wince.

“also, i assumed she’d just slap him? or get a restraining order?” suigetsu scratches his head. “i don’t know man--the whole thing was just a bit...weird. ya know?”

“but it was true love,” naruto says.

“maybe to sasuke. but maybe to a sensible girl that was just creepy.”

“maybe you’re wrong.”

“do you want my opinion or not?!”

karin shoves suigetsu and sends naruto a glare to stop him from fighting for sasuke’s honour as a stalker.

ii. hinata

hinata’s hands, previously stuffed into her pockets if naruto recalled correctly, were currently in front of her. she was in the process of trying to dislocate her fingers or something as she took quick nervous breaths.

“um.” naruto smiles at her and she turns red. “we can just, like, not do this if you’d prefer?”

“i--it’s okay!” she replies. “how do i feel about sasuke getting together with the girl he liked?” she grins, but it’s shaky and so clearly uncomfortable. “i’m glad.”

“that’s it?”

she blinks. “were you...expecting more?”

naruto grunts a goodbye and goes off to find someone shadier.

iii. shikamaru

shikamaru actually laughs in naruto’s face.

when he settles down, he shakes his head. “naruto, you wildly overestimate how much i care about sasuke’s love life.”

iv. juugo

“sasuke’s dating our bio tutor?” juugo scratches his head. “aw man! do you think she gives him a discount?”

“you make her sound like a prostitute, juugo.”

v. itachi and mikoto

naruto manages to get reactions from sasuke’s brother and mother when they find each other outside sasuke’s graduation ceremony. he’s off somewhere with fugaku taking photos of him like the proud father he is. and, if naruto saw correctly, sakura even stopped by briefly to leave a nice dusty rose mark on sasuke’s cheek.

“i’m pleased that he found his way to his tinder girl,” itachi tells naruto. “sakura makes sasuke very happy.”

“tinder?” mikoto echoes. “is that a game?”

itachi, the biggest whore naruto’s ever met, smiles softly. “something like that, mother.”

naruto makes a face of disgust. “have you met sakura yet, mrs. sasuke’s mom?”

mikoto raises an eyebrow at them. “naruto, i met sakura before all of you.”

“you did?”

“the work ethic in that girl is astounding. and she’s positively brilliant. she’s worked with some of the best researchers in our field--”

“this is boring,” naruto interrupts. he lowers his camera. “are you taking us out for dinner to celebrate that sasuke actually succeeded?”

mikoto shakes her head fondly. naruto’s been part of their family since he met naruto in primary school, so of course he’s invited.

vi. ino

“look at this bullshit.”

ino holds up her phone to show naruto sakura’s instagram page. among photos of various landscapes and meals and selfies, naruto notices a few with sasuke. quite a few with sasuke.

“aww.” he enlarges one of them and coos at the image of sakura smiling in a field of sunflowers with sasuke standing beside her looking as constipated as ever. “they’re so cute!”

“i know right!” but ino’s grin soon morphs into a scowl. “but he’s always around!”

“i mean he mostly just sits there on his phone looking at neko atsume. he’s actually really forgettable.”

“can i live?!” ino snaps. then she stops, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening. “fuck my life,” she whispers. “i’ve been spending so much time with sasuke through his stalking and then when sakura actually deigned to date him that i’m...picking up his habits.”

naruto pats her on the shoulder. “remember when we were younger and i used to say ‘believe it’ a lot?”

“yeah, i wanted to rip your tongue out.”

“okay, rude.”

“it was annoying--”

“let me get to the point!” naruto clears his throat. “anyway, one time sasuke said it too and it was basically the highlight of my adolescence.”

“that’s sad.”

“don’t be a bitch because you’re turning into sasuke.”

“i guess he’s alright,” ino concedes as she looks at her nails. “he’s a total loser and he’s so awkward, but...” she shrugs. “he makes sakura smile.”

vii. neji and tenten

“to be clear, we were never on this ‘team sasuke’ or whatever insipid name you’ve chosen as of two minutes ago.” neji hyuuga takes a sip of his tea for good measure. “but, i suppose, sasuke is an acceptable choice.”

beside him, tenten wears a tense smile. “what neji means to say is that we’re happy for them.”

naruto nods, uncomfortable in the presence of sakura’s friends. they were never really part of the tinder-turned-stalking phase of sasusaku beyond their comments on sakura’s instagram (to naruto’s knowledge, at least).

“are you though?”

neji opens his mouth to reply, but immediately grunts, and judging by the way he’s wincing, naruto can only imagine tenten attacked him under the tale.

“yes,” neji replies curtly. “so, so happy.”

viii. sakura

“how do i feel about sasuke and i getting together?” sakura echos, staring at him as though he’s the one who’s weird. “he makes me--” sakura shrugs. she looks down. “i’m happy?”

“why do you sound unsure?”

“i’m not unsure. i’m just uncomfortable.” she gestures to his phone. “you’re literally recording this.”

“i’m--”

technically, footage of sakura wouldn’t be totally necessary to have in whatever video he might make ten years from now when sasusaku get married. sure, sakura saying how she’s super in love with sasuke (or whatever) would actually be a pretty cool ending to that potential video, ino had a pretty good line he could use there.

sighing, naruto turns off his camera and puts his phone down the table.

sakura nods in approval. “for the record, i know how the whole story went.”

“oh?”

“yes, from the tinder swiping to itachi’s little bet to him being afraid that i’m the type of girl who says i’m not like most girls.”

“yeah, he was scared of that.” naruto clears his throat. “also, i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

sakura rolls her eyes.

“wait, so you know about all the stalking?”

she winces. “i hate that word.”

“sorry? i’m not the one who invented language though?”

“let’s go with recon.”

naruto waves a hand. “fine. so you know about all the recon?”

she nods and takes a sip of her drink. “sasuke told me. i think he figured it’d be better to tell me himself than let anyone else tell me instead.”

“controlling the narrative. smart boy.”

“hm?”

“nothing. scandal. anyway--” he taps his chin. “how come you aren’t, well, upset?”

that makes sakura laugh. she throws her head back and when the giggles peter down, the grin she wears is downright devious. “because then i’d be a hypocrite.” she winks at him. “do you really think i didn’t do my own research on sasuke when i finally got more information about him at ino’s party?” she leans in closer. “or that after we actually started dating, i didn’t do my research on his friends and family, naruto?”

naruto fights down a shudder. “what. the hell.”

“social media is a terrifying thing.”

ix. sasuke and naruto

naruto has already burrowed himself on the other side of sasuke’s bed, too scared to sleep on his own after a full day of reading creepy stories on r/nosleep.

“i’m going to die.”

“you’re being an idiot.”

“no, i think there’s a ghost girl who’s going to come for me!”

sasuke makes the usual show of demanding naruto leave, but naruto just swaddles himself even more until sasuke goes to retrieve another blanket for himself. he throws that on the bed and laughs a little when it hits naruto.

naruto watches as sasuke goes about his evening routine from plugging in his phone to watering the succulent on his desk to putting it on his window sill so it can watch the sunrise. when he settles on the bed, he takes his phone back out like a classic millennial and opens his chat with sakura.

“i’m right here,” naruto tells him.

“but if i ignore you hard enough, you might disappear.”

“your life would be the worst without me.”

“it’d definitely be quieter.”

“and more boring!” naruto pokes him. “you should be more grateful, asshole. i’m the one who helped you find your tinder girl.”

“tch, no you didn’t.”

“you whored me out!”

“you would have whored yourself out either way.”

“you take that back!”

sasuke easily ignores him to message his ~*~girlfriend~*~. naruto wants to be insulted, but he can’t really blame sasuke. sasuke has always been terrible -- terrible -- at building and maintaining relationships. the fact that he now has a girlfriend who thinks he’s slightly more than passable as a human being is a wonderful thing.

when sasuke finally turns off the screen of his phone, the room goes dark. naruto presses his head against sasuke’s shoulder partly because he’s feeling affectionate but mostly because he’s scared of the dark after all those creepy stories on reddit.

he ignores the way his best friend grunts. “hey sasuke?”

“hm?”

naruto pauses. they don’t do mushy, but naruto wants to tell him, “i’m really happy that you found sakura.”

“oh.” he hears sasuke shift as he nods. “me too.”

“she’s a good match for you. and she’s...nice. she really likes you.”

“yeah.” sasuke clears his throat. “i. um. i really like her too.”

“good.”

“naruto?”

“hm?”

“thank you,” while normal people might go in for a hug in this moment, sasuke shoves naruto back to the other side of the bed, “for helping me find sakura.”

“of course.” he’ll always have sasuke’s back, and he knows sasuke will always have his.

naruto grins up at the darkened ceiling, unafraid of the potential of ghost girls looming down on him -- not with his best friend by his side.

#fic #tinder au

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prairiesongserial · 3 years

Text

epilogue 12

All Lady did was make phone calls.

In Auntie’s day, it hadn’t been like this. Lady couldn’t imagine Constantine content with the boring day to day of leadership - which, even on the road, was an onslaught of phone calls and memos. Yes, some poor courier sent by Lady’s Chief of Intelligence had managed to intercept her and Mac on the road with a memo. Mac had nearly shot him, and all for a brief note requesting that all Hemisphere personnel planning to attend the annual gala RSVP before such and such date. Lady felt that she needed a new Chief of Intelligence, if hers was doing party planning.

Mac waved from his own bike, a few feet ahead, for Lady to pull over on the side of the highway. Lady did, though she didn’t take her helmet off. They’d stopped in front of a gas station. Mac was already off his bike, walking over.

“Might have a phone,” Mac said.

There was a chance, in any case. The little store looked well taken care of, even if the pumps had rusted beyond use. A hand-lettered sign over the door declared the store open.

Lady heaved a long-suffering sigh, and nodded.

Traveling through this part of the States was... interesting. Hemisphere’s grasp on Appalachia had never exactly been absolute, and this particular highway in Tennessee hadn’t passed through Hemisphere territory in a good long while. On paper, it all belonged to Hemisphere, but holding any actual authority over the outskirts depended on the manpower to assert that right. At present, Lady’s manpower was her and Mac. There had been no commandeering accommodations - or phone lines - for a while.

Mac strode off toward the store. He remembered to take his helmet off only when he paused to notice his reflection in the glass door. A little bell chimed when he went inside, seeming too loud on the quiet highway. They were well and truly in the middle of nowhere. It was as if even the birds and squirrels had found someplace better to be.

Lady stood up and stretched. She took off her helmet as well. She should probably have told Mac to buy some gasoline while he was at it, but there would be time for that. Lady stopped mid-stretch, her arms extended over her head, as something caught her eye. She dropped her arms and walked over to the side of the store. A closer look would only confirm what she already knew, but if she was going to be mad, at least she’d be good and certain of the reason.

The tin drum against the outside wall of the store, fitted with a tap, had TEXAS WATERS stamped in big white letters across the side. Lady stood and stared at it.

“There you are,” Mac said, coming up behind her. “Said we could use the phone if we bought something first.”

Lady struggled to pull her gaze away from the tin drum. She only succeeded when something cool touched the knuckles of one hand, and she jerked away in surprise. Mac was holding a glass bottle of cola out to her. He held two of them in one hand, the stems of the bottles pinched awkwardly between his fingers. His other hand was occupied with a container of gasoline.

“What is this?” Lady snapped, taking the bottle from him. She had a hunch, though, and she didn’t like the answer. “Never mind,” she sighed. She twisted the cap off. The bottle was unlabeled, because Atlanta at least had the sense not to stock the proof they were operating outside their territory on the shelf of a backwater Tennessee gas station. But the taste confirmed exactly what it was.

Marc didn’t appear to mind. He put down the gas can to twist the lid off his own bottle. Lady tapped a fingernail against the glass. Without looking at a map, Lady would guess this little gas station was a hundred miles from the Georgia state line - and even farther from the Old World demarcation of Georgia’s northern border, which was some forty miles further south. A hundred miles. That was how out of line the Atlanta crew was. And still, a hundred miles was nothing next to what Marc was doing here, with his drum of water. The man worked the Mexico border, for Christ’s sake.

“No kidding, is that…?” Mac began. He gestured with his bottle of cola to the tin drum.

“Yep,” Lady spat.

She’d approved a Texas Waters deal with Everglades City, letting the two gangs do business across the Gulf, but now she regretted it. You give an inch, they take a mile. Or a few hundred.

“I’m going to make those calls,” Lady muttered, after a few seconds of silence had ticked by. She turned her back on the tin drum, handing the bottle of cola back to Mac as she passed him.

Constantine had been a conqueror. That was the problem. Auntie had conquered it all, had spent the manpower to create an unassailable infrastructure, and had retired after a job well done. As a result, Lady’s inheritance had been a network of telephone lines. Telephone lines were the thread that stitched Hemisphere together - that, and a quickly fading memory of Constantine and war. No wonder the Dead-Eyes didn’t think twice about burning though every state between Oregon and the Mississippi, and Marc, from his bubble bath, thought he might as well start selling water wherever he pleased.

Lady wasn’t set up to go to war if the States started turning against her. She didn’t have a posse of roving gunslingers instilling terror in her wake. She had a secretary. One who was currently holding her Coke for her.

The bell chimed above the door as Lady entered.

“You’ll have to make a purchase if you want to use the phone, young lady,” the man behind the counter said. He licked his fingers and flipped to the next page in his catalog.

Lady set her teeth. She hadn’t mentioned the phone.

“My friend made a purchase,” she said. “Two colas and five gallons of gas.”

“That may be,” the man replied. He didn’t look up as he licked the tip of a pen and marked a red circle around one of the items in the catalog. “But you’ll have to make a purchase, Miss.”

The phone was hanging on the wall behind the counter. Lady stared at the man. He was bald, middle-aged, with an impressive salt-and-pepper mustache. Lady stepped around the counter. She pulled the receiver from the wall and started to dial the number for Central Headquarters.

She paused. Her impulse was to get her Chief of Intelligence on the phone and lay into her for a good forty-five minutes over how she could have possibly overlooked huge breaches by both Georgia and Texas. However, her Chief of Intelligence was Deaf, and whatever Lady had to say to her was necessarily defanged when relayed via interpreter. Maybe it was better this way. Lady could make that conversation a lot more intimidating if she had it in person. It was all in the eyes.

“Miss, I told you, the phone is for paying customers only. You can buy something, but otherwise, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Lady hung up the phone. The man had his hands on his hips, showing off his holster. Lady stared at him, calculating.

“Miss, I don’t intend to say it again.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Lady said, crinkling her nose and smiling. She picked the phone back up. She tucked the receiver in the crook of her neck before dialing, not looking at the man anymore. She could hear the operator speaking into her shoulder, and dialed the appropriate code rudely over the operator’s voice. Her other hand went to her shoulder holster.

The man hadn’t even drawn his weapon, she noted, after she’d fired a round. Lady had thought as much. There was a reliable correlation between people who called her ‘Miss’ and people who weren’t willing to shoot her.

Lady picked up the receiver properly, only to hear some bullshit.

“...Um, I’m sorry, but that code refers to the Good Guys, and they…” the operator trailed off. Lady waited for her to finish her thought. “They, according to our file here...Hold on, my supervisor is coming over.” Lady heard her add, “It’s Lady, Ken,” before the voice on the other end became, presumably, Ken’s.

“Hi, Lady. This is Ken Laurens, shift manager. So, what we have here is…” Lady’s attention strayed from the phone call to the man she had shot. He was spitting and swearing at her, bent double over the counter. He was getting blood on his catalog. She’d gotten the shoulder of his shooting arm, but Lady still lazily trained the gun on him. Just in case.

“...didn’t pay their dues last term. Our records are incomplete, being as we’re quite literally just the messenger,” Ken laughed awkwardly. “So...so there’s no further explanation, but that’s why their code is no longer operational.”

“Ken, I’m going to have to ask you to reinstate that code,” Lady said.

“O..oh, okay,” Ken said. “So, reinstating a code is done in Technical Services, and that only with the go-ahead from some folks well above my pay-grade…”

“Ken,” Lady said sweetly. “Am I not well above your pay grade?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Ken said. “I’ll see if I can’t find a work-around from our end.”

“That would be wonderful, Ken,” Lady said.

An annoying little jingle chimed through the receiver, and Lady held it a little way from her head. Mac appeared in the doorway.

“Finished gassing up the bikes,” he said. The bell chimed again as the door closed behind him. “Hey, now,” he added, when he noticed the store owner bent double over the counter.

“He wouldn’t let me use the phone,” Lady said.

“I told him you were with me,” Mac replied. He leaned back against the door. “Unbelievable. Some people, huh?”

Lady rolled her eyes in agreement. Ken was back on the line.

“So, okay, you still there, Lady?” Ken said. “So, this is unorthodox for sure, but we have the, well, the number for the phone the Good Guys have called in from in the past, and we can place an unsecure call to…”

“Sure, fine,” Lady said.

The phone rang, without another word from Ken. It continued to ring, until it rang out with no answer. Lady slammed the phone down and re-dialed Hemisphere Central. When the chirpy operator picked up, Lady snapped “Ken,” at her.

The phone rang out again on the second try. On the third, someone picked up.

“Yeah?” they said, voice garbled and crackling, as if there was something wrong with the phone line.

“This is Lady,” Lady said. “Put the King on the line.”

“If this is about those dues, I just don’t know what happened,” the voice drawled. “I think your courier might have taken them for himself. You should investigate that. Or not.”

“The King,” Lady repeated.

Lady listened to static and what sounded like the occasional drip of water on the other end of the phone. She watched the store owner slide down to the floor, huffing and puffing, looking up at her with hatred.

“We’ll just be another minute,” Lady mouthed at him.

Lady would not have chosen the Good Guys for this. But as luck would have it, the Good Guys were the only Hemisphere operation along the scheduled route of the Madsen and Graves Circus with enough time to intercept before the circus reached D.C.

“King speaking,” said a subtle voice through the phone.

“This is Lady,” Lady said. “You’re going to do something for me.”

12.14 || 13.1

#story

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larryssunflower · 4 years

Text

The Non-Royal Romance, part eight

past parts: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

tagging usuals but if you wish to be removed or added let me know! <3- @simplyaiden-blog @butindeed @mfackenthal @addictedtodrakefanfic @confessionsofabrokegirl @american-duchess @drakelover78 @monosodiumglutamateme @crookedslimecreatorpasta @mrsdrakewalkerblog @traeumerinwitzhelden @gardeningourmet @speedyoperarascalparty @agent-zephyrkah @liam-rhys-x-mc-x-constantine @snyggflicka @texaskitten30 @annekebbphotography @irishwhiskys-blog @nomadics-stuff @msjr0119 @catlady0911 @twinkle-320 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @drakewalker04 @bigmemesplz @jovialyouthmusic @sleepwalkingelite @choices-lurker @pintobomb @moneyfordiamonds @mskaneko

This one is pretty long sorry lol

-The night following the Fox Hunt: Alana’s perspective-

As much as I love horseback riding, it really kicks my ass sometimes. After our feast in the lush mountains surrounded by ancient ruins, we endured the rocky trek home. As we descend the trail, my mind is clouded over with insecure and jealous thoughts, nodding absentmindedly as some suitor talks to me. I was determined to immediately dislike the beautiful woman talking to the man I like very much, but she was so nice. It makes it so much harder to hate her because she was clearly flirting with Drake. I haven't been through those kinds of pangs of jealousy before, but I can say with certainty that it sucks. It’s not like I have a right to be jealous, Drake and I aren’t in a relationship, we don’t have any obligations to each other, yet when I saw him with her all I could think about was how pretty she was and how much he probably likes her and how much I wished it was me who was smiling and laughing with him in public. I thought it was just a harmless crush, but it feels like so much more than that now.

Over the past weeks, I assumed Drake was just talking to some guy over his earpiece, not a gorgeous woman. All my childhood insecurities come flooding back and all I can do is stare forward as we make our way down the mountain, demanding myself not to cry. Not only do I feel distanced because of what happened with Drake when he had those night terrors but now he isn’t my personal bodyguard anymore and we barely talk. it’s too much. I didn’t realize how much I care for him until now.

Eventually, we arrive at the Applewood manor and the nobles and suitors find their way to their bedrooms for the night, some waddling uncomfortably. I drop down from Mac and someone comes up to lead him back into the stables. I brush myself off and look up, surprised as I see Drake standing in front of me. “Oh! Drake, hey” I say awkwardly and he smiles. “Princess, I’ll be escorting you to your room tonight.” He says and my eyebrows furrow in confusion. “We had some trouble with some equipment and Silverman was needed for an hour or so, so I volunteered to take you to your room. Shortly after Silverman should be back at your door,” Drake explains, and I nod, quietly celebrating in my head. We walk in the large manor, our footsteps echoing off the walls. The two of us make our way through the tall hallways, a slightly awkward silence hanging before I break it. “Hey, Mage was really nice, have you known her long?” I ask, and Drake smiles fondly, warm light from the chandelier above us casting a soft shadow across his sharp features. My heart breaks just a bit more. “Yeah she’s great, we’ve known each other for a while, we became friends when we were in training together for the service. Even though she is focused on tech, we had the same basic training,” Drake tells me, and I nod along, looking down at my muddy riding boots.

“So, have you guys ever...?” I question him, my heart hammering. Drake looks at me for a moment before he understands what I’m saying. “Oh!” He laughs.

laughs.

“No! No, we have not- or will ever- no.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Why not? I mean, she’s very beautiful and you are handsome and- and why not?” I stutter, my face burning at my rambling words. Drake just smiles, “I’m pretty sure I’m not her type,” He shrugs simply, looking forward. I scoff, “How are you not her type?” I blurt out before I can even filter it from my falling out of my mouth. I gulp nervously and sneak a glance at him but he just chuckles that wonderfully sexy chuckle. “I’m not her type because I’m a man,” he says amusedly, and my mouth forms a little ‘o’ in realization. Suddenly my heart feels a whole lot lighter. “Oh! Well yes, that’s a valid reason,” I laugh and Drake chuckles. Yep, there is no way I could dislike Mage.

We walk up the last set of wooden stairs and finally arrive at my bedroom door. Our footsteps slow and eventually stop. I turn to look up at him. We stare at each other for a moment in silence, the only sound being the rain beginning to patter against the panes of the windows beside us. Our gazes stay unbroken, and I try to tell him it all through my eyes. How I was so jealous for no reason, how I am positive I won't fall for any suitor, and how badly I want to kiss him until I can't breathe. Drake suddenly looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “Hey uh I have to run, but Silverman should be here soon,” Drake says, and I nod. “Thank you, Drake, it was like the good old times,” I say with a slightly pained smile. He smiles back with the same expression and a nod, before walking away. I step into my room tiredly, planning on climbing into bed and thinking about Drake for a couple of hours before drifting off.

I sigh, closing the door behind me and locking it. I make my way over to my dresser eagerly, ready to get out of this stupid riding outfit. Relief washes over me as I relieve my poor feet of my god awful boots. I smile to myself as I fold my jacket up. Drake and Mage weren’t flirting. I know it’s stupid, but the idea of Drake being with anyone else makes me feel sick. I remove my shirt and riding pants, leaving me in my underwear. As I rummage through my suitcase for my pajamas, I notice a yellow sliver of light grow on the wall in front of me and hear the creak of my door opening. I whip around, covering myself up in instinct.

There stands one of the suitors, Tariq I believe, staring at me with wide eyes, a key in his hand. I gasp and fumble trying to cover myself fully, my heartbeat hammering in my chest. Where is Silverman? “I knew it! We do have a connection! I was second-guessing myself but here you are in my room, undressed.” He says, his voice laced with amazement. I sputter in horror. “What, no! What are you-“ I start but he nears me hungrily. I know I can’t fight him. He is taller than me and definitely stronger. My stomach is twisted in fear, tears prickling my eyes. I wish Drake was here. “Tariq I don’t want- no-“ I start again, but he just shakes his head. “Shh, no need to speak. I understand your message loud and clear-“ he says, his voice laden with lust, and he reaches his hand to caress my arm, making me recoil in disgust, my back hitting against the rough edge of my dresser, making my perfume bottle fall and shatter on the floor.

“Hey! Get the hell off her!”

Tariq stops and turns, giving me the view of the doorway, but I didn't need to see him to know that it was Drake. He came. Just seeing that familiar silhouette sends a wave of relief over my body.

Drake starts nearing Tariq, fuming. “But she’s in my room-” Tariq starts and Drake scoffs. “That's bullshit and you know it. Now get out.” Drake orders, clearly trying to stay calm, although I can tell he is the angriest I have ever seen him. “No,” Tariq says stubbornly, and in an instant they are in a full-on brawl, fighting each other. I watch in shock and partly in relief. I have never seen this type of pure anger from anyone let alone Drake. He was annoyed at me before when I was stupid while skiing, but he wasn’t like this. His face is almost animalistic as he punches Tariq square in the face. Surprisingly, Tariq gets a few good hits in, but before long, he forfeits, ducking out of Drake’s reach and running out the door. “Yeah get the hell out!” Drake shouts after him, slamming my door, breathing heavy. “Drake,” I say softly, my heart thundering in my chest, tears flowing from my eyes.

He turns and I run up and hug him. “T-thank you- I didn’t know what he was about to do,” I sob quietly. Surprisingly, Drake embraces me back, enveloping me in his body heat and making me calm down, finally feeling safe once again. I can hear his heartbeat hammering in his chest from the adrenaline. It's oddly comforting. He’s never hugged me back and although its a small thing, its the most wonderful feeling. Like when he caught me on the yacht, the way I feel at this moment, grateful, relieved, and safe. “It’s okay princess, it’s over now,” he says softly in my ear. I don't want to let go of him, but I know I have to. After a couple minutes, I gently untuck my arms from around him, stepping back and wiping at my wet eyes. He glances down at me and immediately looks away, his cheeks tinted. “Um Princess, you’re..” he says, and I look down, realizing I’m still in my underwear. “Oh! shit sorry,” I curse quietly, laughing, embarrassed. This isn't how I pictured him seeing me in my underwear for the first time. I grab one of my nightdresses and slip it own and turn around to see Drake examining his bloody knuckles.

“Drake, you’re hurt,” I say walking over to him. “ it’s not a big deal, just some scrapes and bruises. Nothing I can’t handle,” he says, brushing it off. I roll my eyes at his stupid pride. “Drake for once, just let me help you,” I plead softly and he looks at me for a moment, the harshness fading from his dark eyes, and nods silently. I grab him gently by the forearm and lead him over to sit on the edge of my four-poster bed. “Wait here,” I say, and grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. I come back and drop the kit on the bed. “Okay, give me your hands,�� I order, and he complies, lifting his hands up to me reluctantly. I take his bloody, calloused hands in my smaller ones, looking at the cuts closely. After examining the extent of his knuckles, I grab some alcohol disinfectant wipes and start lightly dabbing them on his cuts. He sucks in breath dramatically. “Damn, have anything for pain in there?” He says jokingly, and I smile. “I have a bottle of whiskey,” I suggest, and he grins that wonderful grin, the one that prompts those oh so beautiful dimples, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Whiskey it is then,” I laugh fondly, reaching over and grabbing the bottle from a display on my nightstand. I hand it to him, and he glances it over with an impressed expression. He takes a swig while I clean his other hand. “Damn, that’s good,” he praises and I chuckle.

We stay in a comfortable silence as I wrap his knuckles, one hand at a time while his other holds onto the bottle of whiskey. I reluctantly let go of his warm hand and he brings it down to his side. I hate the feeling of letting him go. “Want some?” Drake offers, tilting the bottle towards me. I smile, taking the bottle. I tilt it back, taking a drink. The amber liquor burns as it runs down my throat and into my chest, settling there. I give him the bottle back to continue patching him up. I glance over the bruise on his arm that I can’t do much about, and realize he must have taken some hits to the abdomen. “Drake I need you to take your shirt off,” I say awkwardly, clearing my throat. He raises his eyebrows. “Trying to get me undressed are you Princess?” He asks jokingly, making me blush, the alcohol definitely not helping me there. Drake takes his shirt off anyway, and I see the huge bruise forming on his side. “Oh my- Drake this is a huge bruise. I didn’t realize Tariq could do that much damage to someone like you,” I say in surprise, leaning in closer to his body to inspect the red and purple stain on his skin. “Someone like me?” Drake asks.

My eyes fly up to meet his and I realize how close I am to him. I can feel the warmth of his body heat. He looks down at me expectantly. I clear my throat, backing up from him, my heartbeat quickening, trying not to think of all the ways he could look at me like that in other situations. “Uh- yeah someone who is um- well built and-“ I stutter awkwardly, but Drake just chuckles. “I’m messing with you Alana,” he says in his deep raspy voice, taking another swig of whiskey, making my stomach do a somersault. I can’t remember the last time he called me Alana, not Princess. I stand there, frozen, blinking at him. I realize how much I like hearing it come out of his mouth. God, that mouth... He notices my expression and realizes what happened and shakes his head with a sheepish smirk. “Heh. This whiskey is really hitting fast,” he says, laughing lightly. I laugh slightly with him as he places the bottle on the floor. I notice that his lip is split. “Hey- You have a split lip,” I say, and his eyes widen slightly as he brings a finger to touch his lips. “Huh. Seems like it,” he chuckles, clearly tipsy. What a lightweight. I smile.

“Can I?” I ask, holding up a fresh wipe. He stares at me for a moment before nodding. I realize that I need to get better access to his face so I gently guide his knees apart, and step between them, coming face to face with Drake. My heart is beating hard again, this time in nervousness instead of fear. I shakingly dab his cut, acutely aware that he is staring at me. I’m nearly done when he speaks. “I’m sorry for going off at you the other night when you asked about-“ he starts but I cut him off. “Seriously don’t be sorry. If anything I should, I was the one being nosy. I’m sorry for pushing you like that,” I say genuinely, and he shakes his head. “I’m not mad at you for that, it makes sense. You wanted an explanation...I could never be mad at you,” He finishes softly, his voice low. “Except when I put myself in danger,” I chuckle, making him crack a grin. “Yeah maybe then,” He says, his eyes moving up to meet mine.

Our faces are mere inches apart, and my breath hitches in my throat. Our smiles fade as we stare into the eyes of each other. The alcohol is coursing through my veins, making me feel lightheaded. To be honest, at this point I can't tell whether its the alcohol or him. He glances down at my lips which makes me dart my tongue out to wet them self-consciously. Thunder suddenly booms from outside, making both of us jump. I look over at the dark window and the flash of lightning outside. I glance back to Drake to see he's is staring at me in a way that makes my legs feel like jelly. He suddenly grabs my face, pulling my mouth to his.

A noise of surprise gets stuck in my throat, and my eyes flutter closed. All I care about is the feeling of Drakes's lips and the faint taste of whiskey and blood. I’m dizzy with happiness like I’m drunk. Drunk on him. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. His arms wrap around my waist and we seem to fit together like we were meant to be here, in each other's arms. I moan softly and break our kiss to pepper open-mouthed kisses on the underside of his jaw. “Alana,” He says in his low husky voice, which makes me sigh with content. “I love it when you say my name,” I whisper, bringing my hands up to run through that hair. God, I've wanted to do that for so long. He leans into my touch, his eyes closed.

I kiss his lips again, and he responds, pushing back passionately, making sparks fly between us. I gasp slightly at his intensity, heat coiling in my stomach. More. More. More my head chants as we kiss, completely lost in him. His taste, his smell, his kiss. can't even process what is happening until he pulls away, and steadies me by my shoulders. I blink in confusion, and he looks at me, the most pained expression across his face. “Wha...” I mumble, searching his deep brown eyes. “Alana... I can’t. It’s not right.” He says quietly. As his words fall out his mouth my heart breaks once again. His rejection is like an electric shock, and I falter backward, away from him and his damn expression. “Shit, I promised myself I wouldn't let this happen. I don't deserve you. YOu are going to be the queen and I’m your bodyguard. Not even that! Not anymore anyway,” He mutters as he puts his shirt back on. I shake my head, tears springing to my eyes. He's not actually- “That doesn't matter,” I say bitterly, resenting my damned title once again. Drake stands up, shaking his head gently. “You know it does. It’s just not right. It's not fair to you. No matter how much I want... It just can't happen,” He insists. “What about what I want Drake?” I ask indignantly, my chest heaving. He just shakes his head again. “I’m sorry Alana. Trust me, I am,” He says, before he walks past me, and out my door.

I stand there for a while, staring into space, in disbelief at what just happened.

----

The next morning is rough. I laid in bed for a couple minutes, replaying last night over and over, making the hole in my chest grow bigger. It was so good until it wasn't. All I know is that I can look forward to partying and forgetting it all tonight at the Beaumont Bash. I’m on my way now, early. I could use Maxwell’s smile. He always finds ways to cheer me up. I just have to decide whether I will tell him about Drake or not.

Our car pulls up to my good friend’s home, and I force myself to stop thinking about Drake. I rush up to the front door, ringing the bell obnoxiously and wait for a couple minutes before the door swings open. Holding the door open, is Liam of all people. I widen my eyes. “Oh! Liam, how great to see you,” I say, making him grin. “Princess Alana! What a nice surprise, you’re early!” Bertrand says from behind Liam before he can speak, making me smile. “Yeah sorry, I didn't think you guys would mind, I was hoping to see Maxwell before the party,” I explain. “Well come in, come in!” Bertrand insists, so I do, smiling at Liam as I pass by him. It's strange, Bertrand knows how the kind of friendship Maxwell and I have, yet he keeps trying his hardest to get me to choose Maxwell, despite Max’s relationship with Allie. Or the fact that I see Maxwell as my brother. It doesn't matter, either way, I couldn't choose Maxwell and do that to Allie. Or to Maxwell.

Speaking of the devil, Maxwell appears at the top of the staircase. “Al!” He enthuses, running down the stairs to me and engulfing me in a hug. I laugh, hugging him back. “Max! It’s been like a day! Far too long!” I exclaim, and he nods, his lopsided grin on his face. He glances over my shoulder, then looks at me with a knowing look. “Hey! I uh need to finish up some things, why don't you keep Liam company until I get back?” He asks with a suggestive tone. I smile and roll my eyes at him, hidden from Liam. “Yeah totally,” I say cheerfully, turning to Liam, who grins.

Liam and I decide to take a walk through the Beaumont vineyards, Silverman trailing a bit behind us. I bask in the warm sunlight as we walk. “This is so beautiful,” Liam comments, his voice calm. I nod. “I love it here. I can’t wait until tonight though, it will be crazy,” I laugh, making him join in. “Yeah so I have heard,” He chuckles. We walk in comfortable silence for a bit, strolling through the beautiful countryside. “You are an extraordinary person, Alana,” Liam says suddenly, making me turn to him with a surprised smile. “How so?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. He smiles, looking anywhere but me. “Well, I think you were very brave to do this whole suitor thing, as you have never even been introduced formally to the kingdom. And they already love you, by the way, Cordonia I mean, and that's just from a couple weeks. You have a way with people. You just capture the attention of everyone around you, not because you demand it, but because they feel you deserve it. We can tell how genuine you are.” Liam says, slightly sheepish. “Liam, that was beautiful. I haven't heard anyone talk about me like that before,” I smile, tucking my hair behind my ear and glancing back over to him.

“Like that! Just you doing that small thing makes me want to kiss you and give you everything I have!” Liam laughs, making me chuckle. I stop, making him look at me. “Do it then,” I say quietly, my heartbeat quickening. “D-do what?” Liam asks, his eyes slightly wide. “Kiss me,” I say with a smile. Maybe Drake was right. He and I could never work. With Liam, we wouldn't have any problems. He is a sweet guy who actually wants to be with me, he would be a great king, and I can actually choose him at the end of this and we would be happy. Liam grins and brings up his hand, gently tucking my hair back and caressing my cheek. He leans in and kisses me gently.

no sparks.

Slightly frustrated by that, I kiss back harder. Come on... they have to appear. I need to feel something. We kiss for a moment before he pulls away with a huge grin on his face. At least he enjoyed it. “That was amazing,” Liam breathes. I smile. Maybe it will get better. If I choose him, eventually I’ll fall for him, and it should all work out.

Right?

My phone buzzes, a text from Max. ‘Okay, you guys kissed so now give me attention’ I snort. “Creep,” I mutter, and Liam gives me a confused look. “Oh! Sorry, its Maxwell, he kind of needs me. I’ll see you later?” I ask, and Liam nods, “I hope so,” He says with a wink, making me smile before turning and going to see what Maxwell wants.

Maxwell meets me in his boutique, and he presents me with a dress. “Hey, I know you probably have thousands of dresses, but I really like this one and its Beaumont colors so it would look good for us if you wore it,” He says with a hopeful smile, holding up a long navy dress with silver details around the hem. Perfectly simple. “Bertrand put you up to this didn't he?” I ask amusedly, and Max smile sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m sorry. He just really wants us to look good, you know with all our financial problems and all that,” he says, looking down. That's the thing about Maxwell, he genuinely hates asking people for help when he needs it, or when Bertrand puts him up to it. “Hey its okay, I know how he gets. I’ll wear it. It's beautiful,” I say, earning a grin from Maxwell. “Thanks, Al. Oh hey, that kiss with Liam looked pretty good,” Max says, raising his eyes up and down suggestively. I roll my eyes. “You are so creepy. You guys seem to be friends, I’m guessing you're rooting for him to be the one I choose?” I ask knowingly, and Max shrugs. “I know your type,” “That’s debatable” “and he is actually a decent guy who is head over heels for you. You should listen to how he talks about you Al,” Max says, making me feel even worse for not feeling it back. For now at least. “I thought you were rooting for my bodyguard,” I say jokingly, making Max roll his eyes. “Yeah I could tell you liked him, but I was mostly kidding. I’m sure you guys would be great but it's not really realistic, you have to choose someone, and your mom would definitely not approve of your bodyguard,” Max says as he rummages through some clothes.

He makes sense. That's what I hate so much about it. But Drake sees it the same way apparently. I ask Max to leave so I can get ready, and he does. Before long, People are arriving, and music is playing. I finish getting ready, putting my hair in a french twist-like hairstyle. I step out of the boutique, walking over to the grand staircase. “Princess Alana of Cordonia!” The herald announces, and I smile as I gracefully make my way down the stairs. I glance at the bottom and see Maxwell dressed up talking to Liam, who is wearing a suit with the same navy colored tie as my dress. Maxwell was sneakier than I thought.

Once I fully descend the staircase, Maxwell offers his elbow and I take it as he leads me into the ballroom. “I can't believe you made me and Liam match,” I say through the teeth of my smile in Maxwell’s ear. “Oh don't be so dramatic,” Is all Max says, making me roll my eyes.

I’m at the head table once again, sitting next to Maxwell. The food is delicious and the company good, I have no reason to complain. I still find myself once again roaming the room with my eyes, searching for him. Weirdly, Drake is nowhere to be seen. He is usually standing with some people in suits. Is he gone because of what happened? I think, a sick feeling settling in my stomach.

The dinner goes by quickly enough, and before I know it, its time for the party to truly begin. The older guests, including my mother, decide to go to bed, while us youngsters wait in the foyer for the famous bottle opening ‘ceremony’. Liam joins Maxwell by holding the champagne bottle, and Maxwell smashes it with a sword, and everyone cheers. Music starts thumping from somewhere, and in an instant, the party has really started.

The night is amazing. We dance and drink the best cocktails in southern Europe. Maxwell tries to shoot apples off of people’s heads blindfolded and somehow a horse is walking around, a suitor passed out on it’s back. I dance my problems away, kiss Liam a couple times, forcing myself to not think about Drake.

The party is in full swing, and everyone is plastered. I personally didn't drink as much, as I must keep some sort of shred of dignity, being a princess and all that bullshit. I realize I need a break from all these drunk people and loud music. It's not as fun to party with intoxicated people when you are practically sober. I sneak off and make my way to my favorite room, the Beaumont study. Its a room with large windows, dark wood paneling, and s comforting old book smell. I loved reading in there when I was younger. I open the door and see a guy looking at some book, and I jump in surprise. “Oh! sorry,” I say so he turns around, and its Drake. I didn't recognize him in a white shirt and denim jacket, not his usual suit. My heart just about falls out my ass.

“Princess,” He says, that same pained look on his face. I sigh and close the door behind me. “Drake,” I say bitterly, crossing my arms. He looks at me for a moment, and I expect him to say sorry or comment about the other night. Instead, he clenches his jaw slightly, looking down. “So Liam huh?” He asks, and furrow my eyebrows. “What?” I ask, taken aback. “When I uh, came in earlier, I saw you two... Kissing.” He says, visibility struggling with the last word. I scoff. “Oh, so you have no problem kissing me like you did the other night then just leaving. But, if I try to get over you with someone else, it's unacceptable. Is that what you are saying?” I ask anger boiling within me. He has no right to dictate my feelings like that. “Yes,” He says, looking up at me. I scoff. “Ugh! You are unbelievable-" I start, but falter as he grabs me by the waist and pulls me close to him. “What is unbelievable is how much I want to kiss you right now and make you forget who Liam is,” Drake says, his voice low, making me gulp. I have some self-control, but he is making it really hard for me. “You can't do that Drake. Toss me away then get mad when I kiss someone else. You need to decide. Are you with me or not?” I ask, my heart thundering in my chest as I search his warm brown eyes.

“You. It will always be you,” He breathes, and in an instant, our lips are attached. My heart soars as I kiss him back, and there they are again. The sparks. He breaks the kiss and starts kissing my neck this time, licking and sucking at the skin. I gasp at the sensation, heat coiling in my stomach. I grip onto his shoulder until he's satisfied with the mark left. That's the thing about Drake. He doesn't hesitate with small polite kisses, he leaves me breathless with his intensity, his strength. He's the kind of man who pushes you up against a wall and kisses you until you can't breathe, aka my type of man.

He kisses me again, and I bring my hands up his white t-shirt, running my hands over his chiseled torso. His hands run up and down my back, at some point one of his hands drifts over my ass, giving it a squeeze, making me squeal in surprise, and he stops, seeing if I'm alright. I just laugh. “Sorry! I just wasn't expecting that!” I say giggling. He cracks a grin. “No, I’m sorry, it kind of just happened,” He chuckles, somewhat sheepish. “Don't apologize, I liked it,” I say mischievously, my heart light. “Well then,” He says, then proceeds to grab me just under my ass and lift me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I giggle and kiss him deeply.

Liam who?

---

Omg, that was so long guys lol - 5k words! I didn't notice until after it was written oops! I have been so excited for you guys to read this chapter cause it's so juicy!! also sidenote and know all us know that Liam is really a freak who has sex in practically public lmao but not in this fic, haha I hoped you guys liked it! Love you all <3

#tnnr #The Non-Royal Romance #drake #drake walker #mc x drake #trr #choices #choices fanfiction #playchoices fics #part eight #first kiss #freaking finally am I right?

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goodnightmemes · 5 years

Text

CONSTANTINE (2005) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Keeps the voices out so I can sleep. ❜

❛ You ever think if you told me more now that maybe I could help out? ❜

❛ You mustn’t let your faith be overshadowed by guilt. ❜

❛ I already know exactly where I’m going. ❜

❛ You don’t need to see this, okay? No. ❜

❛ Yeah, well, I know a guy who knows a guy. ❜

❛ Well, I could offer something about how a shepherd leads even the most wayward of his flock, but it might sound disingenuous. ❜

❛ God was the only one she ever believed loved her. ❜

❛ You still trying to buy your way into heaven? ❜

❛ I never asked to see. I was born with this curse. ❜

❛ Everything you’ve ever done, you’ve only ever done for yourself. ❜

❛ I thought I heard thunder last night. Must have been Satan’s stomach growling. ❜

❛ You’re the one soul he’d come up here himself to collect. ❜

❛ Something’s coming. ❜

❛ You know the rules of my house. While here, you will abide by them. ❜

❛ I know the circles you travel in. The occult, demonology, exorcisms. ❜

❛ What if I told you that God and the devil made a wager, a kind of standing bet for the souls of all mankind? ❜

❛ Well, this has been real educational, but I don’t believe in the devil. ❜

❛ If this is some kind of spell or something, don’t you need candles and a pentagram for it to work? ❜

❛ Officially, I was dead for two minutes. ❜

❛ Take it from me, two minutes in hell is a lifetime. ❜

❛ Heaven and hell are right here. Behind every wall, every window. The world behind the world, and we’re smack in the middle. ❜

❛ I call it hypocritical bullshit. ❜

❛ I guess God has a plan for all of us. ❜

❛ God’s a kid with an ant farm, lady. He’s not planning anything. ❜

❛ I know you’ve never had much faith, you’ve never had much reason to, but that doesn’t mean that we don ’t have faith in you. ❜

❛ You don’t wanna know what’s out there, trust me. ❜

❛ I don’t need another ghost following me. ❜

❛ You do this, there’s no turning back. ❜

❛ So do I have to take the rest of my clothes off, or can I leave them on? ❜

❛ Someone was here. ❜

❛ "Stay in the car.“ "Wait here.” Men. ❜

❛ By the way, you have to ask for absolution to be forgiven, asshole. ❜

❛ Have you lost what little mind you have? ❜

❛ You’re the only one still playing by the rules, [name]. And while you’ve been imitating Switzerland, people are dying. ❜

❛ Consider it a last request. ❜

❛ Look, [name], no offense, I just don’t think that it’s a great idea, you know, you going on a solo mission to save the world. That’s my vote. ❜

❛ It’s not always like it is in the books. ❜

❛ Your ego is astounding. ❜

❛ It’s only in the face of horror that you truly find your nobler selves. ❜

❛ I’ll bring you pain. I’ll bring you horror. So that you may rise above it. ❜

❛ I’ve got a whole theme park full of red delights for you. ❜

❛ I didn’t think you would make the same mistake twice. ❜

❛ This world is mine. In time. ❜

❛ I do miss the old names. ❜

❛ Looks like somebody doesn’t have your back anymore. ❜

❛ You will live. ❜

❛ Hide it. Somewhere no one will ever be able to find it. Not even me. ❜

❛ Always a catch. ❜

❛ I’ve got some cleaning up to do. ❜

❛ Like the book says, He works His work in mysterious ways. ❜

#constantine 2005 #rp meme #sentence starters #ask meme #askbox meme #rp inbox meme #*Movie

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violetsmoak · 4 years

Text

Appetence [9/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn’t expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #cemetery #haunting

First Chapter

Author’s Note: More dialogue from Under the Red Hood, just moved around a bit and tweaked to suit the situation.

________________________________________________________________

Bruce stares at him in silence for a long while and then seems to shake himself.

“No,” he says at last. “It…can't be.”

But his tone is less certain.

“Can be and is. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth’ and all that jazz,” Jason quips. “But I know you. I can’t just talk about collecting first editions with Alfred or going to races with you or Dick teaching me to train surf. Someone could be using telepathy to lift that from your mind, right? Nah, you’ll be wantin’ proof, so here—”

“Here.” Jason crouches and takes off his gloves, picking up the discarded Batarang from earlier and whips it expertly at Bruce, who catches it without anything changing in the exposed part of his face. “My blood’s already on that. Fingerprints, too. Maybe even some skin-cells if you cut me deep enough.”

“It won’t make me believe.”

But there’s doubt in his voice, and he pockets the blade anyhow.

“Yeah, it will,” Jason replies. “You’re Mr. Logic and Science. It’ll tell you exactly who I am—or rather, it’ll confirm exactly who you know I am.”

Bruce’s jaw works furiously.

“How…how did this happen to you?” he asks softly, cautious. “Were you—was there a Lazarus Pit involved?”

“Not as far as I know. If there was, don’t you think your baby mama would have taunted you with it by now? She always liked to fuck with your head.”

Bruce tenses.

“Oh, yeah, I got the full 411 on what’s been happening since I 'ran down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible',” Jason says irreverently. “Mazel tov, but the way. Is it too late to send an arrangement of blue balloons?”

No response.

“What’s that bring the total up to now, anyway? Three? Four? When exactly did collecting orphans become a compulsion for you, chum?”

Jason sneers that last word, and yet something about it seems to physically jar both man and Bat. The cowl is off then as if somehow, Bruce can no longer trust the lenses of the cowl and needs his own eyes.

Jason’s irritation wavers for a moment, replaced with a lump in his throat as his own gaze roves over the man’s face with a hunger of their own, tempered by disbelief.

Bruce looks older. He could still pass for at least a decade younger than his actual age, but the look in his eyes speaks of a lifetime of fighting. There are wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, grey flecks around his temples and a few more scars than Jason remembers. Skin stretches just a little bit thinner over his cheekbones and jaw.

His eyes are sharp as ever, cataloging every detail of Jason, no doubt comparing it to his last memories of the boy he was.

The boy that’s dead.

Bruce tentatively moves forward, and Jason’s instinct is to take a step backward, to avoid letting the other man into his personal space. He has no interest in Round Two or the prick of a needle leading to him waking up in a cell in the cave hours from now.

But then his eye catches on two figures watching the proceedings from several feet away, and he’s so surprised he forgets about Bruce for a minute.

Martha Wayne is polished and put-together, the only indication of anything amiss being the broken string of pearls hanging from her neck and the blossoming red stain at her breast. Thomas Wayne looks exactly like every picture Jason’s ever seen of him, Bruce’s spitting image but somehow…lighter. The wound that killed him is hidden beneath a thick overcoat, but trails of blood dripping down to stain his white gloves is telling.

For a moment they are a perfect portrait, and then in another blink, they flicker, clutching at their wounds. In another, they lie on the ground gasping and reaching for each other, trapped in their death echo. And then they’re back to standing, watching Bruce with pained expressions on their faces.

Guess the family plot’s a bit closer than I thought it was.

Any further ruminations on their semi-invisible audience vanish when arms encircle Jason, and it should be a reflex to pull away, to knock the grasp away. Self-preservation and all.

And yet, he knows these arms, knows the smell of cologne and the specific brand of Kevlar in a way that bypasses every bit of training he’s ever had, which causes him to remain perfectly still as Batman—Bruce, Dad—holds him tightly to him.

For whatever reason—an impossibly rare break from his usual paranoia, perhaps—Bruce doesn’t dose him with any kind of sedative or go for a nerve-strike.

He just…

Holds him.

Jason’s back is beginning to ache from how straight he’s trying to keep it, and at last, he can’t take it anymore and pulls back. Puts several steps between them so that he can regain his equilibrium.

Bruce takes a step back as well as if remembering himself. He lapses back into his tense but alert stance, but his eyes are suspiciously bright in the moonlight.

“When?” he asks eventually.

“By all accounts about six months after I died.” Bruce’s expression becomes calculating, even as he continues to study Jason. “Wouldn’t happen to have any idea how that could’ve happened, could you? John and I never figured it out, and you have all those fun League resources.”

Bruce recoils almost imperceptibly.

“John?” he repeats, eyes flicking over Jason again. His nose twitches and then his brows draw together. “Constantine.”

It should not surprise Jason that Bruce makes the connection so fast.

“Got it in one.”

“He would have said. He’d have contacted me—”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Jason interrupts. “Because he didn’t know. Not until weeks after he found me. And by the time I remembered everything, I didn’t want him to. Say what you want about his morals, he stays out of other people’s personal business.”

Bruce ignores the dig.

“Why?” Bruce croaks instead. “Why didn’t you come home?”

“Didn’t think there was anything for me to come back to. Figured you’d be happier with me gone. I mean, you hauled a new kid into the thick of it within like three months, so obviously I wasn’t that hard to replace.”

“It didn’t happen that way.”

“I owe you a broken jaw for that, by the way. After I died, no one else should’ve worn that cape.”

“And now?” Bruce challenges. “All this time, you’ve been alive. You’ve avoided Gotham. But you choose to return now. And do things like this.” He gestures at the graveyard. “This crime—violating others’ final resting places—human remains, for god’s sake, Jason! If you wanted to get my attention, there are easier ways!”

Jason’s jaw drops a bit, and he feels his hackles rise.

And there it is.

“Are you serious right now?” he snaps. “You think this is about you?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow as if to say it’s exactly what he thinks, and Jason bursts out laughing. There’s a bitter edge to it, and the older man flinches for some reason.

“Damn, I knew you were conceited, but this just takes the cake,” Jason snorts. “Contrary to popular belief, not everything that goes on in Gotham is about Bruce Wayne. Or Batman.”

“You’re evading the question.”

“Bullshit! This is my fucking job,” Jason snaps.

“Desecrating graves.”

“Helping people move on. Stopping people from getting hurt. Put that thinking cap of yours on, ‘detective’. Why the hell do you think Constantine took me in in the first place?”

The way his eyes narrow at the challenge, considering their surroundings and the gear Jason is wearing, the tools and the specifics of what he was doing and what he’s just said. And then understanding flashes across his face.

“You’re an occultist.

“Ding-ding-ding! Right again. Guess dying and coming back from the dead leaves a guy predisposed to certain, huh? Unless I’ve always been this way and just never knew. I doubt it, though. You’ve analyzed my blood a hundred times and you never mentioned any metahuman or magic genes. And I never saw dead people before I was, you know, dead.”

That causes a wince.

“You know I was in Arkham, for a while?” Jason asks conversationally. “For like half a year. Bet you visited the place a lot, considering the revolving door of nutcases. You were probably standing on the same floor as me a dozen times and didn’t even know it.”

Bruce tries to disguise the pain that flashes across his face at that direct hit, but Jason sees it nonetheless.

“The mentally ill are of no interest to Batman, though, right? Not unless they’re criminally insane.”

“I know…I know I failed you, Jason…I tried to save you. Whatever it is that’s happening to you now—I’ll keep trying to save you, and if I had had even an inkling that you were still alive—”

“Is that what you think I’m pissed off about?” Jason demands. “You letting me die? I don’t know what clouds your judgment worse, your guilt or your antiquated sense of morality. I forgave you for not saving me, Bruce—forgave you years before I forgave my own flesh and blood. But why…why…” His voice breaks a little here, “the hell is that pasty-faced pile of human excrement still alive?”

Bruce’s expression becomes like stone. “Joker.”

“The Joker. Yeah, B, him. If you’d just killed the fucker years ago—whether anything happened to me or not—you know what hell you would have saved the world?” Jason snaps. “But no. Punching that piece of shit’s ticket’s just one of a long list of sane acts you still refuse to commit.”

“I can’t cross that line,” Bruce says tightly.

“But I can,” Jason says. “And I will. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last five years, death comes to those who deserve death, B. It’s probably why I clocked out early. I wasn’t exactly the golden boy like Dickiebird, was I?”

“Jason, no—”

“But that’s fine. I’ve come to terms with it. Someone somewhere must have even decided I deserved a chance to make up for it because here I am.” Jason spreads his arms wide. “And I’m going to make up for it. Lot of dead people out there that need to be avenged. And a lot of monsters out there, standing in the way.”

“Monsters like Felipe Garzonas?” Bruce challenges.

The name hastens memories of a woman’s lifeless body hanging from a ceiling and a man’s sneering, triumphant smile.

Jason clenches his fists.

“If they get in my way, sure,” he replies. “In another life, maybe I’d even make it my mission. To take out the scum you refuse to. But these days, I’m on a different playing field, and the stakes a higher than some rapist that fell out a window.”

“If you’re saying you intend to go after the Joker—I can’t let you.”

Jason almost chokes in rage and disbelief. “Why the hell not?!”

“Because I won’t have my son become a murderer for him.”

“Didn’t you hear, old man? Your son died a long time ago. I’m a completely different person now, and you’re a few years too late. I’ve killed a lot of people and slept like a baby right after because those fuckers deserved it.” Jason clenches his fists, recalling the torn and mutilated bodies murderers that would never be caught by traditional means—legal or vigilante. Capping monsters like that was a civic duty. “Lot of people don’t get any kind of justice once they’re gone, and I’m it.”

“Jason, that’s not your call to make.”

“Says the man who dresses up as a bat and fights crime,” Jason shoots back. “All of your adult life, you’ve fought to save Gotham. Save her from herself, but you never ever understood her. You’ve never seen what I see now.” He casts his eyes around the graveyard, at the torn remnants of humanity in their various stages of self-torture. “She’s evil. Poisoned by the dead that clog her foundations—that have been piling up here since the first nutjob spilled blood in her earth. You have to fight her where she lives, B, and it’s not just the rooftops at night.”

“That might be so,” Bruce allows. “But it’s one thing to seek justice on behalf of the dead…if that’s what you intend to do. But going after a human being, even one as depraved as the Joker—"

“How can you still call him a human being?! Even ignoring what he’s done in the past—blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he’s filled—” He points toward the various specters in the distance, who Bruce can’t see but who scream and cry and laugh hysterically through the smiling rictus that is the Joker’s signature, to the dying echoes of Thomas and Martha Wayne, “—the thousands who have suffered, the friends he’s crippled—” He remembers Tim’s expression and makes an educated guess, “—the family he’s tortured.”

Bruce’s wince is the confirmation he needs.

“I thought that him killing me, that I’d be the last person you ever let him hurt,” Jason admits in a soft voice, his rage quieting behind pain and sadness. “If it had been you he beat to a bloody mess...if it had been you that he left in agony...if he had taken you—I would have done nothing but search the planet for the pathetic pile of evil, death-worshipping garbage and sent him off to hell!"

“You don’t understand…I don’t think you’ve ever understood…”

“What? Your moral code just won’t allow for it? It’s too hard to cross that line?”

“It’d be too damned easy!” Bruce snaps.

There would be a ringing silence between them if not for the ghostly moans in the night.

“All I have ever wanted to do is kill him,” Bruce continues, eyes blazing. “For years, a day hasn’t gone by where I haven’t imagined taking him and spending an entire month putting him through the most horrendous, mind-boggling forms of torture. All of it building to an end with him broken, butchered and maimed…pleading—screaming—in the worse kind of agony as he careens into a monstrous death.” He grows quieter here. “I want him dead—maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place, I’ll never come back.”

Jason takes several seconds to parse all of that, examining the reasons and justifications that are so different than what he expected, before registering the problem with that.

“Why?”

Bruce blinks. “What?”

“You wouldn’t feel guilty killing a cockroach, or wiping out a bacterium that could destroy millions,” Jason points out. “And that’s what he is. All he exists to do is destroy. It’s not like Cobblepot or Crane or Dent or Nygma. Much as I always thought they all deserve the death penalty, there’s something in them that at least resembles having been human at some point. The Joker has never—will never—be human. You can’t judge filth like that by human standards.”

But he can already see by the obstinate set of Bruce’s jaw that he is unmoved by this argument.

“I can’t, Jason,” he says. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“Then don’t. Just don’t get in the way when someone else tries to do it.”

“Someone being you? I can’t let that happen either. I won’t let you sully yourself over the likes of him—”

“He killed me!” Jason roars. “I was sullied the second he brought out the crowbar. If anyone on this planet has a right—has a duty—to be the chlorine in that maniac’s gene pool, it’s me!”

“Jason—!”

“He took me away from you!”

The words echo, not as sharp or reprimanding as Jason meant, but laced with a vulnerability he hasn’t allowed himself to show since before he died.

He needs to take a few moments to breathe, to gulp down the sob that’s threatening the back of his throat, hysterical and pained and scared the way he hasn’t been in years.

“He took everything,” Jason concludes. “He took my life. He took my future. But worst of all, he took me from the first person I ever really believed gave a shit about me. And that…that’s just me. How many other kids got to die gasping for breath, waiting for their fathers to rescue them?”

And for a split second, Bruce’s entire façade shatters and he looks—lost. Frightened. Agonized.

“Jason…” he says after a beat, more broken than Batman has any right to sound. “Just…come home. We’ll figure this out—all of it. Together.”

And Jason…he’s tempted.

But he came back to Gotham for a reason, and it wasn’t to mend relations with anyone.

“And when the Joker breaks out again?” Jason asks quietly. “When he hunts you and everyone you care about down and puts you through another round of mental and physical torture? When you have to bury another kid? Or two? Or Alfred? Will 'figure this out together' mean you’ll step aside and do what needs to be done? Or are you just going to cart him back to Arkham?”

There is nothing but silence at this, but Jason already has his answer.

He exhales, shoulders slumping a bit.

As tempting as it would be to fall back into what he lost—as tempting as it would be to be Jason Todd-Wayne again in some way—this is something he can’t compromise on.

And he learned from the best that the only way to keep from compromising is to establish clear, immovable boundaries. And if that’s impossible, then burn down whatever bridges might traverse them.

“The manor was never my home, any more than it was yours,” Jason says dully at last. “Those streets you patrol every night, the people on them—people the Joker’s going to keep killing—that’s home. And if you’re not going to defend it, I am.”

Bruce appears to hear what he isn’t saying, and that seems to take the fight out of him. As if he understands that no amount of arguing is going to change either of their stances today, if ever. Instead, he straightens his back and looms into his most imposing Batman stance and pulls the cowl back on.

“I won’t tolerate criminal conspiracy in Gotham. Occult or otherwise.”

“Tough shit,” Jason shoots back. “This is my town. Probably more than it’s yours since I actually came up on these streets.”

“If that’s how you want it to be, that’s your choice. But if you cause any disturbances of that nature—if I catch you desecrating any more graves—if you go anywhere near the Joker—I will bring you in.”

“That threat would be more effective if I couldn’t rattle off the names of every cape in town, and you know it.”

“I never said you’d be going to jail.”

And Jason knows that this will lead to another fight, one he’ll no doubt lose—

Except there’s an explosion in the distance.

They both look up reflexively, watching Gotham’s skyline illuminate with electric blue light.

“Looks like the office is calling,” Jason points out. “My money’s on Freeze. He never did like the summertime.”

Bruce’s jaw clenches, eyes flitting from Jason to the city.

“Can’t let the bad guys get away, old man. Mission before family, right? The way it’s always been?” He turns, keeping Bruce in his periphery. “I’m going home. I’d give you the address, but I’m pretty sure you’ll find it on your own anyway. Wouldn’t want to give you the impression that you’re welcome there.”

“Jason…”

“Maybe we can do this again sometime like normal human beings,” he continues. “But I swear to everything hellish and holy, if you drag me back to the cave for interrogation or lock me up, I will get out. And I will make the rest of your life a living hell. Until then, fuck off. You don’t get to talk to me unless you decide to do something about the clown.”

He turns away, casting a frown at Thomas and Martha Wayne’s shades, wondering if he should say anything to Bruce about them just now.

He decides against it.

It’s a whole other rabbit hole to get pulled down.

Instead, he tips a salute as he walks away. “Say hello to the pretty bird for me. Kid keeps his word. Didn’t think that was possible for anyone in the Family.”

⁂⁂⁂

To Be Continued

________________________________________________________________

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn't something you're comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!

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#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #fanfic #prompt: supernatural #jaytim fic #jason todd #drama #mystery #angst #supernatural #horror #cemetery #haunting #bruce wayne #emotionally stunted family reunions

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magenta-storm · 5 years

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Wow, so, it’s been an even bigger mess than I could have imagined.

For a start, they're asking me to believe they're so stupid they decided all the Constantines had to be fake without any consideration at all that there might be 1 real one there? Really?

Even if I could get past bullshit like that, the whole concept is flawed. They’re supposed to be so broken by each other’s deaths that they’re driven to killing indiscriminately. Ok. Except none of them actually seem upset at all, they’re all just having fun slaying magical creatures.

I could believe them killing non-humanoid monsters without much thought, but the last scene with Sara still trying to kill Charlie after everything she said to her, and Ray (you know, the guy who's soft-hearted to a fault and supposed to be a genius, not to mention the guy who convinced the team not to send Charlie to hell in the first place!) about to kill something he's got no way of being sure isn't the real Constantine. Um, no. And oh my fucking god, no one had even died in the last version of the timeline?!!

And then from that scene we go on to them imprisoning the dybbuk instead of destroying it. Even though, it's the pure evil spirit of a serial killer. And these are supposed to be the same people, just in slightly altered timelines. Yeah that makes sense.

And did they even try to offer an explanation as to why Ray, Nate and Mick's deaths would prompt Sara to randomly turn into a Charlie's Angel? It was too cringey to watch again, but I’m pretty sure there was none.

If they wanted to do all this goofy parody stuff, why in the fucking fuckballs didn't they make those versions come from an alternate universe or different earth, or at least make it that reality broke and fundamentally altered all the characters from the start. Instead of making a big joke out of writing all their characters as one fairly small timeline alteration away from becoming lobotomized sociopaths?

I could have put up with the plot holes and inconsistencies in how time travel and paradoxes work in exchange for, you know, not totally ruining all their characters? Hmm, guess they thought it was more fun to ruin their characters.

Not to mention, team members have died before? And the others didn't all get complete personality transplants because of it before? jesus christ.

#Legends of Tomorrow #anti legends of tomorrow #Sara Lance #John Constantine #Ray Palmer #mick rory #Nate Heywood #not that it matters what I tag this because tumblr doesn't fucking work

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modern-days · 4 years

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~ Issue # 41 ~ Gods, Monsters & Men, Part 2 Of 3: Acts Of Love & War ~

PAGE 1, PANEL 1

Page width panel with no border creating an open page. It’s an exterior shot of the Devil’s Crow pub, looking very much as it did in issues # 2 and # 6. There’s a full shot of a man and woman, arm in arm, passing the pub, dressed in late 19th century attire.

CAPTION: London, 1898

SOLOMON ( O.P ): I gotta say, I was relieved to get your message, Gabe. Haven’t heard too much from you since, well …

GABRIEL ( O.P ): Alison ...

SOLOMON ( O.P ): Yeah.

PAGE 1, PANEL 2

Two panels on this tier. Interior. Full profile shot of Gabriel and Solomon sat at a table. Gabriel on the left. Solomon on the right, both dressed in late 19th century attire with appropriate hairstyles. On the table is a pint glass and a folded copy of ‘The Times’ newspaper. Cob is in the background, serving at the bar. In the foreground we see a close up of someone‘s hand, mostly out of sight, with the familiar hexagonal tattoo of the Academy.

SOLOMON: Doesn’t do you any good hiding away, old friend.

GABRIEL: I wasn’t hiding, not really, I was … contemplating.

PAGE 1, PANEL 3

Similar to the previous panel but now a closer head to waist shot.

SOLOMON: Yeah, well, too much of that ain’t good for you either.

SOLOMON: You said in your message it was something pretty important.

GABRIEL: Yes, it is.

PAGE 1, PANEL 4

Three panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist shot of Solomon holding the beer glass close to his mouth, eyebrows raised, his gaze questioning.

SOLOMON: So?

PAGE 1, PANEL 5

Head to waist shot of Gabriel as he pushes a familiar box across the table for Solomon. It is the very same ornate wooden box with brass fittings that we first saw hidden in the Void in issue # 2.

SOLOMON ( O.P ): And that is?

PAGE 1, PANEL 6

Head to chest semi - profile shot of Gabriel, his eyes shining like stars.

GABRIEL: Something very, very old.

PAGE 2, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Head to waist shot of Solomon, his elbows resting on the table as he leans toward the box, studying it closely.

SOLOMON: I’d say ancient by the looks of it.

GABRIEL: It is one of the few things that remains of my home.

PAGE 2, PANEL 2

Three panels on this tier. Head to waist shot of Solomon, his hand on the box, staring at Gabriel, his gaze questioning. A perspective shot.

SOLOMON: And you’re showing it to me because?

PAGE 2, PANEL 3

Forehead to chin semi- profile shot of Gabriel, his gaze focused.

GABRIEL: I am entrusting it to you. I have to go away for a while.

PAGE 2, PANEL 4

Head to chest profile shot of Solomon with a black shadowy background. We’re focusing in closer now, with the rest of the pub shut out.

SOLOMON: It must be pretty important then.

PAGE 2, PANEL 5

Three panels on this bottom tier. Head to chest profile shot of Gabriel, with a black shadowy background, similar to the previous panel.

GABRIEL: It is. If one day I am lost, this may help you to find me.

PAGE 2, PANEL 6

Head to waist shot of Solomon as he suddenly realises what Gabriel means.

SOLOMON: I’m pretty good at finding people already, Gabe, it’s my job.

SOLOMON: Oh …

PAGE 2, PANEL 7

Head and shoulders shot of him. His gaze downward, his expression sad.

SOLOMON: Damn.

PAGE 3, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Full profile shot of Abbadon stood on the balcony of WinterSong, with the ghostly memory of Sariel in the foreground. Scimitar is walking into shot at the edge of the panel.

ARTIST NOTE: Panels 1 and 2 are a recap of the last two panels of issue # 38. There’s a red and golden hue to these pages.

ABBADON: I miss you, sister.

SARIEL: I am always here as long as you remember, brother.

PAGE 3, PANEL 2

Full shot of Abbadon from behind stood on the balcony, now alone, the memory of Sariel gone, silhouetted against the sunset sky.

ABBADON: Nothing is ever forgotten, Sariel.

ABBADON: Nothing.

ABSALOM ( O.P ): And what about me, dear brother, am I forgotten?

PAGE 3, PANEL 3

Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Abbadon glancing behind himself, his expression a mixture of surprise and anger.

ABBADON: Absalom?

PAGE 3, PANEL 4

Three panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist profile shot of Sam and Absalom now stood several feet away from Abbadon and facing him. Absalom is now dressed as he’s seen in the concept art, a long grey coat and bow tie, with white shirt and black trousers, holding a crystal tipped Obsidian cane, Horus on his shoulder.

ABSALOM: Yes, brother, it is I. Oh, what a long time it’s been!

ABBADON: It is good to see you.

ABSALOM: Of that I’m sure. I love what you’ve done with the place by the way.

PAGE 3, PANEL 5

Head and shoulders shot of Abbadon, imposing, staring, his gaze piercing.

ABBADON: We will catch up soon, brother, but first, if I could speak with Samuel.

PAGE 3, PANEL 6

In the foreground of the panel is a head to waist shot of Absalom leaving the chamber, with Abbadon and Sam stood behind. We can now see, Idaho, Sam’s Siberian Husky familiar beside her.

ABSALOM: Of course, I’ll just show myself around. Come along, Horus.

PAGE 4, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Abbadon.

ABBADON: I thought we were in agreement, sister, that we would wait before releasing him. We have discussed this many times.

PAGE 4, PANEL 2

Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Sam, his gaze questioning.

SAM: I’ve waited long enough. You said you wanted the family back together.

PAGE 4, PANEL 3

Head to waist profile shot of them facing each other with the balcony behind.

ABBADON: When the time was right, Samuel.

SAM: And when would the time have been right? I’m guessing never.

ABBADON: Tell me, how exactly did you achieve this? He was meant to be trapped in his prison for an eternity, is that not so?

PAGE 4, PANEL 4

Page width panel. On the left of the panel is a head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Sam. On the right of the panel is a flashback image of Absalom’s crystal prison chamber shattering. Stood next to it is a figure mostly in shadow performing a spell, dressed in a trench coat, smoking a cigarette with hints of blonde hair and is our unofficial sneaky nod to John Constantine.

SAM: I have my ways.

SAM: Let’s just say it involved an old friend of mine well versed in the Dark Arts.

PAGE 4, PANEL 5

Two panels on this bottom tier. Over the shoulder shot of Sam with Abbadon facing her.

ABBADON: And I assume you’ve been hiding him from me ever since?

PAGE 4, PANEL 6

Over the shoulder shot of Abbadon with Sam facing him. Her expression is nonchalant, head tilted, her body visibly relaxed too.

SAM: Actually, I haven’t. When he was released from the chamber he just disappeared. I couldn’t find him, not for a long time, then just like that, out of nowhere, he turns up on my doorstep.

PAGE 5, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Head to waist shot of Abbadon now turned away, looking out toward the sunset, Sam stood behind.

ABBADON: And you came here?

SAM: We came here. Where else would we go.

PAGE 5, PANEL 2

Similar to the previous panel but now a head to chest shot of Abbadon.

ABBADON: What he did in Whitechapel should have been beyond redemption.

SAM: Gabriel spared him.

PAGE 5, PANEL 3

Head to chest profile shot of Abbadon looking outward, the red, orange sky of sunset behind him as he contemplates her words to him.

ABBADON: Gabriel has never had the stomach to do what is truly necessary.

PAGE 5, PANEL 4

Two panels on this tier. Similar to panels 1 and 2 but now Sam is moving toward him, no longer relaxed, her eyes burning fiercely.

SAM: Then you would have killed him, put him down like rabid dog?

ABBADON: I would have only sought to ease his suffering. Ended it mercifully.

PAGE 5, PANEL 5

Head to chest shot of Sam staring at him defiantly, no fear of him.

SAM: He doesn’t need your mercy, or your pity. I’m with you in this, brother, but I don’t answer to you and neither does he.

SAM: I’ll see this through to the end with you, but if you want to keep my loyalty, don’t test me.

PAGE 5, PANEL 6

Two panels on this bottom tier. It’s now a head to waist shot of them, Abbadon turned to her again, with barely a foot between them.

ABBADON: I apologise. My only concern is that he has a tendency to be unpredictable. You cannot deny this has always been so.

SAM: I don’t. And don’t worry, I’ll be keeping a close eye on him.

PAGE 5, PANEL 7

Forehead to chin half face shot of Abbadon. The left side of his face on the right of the panel. The threat in his expression is clear.

ABBADON: I hope so, sister, it would be unfortunate if he were to endanger everything we have worked so hard and long for.

PAGE 6, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Wide shot of the desert and in the background in the distance is the recreated version of the fair Gwen grew up in.

ARTIST NOTE: Chapter title is written at the bottom of the splash panel, Gods, Monsters & Men, Part 2 of 3: Acts Of Love & War. The sub title is In which the past echoes profoundly and a fateful offer is made.

QUOTE: Sometimes family are the only ones who can truly hurt us.

GWEN: Are you really seriously thinking about doing this?!

PAGE 6, PANEL 2

Page width panel. Full shot of Gwen confronting Gabriel at the foot of the Ferris Wheel with the rest of the fair in the background.

GABRIEL: I’m saying I may no longer have much of a choice. You’re still young …

GWEN: So, I can’t understand? That’s bullshit, Gabriel, and you know it.

PAGE 6, PANEL 3

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head to chest semi - profile shot of Gabriel.

GABRIEL: I’m simply saying I’ve lived longer, made many hard choices.

PAGE 6, PANEL 4

Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Gwen, her eyes sad but determined.

GWEN: Save it. I lost my best friend because of this sorry fucking mess. So, don’t you dare tell me I couldn’t understand.

PAGE 7, PANEL 1

Half page vertical panel. Head to waist profile shot of Gwen and Gabriel facing each other, Gwen jabbing her finger at him, clearly frustrated.

GABRIEL: I only meant there are things you do not know of, reasons why this may have to be done.

GWEN: Then tell me! The reason I don’t know is because you haven’t told me!

PAGE 7, PANEL 2

Two panels on this vertical tier. Similar to the previous panel but now a closer head to chest profile shot of them facing each other.

GABRIEL: I thought perhaps the less you knew the better.

GWEN: Jesus, Gabriel, like that’s really helped me so far.

PAGE 7, PANEL 3

Head to chest semi - profile shot of Gabriel, head bowed, thoughtful.

GABRIEL: I was trying to …

PAGE 7, PANEL 4

Two panels on this vertical tier. Head and Shoulders semi - profile shot of Gwen. GWEN: Protect me? Yeah, maybe it’s time you stopped trying to do that.

PAGE 7, PANEL 5

Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Gwen now glancing behind herself.

LUCY ( O.P ): Well, good luck with that.

PAGE 7, PANEL 6

Half page vertical panel. Full shot of Lucy, with Solomon and Thor stood just behind her, with both a doorway and the fair in the background.

LUCY: My brother can no more stop protecting people than he can stop breathing.

PAGE 8, PANEL 1

Full page vertical panel. Full profile shot of Sam sat atop a sheer cliff face with snow around her, contemplating, mulling on things. Idaho is sat beside her as they look out toward the horizon.

SAM : Well, here we are Idaho.

ABSALOM ( O.P ): I thought I’d find you up here. This place may just be a memory but it’s heartening that some things never change.

PAGE 8, PANEL 2

Four panels on this vertical tier. Head and shoulders shot of Sam glancing behind herself.

SAM: I thought it’d be best, at least for now, keep out of the way before I say anything I’ll regret.

PAGE 8, PANEL 3

Full shot of Absalom, now stood behind Sam, who’s still sitting on the cliff top.

ABSALOM: As I said, some things never change.

SAM: And that means?

PAGE 8, PANEL 4

Full shot of Absalom, now sat beside Sam, both of them looking outward.

ABSALOM: It means big brother still knows how to push your buttons.

SAM: He’s not pushing any buttons, I just need space to think.

PAGE 8, PANEL 5

Head to waist profile shot of them both looking out toward the horizon.

ABSALOM: What you need is to stand up to him.

PAGE 9, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Full shot of them from behind, sat on the cliff edge, looking out at the snowy landscape and the sky beyond.

SAM: Pretty sure I did.

ABSALOM: Oh that. Yes, I heard that. He really doesn’t like me, does he?

ABSALOM: Thanks for sticking up for me by the way.

SAM: You’re welcome.

PAGE 9, PANEL 2

Three panels on this tier. P.O.V looking up at them with the darkening sky above.

ABSALOM: That’s not what I meant though.

SAM: What did you mean?

PAGE 9, PANEL 3

Head to waist profile shot of them, with Absalom in the foreground.

ABSALOM: If I’ve learnt one thing about our dear brother it’s that telling him changes absolutely nothing.

PAGE 9, PANEL 4

Similar to the previous panel but now a head to waist shot of them.

ABSALOM: You have to show him.

PAGE 9, PANEL 5

Two panels on this bottom tier. Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Sam.

SAM: And how exactly do I do that?

PAGE 9, PANEL 6

Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Absalom, studying the crystal on the tip of his obsidian cane, a thin smile playing on his lips.

ABSALOM: Oh, sister, don’t you know by now I always have a plan.

PAGE 10, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Full shot of the Ferris Wheel with the fair behind. On the right of the panel are Gwen, Solomon and Thor sat or stood by the Ferris Wheel platform, while on the left of the panel Gabriel and Lucy are walking away together into the fair proper.

LUCY: You’ve had some stupid ideas over the millennia, big bro, some really stupid ideas, but I think this is probably the stupidest so far.

PAGE 10, PANEL 2

Page width panel. Full shot of them walking now through the deserted fair. On one side of them is a shooting gallery stall.

GABRIEL: I’m not saying I want to kill him, or even that I’m going to kill him, I’m saying he may not leave me much of a choice.

LUCY: And out of all of us, it has to be you?

PAGE 10, PANEL 3

Three panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist profile shot of them passing the stall.

GABRIEL: Yes, because Epiphany is my daughter. He’s holding her against her will.

PAGE 10, PANEL 4

Similar to the previous panel but now a head to chest shot of them.

LUCY: Is he? Really? Abbadon isn’t the type to go holding anyone prisoner. If she’s with him, it’s a fair bet she’s there willingly.

GABRIEL: What are you saying, sister?

PAGE 10, PANEL 5

Head and shoulders shot of Lucy, with Gabriel now almost off panel.

LUCY: I’m saying Abbadon has never had to force anyone into doing what he wants.

LUCY: We both know how persuasive he can be.

PAGE 11, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Full profile shot of them passing the dodgem’s ride with its elevated platform as a red balloon floats by.

GABRIEL: Are you saying I should wait, not go looking for her.

LUCY: I’m saying if you’re going, better go for the right reasons.

LUCY: You need to give her time, she’s only just come out of a coma.

PAGE 11, PANEL 2

Three panels on this tier. Head to chest profile shot of them with Gabriel in the foreground.

GABRIEL: He will turn her against me.

PAGE 11, PANEL 3

Similar to the previous panel but now a closer head to chest shot.

LUCY: Jesus, Gabriel, she’s already against you. She’s been against you ever since Callum died, so I wouldn’t worry too much about that.

PAGE 11, PANEL 4

Similar to the two previous panels but now a closer head and shoulders shot.

GABRIEL: Thank you, I feel so much better now.

LUCY: I’m not here to make you feel better, big bro, I’m here to stop you making stupid decisions.

GABRIEL: I see.

PAGE 11, PANEL 5

Page width panel. Full shot of them from behind, now walking toward the fair’s caravans. The red balloon now floating in the foreground.

LUCY: Anyway, we have no idea where they are.

GABRIEL: They are here. In the Void.

LUCY: May as well be anywhere then, you know what this place is like.

PAGE 12, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Full profile shot of them now passing Sabrina Hoyt’s caravan, with the big colourful writing on its side that reads; ‘Sabrina, Mistress of Enchantment, Seer of All.’

LUCY: Jeremiel didn’t send you here just to find Epiphany, you know that right.

GABRIEL: I know.

PAGE 12, PANEL 2

Two panels on this tier. Head to chest profile shot of them, with Lucy in the foreground.

LUCY: I don’t know if Abbadon did kill the god of gods. If he did, it’s certainly not good. But it’s not your responsibility, Gabriel.

LUCY: It’s theirs.

PAGE 12, PANEL 3

Similar to the previous panel, but now a closer head and shoulders shot.

LUCY: The arch angels need to get off their collective arses and actually do something.

GABRIEL: Perhaps.

PAGE 12, PANEL 4

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Lucy.

LUCY: So you’ll wait, at least for now, see how this thing plays out.

PAGE 12, PANEL 5

Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Gabriel, looking down, thoughtful.

GABRIEL: Yes, for now.

PAGE 13, PANEL 1

Page width panel. In the foreground is Scimitar sniffing at the snow, with Abbadon in full shot watching impassively, both of them atop a snowy slope. In the background Epiphany is making her way up the slope toward them with WinterSong behind her. Above the sky is clear and full of a million shining stars.

PAGE 13, PANEL 2

Page width panel. Full shot of Epiphany now stood beside Abbadon, with Scimitar in the foreground, still sniffing at the snow.

EPIPHANY: So, when all of this begins I get my daughter back, right?

ABBADON: That is why you are here, is it not?

EPIPHANY: Yep, I figure you’re my best chance. Does that bother you?

PAGE 13, PANEL 3

Three panels on this bottom tier. Full profile shot of them, with Epiphany in the foreground, and now the snow is beginning to fall.

ABBADON: Not at all, everyone has their reasons for the things they do.

ABBADON: Gabriel will not give her up willingly.

PAGE 13, PANEL 4

Full shot of them from behind. P.O.V looking up the slope, with their footprints in the snow and Scimitar now stood beside his master.

EPIPHANY: Don’t worry, I’m prepared to do what needs to be done.

PAGE 13, PANEL 5

Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Epiphany, snow falling in front of her.

EPIPHANY: I always have been.

PAGE 14, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Full shot of Gwen walking past the fair’s funhouse. The red balloon is now bobbing along the dusty floor.

GWEN: Gabriel? Lucy? Hello? Hey, where are you guys?

GWEN: Where the hell have they got to?

PAGE 14, PANEL 2

Two panels on this tier. Head and shoulders shot of her glancing behind herself.

SAM ( O.P ): Gwen?

PAGE 14, PANEL 3

Full shot of her leaning into the open doorway of the fair’s funhouse.

GWEN: Hello?

PAGE 14, PANEL 4

SPLASH: Full shot of an octagonal room, it’s walls lined with crazy mirrors. On the left of the panel is a full shot of Sam and Absalom facing Gwen, who’s stood on the right. Their reflections in the crazy mirrors are distorted and stretched in various ways. Absalom now wears a top hat and holds his crystal tipped cane.

SAM: Good evening, Gwen.

GWEN: Okaaay. Who the hell are you?

PAGE 15, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Head to waist profile shot of them facing each other. Sam is holding her hand out in greeting, Absalom is doffing his top hat toward her theatrically as she stares at them suspiciously.

SAM: My apologies, we haven’t been formally introduced, have we. I’m Samuel Morningstar, and this is my brother, Absalom.

ABSALOM: A pleasure, my dear.

PAGE 15, PANEL 2

Three panels on this tier. Full profile shot of Gwen and Sam’s distorted reflections.

GWEN: Do Gabriel and Lucy know you’re here?

SAM: Not yet, we’re not here for them anyway, we’re here for you.

PAGE 15, PANEL 3

Head to waist profile shot of them facing each other with the mirrors in the background.

GWEN: Me?

SAM: Yes, we have a message, from your mother.

PAGE 15, PANEL 4

Similar to the previous panel but now a head to chest profile shot of them. In Gwen’s eyes we see a combination of surprise and longing.

GWEN: My mother?

SAM: She wants to see you.

PAGE 15, PANEL 5

Two panels on this bottom tier. Over the shoulder shot of Absalom, Horus perched on it, with Gwen facing him, her face questioning.

GWEN: Where is she?

ABSALOM: We can take you to her, but we need you to come now.

GWEN: Just me?

PAGE 15, PANEL 6

Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Sam, her face filling the panel.

SAM: Just you.

PAGE 16, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Overhead shot of the three of them facing each other.

GWEN: What about Gabriel? She’s his daughter. This involves him too.

SAM: It’s too soon. Later, yes, but she’s not ready to see him, not yet.

SAM: If we’re going, we have to go now.

PAGE 16, PANEL 2

Three panels on this tier. Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Gwen. Gwen is now eyeing them a little more suspiciously again.

GWEN: No, you know what, I’m thinking we should go see Gabriel first. It’s just rude to leave without saying anything, don’t ya think.

PAGE 16, PANEL 3

Head to waist profile shot of Sam leaning forward, facing to the right of the panel, her expression threatening as she stares at Gwen.

ARTIST NOTE: The next two panels are essentially a single panel spilt in half, with Gwen and Sam facing each other in profile.

SAM: Maybe you should just come with us.

SAM: Now.

PAGE 16, PANEL 4

Head to waist profile shot of Gwen with hands on hips, glaring defiantly.

GWEN: Maybe I should just punch you in the face.

PAGE 16, PANEL 5

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist shot of Gwen, with Absalom now leant in close to her, his face inches from hers.

ABSALOM: Alas, I don’t think that would be such a good idea, Gwendolyne. Now be a good girl and listen to your great uncle Absalom.

PAGE 16, PANEL 6

Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Absalom glancing behind himself.

REDGRAVE ( O.P ): With family like you, my daughter really doesn’t need enemies, does she?

PAGE 17, PANEL 1

Two panels on this top tier. Head to chest shot of Redgrave aiming his gun. It’s a perspective shot with the gun in the foreground.

REDGRAVE: Now step away.

PAGE 17, PANEL 2

Head to waist shot of Absalom suddenly grabbing Gwen from behind, catching her by surprise with his arm tight around her throat.

ABSALOM: I don’t think so, the girl comes with us.

GWEN: Hey!

PAGE 17, PANEL 3

Two panels on this tier. Head to chest shot of Anna aiming her gun. Like panel 1 it’s a perspective shot with the gun in the foreground.

ANNA: She stays.

PAGE 17, PANEL 4

Head to waist shot of Sam stood beside Absalom, who’s still holding Gwen around the throat. She’s looking at him anxious, frustrated.

SAM: Absalom, this isn’t the way. You’re just making things worse.

ABSALOM: I’m trying to help you, sister.

SAM: This isn’t helping.

PAGE 17, PANEL 5

Three panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist profile shot of both Redgrave and Anna aiming their guns. Redgrave in the foreground.

ANNA: Best listen to your sister.

REDGRAVE: Step away now.

PAGE 17, PANEL 6

Head and shoulders shot of Absalom and Gwen, his arm still around her throat.

ABSALOM: I’m hearing a distinct lack of respect in your tone, mortal.

ABSALOM: There was a time when you kind bowed to our kind.

PAGE 17, PANEL 7

Similar to panel 1, it’s a perspective shot of Redgrave, the gun in the foreground.

REDGRAVE: Times change.

PAGE 18, PANEL 1

Two panels on this top tier. Head to waist shot of Absalom roughly pushing Gwen forward, between himself and the guns aimed at him.

ABSALOM: Indeed they do, perhaps not for the better. She’s all yours.

GWEN: Hey!

PAGE 18, PANEL 2

Head to waist shot. In another sudden move Absalom is almost on top of Redgrave, stabbing him in the side with a knife he pulls out.

ABSALOM: And this is for your lack of respect, mortal.

REDGRAVE: Urghh!

PAGE 18, PANEL 3

Two panels on this tier. Head to waist shot of Absalom stepping forward and striking out at Anna, using his crystal tipped cane to hit her in the face, knocking the gun out of her hand as she falls backwards.

ANNA: You bast… ompff!

PAGE 18, PANEL 4

Full shot of Sam and Absalom escaping through the familiar glow of a doorway.

SAM: You didn’t need to do that!

ABSALOM: My apologies, sister. I’m afraid I got rather carried away.

SAM: I noticed.

PAGE 18, PANEL 5

Page width panel. Redgrave is lying on the ground. Gwen is knelt beside him, propping him up. He’s pale and holding his hand over the bloody wound. Anna is stood behind them, a gash on her forehead.

GWEN: Damn you.

REDGRAVE: That almost looks like concern on your face.

GWEN: Shut up.

PAGE 19, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Head to waist shot of Abbadon violently gripping Absalom by the throat, his other hand held against his chest as he presses him over the balcony wall of WinterSong. Sam is stood beside them. Abbadon’s face is full of fury and Absalom is pale and looking like he’s choking. Sam is staring defiantly at Abbadon. It’s night and the balcony is draped in heavy shadows.

ABBADON: The girl was to be left to me! You had no part to play in this!

ABBADON: You are the snake in the garden! The tempter!

SAM: I make my own decisions, Abbadon.

PAGE 19, PANEL 2

Three panels on this tier. A closer head to chest shot of them now.

ABBADON: Really, perhaps I should snap his neck right now, end it, put this dog out of his misery.

SAM: If you do that then you lose me and the rest of our family forever.

PAGE 19, PANEL 3

Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Sam, her face filling the panel.

SAM: He lost his mind. He lost his family. We’ve all done things we regret, Abbadon, don’t pretend you’re anything different.

PAGE 19, PANEL 4

Similar to panel 2, a head to chest shot, maybe focused in a little closer.

ABBADON: It would be so simple, just to squeeze a little tighter, finally end your suffering. Release you from your torment.

SAM: Abbadon.

PAGE 19, PANEL 5

Two panels on this bottom tier. Full profile shot of the three of them, but now the ghostly image of Sariel is stood beside Abbadon.

SARIEL: Brother, if you kill him now all of it will simply fall apart.

SARIEL: It would all have been for nothing.

PAGE 19, PANEL 6

Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Abbadon and Sariel. She’s close to him, whispering in her ear like an invisible guardian.

SARIEL: Trust me, brother, his time will come.

PAGE 20, PANEL 1

Two panels on this top tier. Similar to panel 6 of page 19, but now the fury is draining from Abbadon’s eyes and Sariel has gone.

ABBADON: Yes … his time will come.

PAGE 20, PANEL 2

Head to chest profile shot as he releases his grip on Absalom’s throat.

ABBADON: Your time will come.

PAGE 20, PANEL 3

Two panels on this tier. Head to waist shot of Abbadon walking away in the foreground. In the background Sam is steadying Absalom.

ABBADON: For his sake and yours, keep him out of my sight, Samuel.

PAGE 20, PANEL 4

Head to chest shot of Sam and Absalom stood next to each other. Absalom rubbing his bruised throat as they watch after Abbadon.

ABSALOM: I haven’t seen him that angry for a very long time.

SAM: All I’ve ever wanted is his approval. Is that too much to ask.

PAGE 20, PANEL 5

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist shot of Sam and Absalom, Absalom patting his suit down with Abbadon now off panel.

ABSALOM: It’s all Sariel ever wanted and look what happened to her.

PAGE 20, PANEL 6

Full shot of both of them, stood on the balcony against the starry night.

ABSALOM: Be careful what you wish for, sister.

PAGE 21, PANEL 1

Half page vertical panel. In the foreground is the wounded Redgrave, propped against Gwen‘s legs, who’s knelt behind him. Ellie is leaning over him with his hand over the knife wound while Anna and Thor are stood over them. In the background are Gabriel and Lucy. Gabriel is stood in front of the Ferris Wheel and Lucy is sat cross legged on its platform. It’s sunset and there’s an orange hue to the panels on this page.

LUCY: So, I guess we know whose side Sam and Absalom are on.

GABRIEL: Is it that much of a surprise?

LUCY: Not really.

PAGE 21, PANEL 2

Two panels on this vertical tier. Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Gabriel.

GABRIEL: I don’t understand, how is it possible that Absalom escaped.

PAGE 21, PANEL 3

Full profile shot of Lucy, sat cross legged, looking up at Gabriel.

LUCY: Face it, big bro, you may never understand. Just be grateful the guilt’s no longer on you. And so help me, if you say it’s your responsibility to put him back in his box, I may just scream.

PAGE 21, PANEL 4

Two panels on this vertical tier. Full profile shot of Gabriel facing Lucy.

GABRIEL: Then I won’t say it.

LUCY: Good.

PAGE 21, PANEL 5

Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Lucy, her face filling the panel.

LUCY: Things are making a hell of a lot more sense now. The new gods being killed, Joshua St. John coming after Gwen, the god of gods being murdered and then Epiphany suddenly waking up.

PAGE 21, PANEL 6

Half page vertical panel. Full shot of them from behind, both now turned toward the horizon, partly silhouetted as the sun sets.

LUCY: We should’ve seen it coming. It’s been building to something pretty big all along.

LUCY: And just like the old days Abbadon is right at the heart of it.

PAGE 22, PANEL 1

Insert.

Head and shoulders semi - profile shot of Gabriel glancing behind himself.

ARTIST NOTE: Insert should be in the top left hand corner of panel 2.

ABBADON ( O.P ): Hello, brother.

GABRIEL: What? …

PAGE 22, PANEL 2

Page width panel. Wide shot of Gabriel now stood on the old deserted train station platform of his dreams seen in issues # 35 and 37, though this time the surroundings are stormy and dark. He’s stood on the left of the panel with Abbadon is on the right of it.

GABRIEL: Abbadon?

ABBADON: Yes.

GABRIEL: Whether asleep or awake it seems my dreams are no longer my own.

ABBADON: Were they ever?

PAGE 22, PANEL 3

Two panels on this tier. Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Gabriel.

GABRIEL: Why are you here now? You seemed content to send our siblings earlier.

PAGE 22, PANEL 4

Head to waist profile shot of Gabriel and Abbadon now stood closer, only a few feet between them, their stares fixed on each other.

ABBADON: That wasn’t my doing. They acted … rashly. The mortal?

GABRIEL: He was gravely wounded, but he will live.

PAGE 22, PANEL 5

Two panels on this bottom tier. Forehead to chin semi - profile shot of Abbadon.

ABBADON: You have many questions, brother, I know, and I want to answer them. For far too long we have been parted. I can give you the answers you seek. I have rebuilt our home in this place. WinterSong is whole again. Join me, speak with me as we once did.

PAGE 22, PANEL 6

Half face shot of him, the left side of his face on the right of the panel.

ABBADON: Meet with me. Come alone, and I will tell you everything.

( Taken from Volume Four: Gods, Monsters & Men )

0 notes

kristie-rp · 5 years

Text

when the morning comes

Who: Toni Crueson, Raphael Constantine, Adrian Crueson (Toni’s dad), Lola Crueson (Toni’s mum), Ross Crueson (Toni’s little brother), Enid Crueson (Ross’s wife), Courtney Crueson (8-year-old only daughter of Ross & Courtney, Toni’s niece), Adelaide Crueson (Toni’s older sister, pregnant), Corey Oliver-Flannigan (Adelaide’s partner), Angeline Andurgor. What: Inspired by Stay Awake by Dean Lewis. Toni’s niece is sick, and she’s got to go.

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You said you’re leaving When the morning comes Stay Awake - Dean Lewis

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“Oh no, that’s awful.”

Rain continues to run down the window as she spins idly in her chair. She keeps pausing, whenever the person at the other end of the call speaks. She is listening intently: her brow dips in a small furrow, and grief brings her shoulders arching up towards her ears.

“How long?”

Whatever she is told is enough to bring it to a head, and her shoulders slump. Her curls trail after it, dark brown waves swaying and slumping. They shift and end up in her face, before her eyes. She makes no move to tuck them back out of the way.

“I’ll book the soonest flight I can.”

Quiet fills the room again. Only the dull stream of rain from outside the apartment can be heard, pattering constantly against the glass. She stares at the window visible above her computer screen, no longer spinning idly.

“I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Toni is very, very drunk by the time she brings it up. She’s been oddly manic all night, jumping between topics like none of them can hold her attention. There’s a faraway look in her eyes whenever she gulps her booze, drinking with clear intent.

When she slams her dozenth empty bottle back onto the counter, it startles Raphael enough to get him to adjust his focus. He watches her more often than not; dark eyes on her. Her curls, her smile, the way her honey-brown eyes crinkle when she laughs. Only there hasn’t been any laughter tonight, just drinking, and raving, and changing the subject.

“I’m leaving,” she says without preamble. “I go back to Auckland in the morning.”

Raphael freezes in place. He’d been prepared to laugh off any concerns she’s having, to talk them through and work it out. He is frozen now, lips barely parted, transfixed by her in a different way. He cannot breathe a word, and Toni takes advantage of the opportunity to barrel through it.

“The flight leaves at five, so I’m probably just gonna go straight to the airport; it’ll be easier than waking up. You don’t have to see me off, or anything. I don’t wanna force you into anything you don’t want to do.”

And, well. If he could form a sentence, he might protest that. He might say that she’s never made him do anything he didn’t want to do, not at all, and all that is happening here is – well. She’s asking him to say goodbye to her, sort of, and he has never, ever wanted to do that. Not since he met her in Auckland in the first place, when she offered up her families house to him for as long as he wanted to stay.

She makes him smile, usually, even when he’s miserable. But now, he has a look on his face like his heart is breaking. She says something about how she doesn’t know how long she’ll be gone, and drowns the sentence in yet another drink.

The apartment is too quiet.

He heard her leave in the small hours of the morning, trying to be quiet. She was probably trying not to wake him, but he didn’t sleep at all. He’d wanted to get up and beg her to stay, had wanted her to come and check in on him. Wanted her to see he was awake, and either say goodbye herself, or say she doesn’t want to go. It’s not like her Visa is expiring; his families money is good for that much, even if it never did anything else for him.

But she doesn’t say goodbye, and the door closes. It’s the click of the lock in the silent apartment that reminds him to breathe, to catch breath he hasn’t realised he’s been holding.

The flight leaves at five, he remembers. He’s got time. Until then, there’s a chance she’ll turn around.

He stares at the red glow of his alarm clock until the sun starts to rise, and then rolls out of bed to force himself into doing something, anything, anything at all.

The clock says 5:55.

She’s outside cutting wood. It’s all she’s been doing for most of the day, since she woke up. She’d arrived at a time that let her take dinner with Adelaide, Corey and their parents, and Ross’s partner Enid. Ross and Courtney had been conspicuously absent, but they didn’t talk about it. Instead, Toni asked nosy questions about Adelaide’s pregnancy, and pushed for information about their dads work, or what remained of it.

After dinner, Enid comes back. She’s exhausted, and miserable, and Corey gives her a hug on his way to go take her place at the hospital. “She was asleep when I left,” Enid says. She’s pale, with dark circles under her eyes like she hasn’t been sleeping. Toni remembers when Enid, her sister-in-law, was pregnant with Courtney; remembers how full of life she’d been. Nothing like this half-dead mother in front of her.

“You should’ve told me,” Toni tells Ross, “instead of leaving it to Enid. You’re my little brother, you’re supposed to tell me things!”

“I didn’t want to ruin your weird elopement,” he snipes back, clearly resentful. Toni doesn’t rise to the bait; instead, she whirls away, and goes to bed, too tired from the timezone change. It’s after 4am in America, not 8pm, and she’s still on that system. It’ll take ages to get back into it.

So she wakes at 3am after what feels like not long enough, and tosses and turns before going outside.

That’s where her father finds her four hours later, still chopping wood for the fire. He watches her, for a while, taking note of the swing of her hand, the grip she has on the handle. Toni has always been more interested in computers and music than the work they need to do to stay warm around the house, and finding her out here – well. Chopping wood to divert anger is common to most of the family members. Only Corey and Courtney have never fallen into the trap.

“You wanna talk there, trooper?” he calls at last. It startles her, and she misses the log she is splitting. It buries deep into the block they use to hold it, splinters off. Toni sidesteps before the axe can lop off her toes.

“God, dad, are you trying to kill me? Don’t do that!”

“No harm, no foul,” he retorts, and folds his arms over his chest. Adrian Crueson raises his brows at her, a challenge in them. “Now. Talking?”

“God. No, no thanks.”

She isn’t looking to see his lip twist in dismay, but she does meet his gaze when he clears his throat. “Breakfast, then. You must’ve worked out a helluvan appetite. C’mon. Your mum’s making waffles. And your brother’s at the hospital.”

And, well. Toni never actually needs to be convinced to eat the waffles Lola’s mastered.

“How’s your boyfriend?”

They’re doing the dishes, Toni washing while Adelaide dries. The question startles Toni, but she manages not to drop any cutlery, instead rolls her eyes at her older sisters’ question. No wonder she’d been so adamant of drying; Toni cannot leave with the dishes half washed. Not without getting reamed by mum and an exasperated sigh from dad.“Raphael isn’t my boyfriend.”

“You’re travelling the world with him.” Adelaide pauses. “He’s paying for you to travel the world with him.”

“Actually, we sort of live in Port Lyndon now?”

“Oh, so you aren’t in touch with him anymore?”

Toni flushes, and busies herself scrubbing a plate more hard than is strictly required. “We kind of live together. In his apartment. That he kept while travelling. For... reasons.”

“Oh my god, you live together? Toni! No way you aren’t an item.”

“No one says item anymore, Addie.”

Adelaide shoves Toni gently, laughing. “That’s garbage, and you know it. Now. Spill! You have to be a couple.”

Toni clears her throat, and focuses intently on the dishes before she speaks. “He’s never asked me. On a date, or to be his, you know, girlfriend. Or whatever. So. I guess it’s just not a thing he thinks about.”

There’s quiet as Adelaide stops moving. She sets down the glass she’s been drying for longer than necessarily as gently as she knows how, wrapping Toni in the tight bear hugs she’s so well known for in their family. If you want a hug, you ask Adelaide. She’s always been the best at it. “Oh, Toni,” she soothes, clinging to her sister as she shakes. If she hadn’t already known how Toni gets, how the more dismissive she is, the more distressed she is, it’d be given away in the way her shoulders tremble. “I’m sure that’s not it.”

Toni hiccoughs softly. She’s not so sure, and it shows.

“I don’t get why you don’t just call her, genius,” Angeline is saying. She’s plucking absently at her guitar, tuning it on the armchair in Raphael’s apartment. Normally she’d claim the couch, but he’s stacked CDs over the spot she usually claims, and she doesn’t want to move them.

“I don’t have her number.” She plucks out an experimental tune, a little thing that sounds like judgement. Raphael doesn’t look up from the guitar he’s carefully cleaning.

“Bullshit, you don’t. You don’t fool me, Constantine.”

He sighs, long and hard. “She didn’t say goodbye, Ange.”

Angeline, though, has no patience for his lamentation. “Did you?”

He’s quiet.

She takes it for what it is, knowing what he’s like. She leans down to where he’s leaning against her chair, and slaps him lightly. By her standards. He still winces. “Bloody hell, Raphael. Why would she say bye when you don’t say bye? Oh my god, it’s like you two don’t know how to communicate at all!”

“Says you, Angeline. Remind me how you and Jackson started dating? Was it – oh, I don’t know – something to do with your boss telling you dates get discounts?”

Angeline snorts. “We still got it together, unlike someone in this room.”

“Yeah, well. It doesn’t matter. She’s back home, now. No need for me to reopen old wounds, you know?”

Angeline heaves a sigh. Raphael has always been prone to self-pity, and when she isn’t in the mood for it, it’s tedious as hell. “Here’s what you’re going to do,” she says, and starts slowly, methodically, scrawling a detailed plan into a book she reserves for song lyrics.

“Hey, champ. How’re you doing?”

Toni asks it because she doesn’t know what else to say, and is afraid of the silence that’ll fall if she doesn’t. She doubts Courtney remembers her; doesn’t know why she was asked for. She just knows it’s her turn to play the just in case vigil. In case things get worse. In case someone has to call the family to say goodbye to a comatose 8-year-old with a DNR. In case her niece dies.

Courtney looks like a Crueson, or at least, she’s got the same curls the siblings and their dad share. She must’ve gotten them from Ross, because Enid’s hair is as straight as if a straighteners been used, even when she’s just woken up. Courtney has bright eyes, but they look out of place on the sickbed, in amongst the white sheets and pasty skin. Her dark auburn hair is lank, unwashed and barely brushed, and Toni’s heart is in her throat. She’s already been told she mustn’t cry, though, mustn’t make this worse for the girl.

After all, Courtney’s the one dying, an armada of tubes and cords hooked up to her to keep her alive until the doctors can talk Ross into letting them drop it.

Or until she dies anyway.

“Sore,” Courtney croaks, and Toni refuses to wince at the harshness of it. She’s got a recording, somewhere, sent her way ages ago, of one of the solos the girl did for a school thing. She sounded like she was going to be a natural, if she got some training. She sounded sweet. She certainly hadn’t sounded like someone on deaths door.

“Well, that sucks,” Toni retorts. “What d’you wanna do? I know you can’t get out of here, but I’ve got my music, if you wanna listen. I can grab my guitar from the car, if you want. Or we can play, I don’t know, I Spy or Never Have I Ever or Twenty Questions.” It’s possible she’s listing the ideas she pulled from a google search, trying to figure out what eight year old nearly dead kids like.

“Dad says you’ve got a boyfriend. I wanna hear about him. Please.”

She bites her tongue on her usual he’s not my boyfriend, swallowing the protest whole. “Alright, fine, I’ll spill,” she says, and starts telling her niece the best stories she has of her and Raphael. And if they err on the side of making Raphael sound like some sort of gift – well.

She’s a musician, not a historian.

“Toni’s phone,” she yawns into the receiver.

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

That wakes her up. “Raphael?”

“Uh-huh. I – have some news. If you want. If it’s not okay, I won’t follow through, but. I’m kinda about to get on the plane? It’s – it’ll go to Auckland.”

She pulls the phone from her ear for a moment, gaping at it. His voice, tinny and concerned, asks if she’s still there, and she hears his voice become more distant. He must be looking to see if the call is connected; he does it all the time, if he notices he’s been talking uninterrupted for what he deems too long. “You – why? I thought you were happier in PL, now.”

She can hear the grimace. “Well. Not exactly. It was kinda just that you were there? I guess? And also that Veronica kinda disappeared from our lives; I don’t know how that happened, but. Kudos to Liv, I think, and dad? For finally pulling it off.

“Anyway. You kinda – we didn’t say goodbye? When you left? And I know you were drunk and I was in shock, I think, and you were in a hurry and had that early flight, and I just. I don’t know if you’re sick of me or were waiting for something I didn’t give you, but Toni, I will actually buy you a house down there if you’re moving back properly, so you don’t have to live with your parents. Just. Just let me say goodbye in person, please?”

“Say – what? Raphael, oh my god, why would I be moving back? I hate Auckland. Nothing ever happens here.”

“I – then why’re you there now?”

“My – my sister in law, Enid? She called the other day. And told me what my dear brother Ross refused to tell me. My niece, Courtney? Remember?”

“The Amazing Grace recording?”

“Yes! She’s sick. Like. Really sick. They’ve known for ages, I knew she had to go to the doctor ‘cause of something Ross said during one of our calls months ago, but Enid told me last week that it’s. It’s bad.” She pauses. “Courtney’s dying, Raph,” she whispers. “And I – I don’t know if she asked, or if that was a lie Enid told to get me back here, but. I can’t not be here, you know? It’s. They’re family.”

There’s a stunned silence from the other end. Toni waits patiently, eying the window. Rain trickles down it, down, down, down; just like Port Lyndon. Just like everywhere, actually, but. This is the place that she is right now. “Fuck. Do I feel selfish now, or what,” Raphael mutters at last. Toni hums her curiosity.

“I – Angeline is gonna mock me forever. I kinda – I thought you were sick of me. That. That you were trying to get away from me?”

“What the hell, Raphael! Why would I be doing that? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know –” she cuts herself off to seethe, hissing through gritted teeth.

“Don’t know what?”

“Don’t know how you don’t think I’m absolutely obsessively in love with you. I followed you to Equador, for Christ’s sake!”

He’s quiet. Then, “I thought you just wanted a travel buddy.”

“Oh my God, I’d known you for, what, two weeks at that point? Of course I was in love with you. God. I guessed you didn’t feel the same, but if you just didn’t know –”

“I am a musician,” he says stiffly, defensively; “not a mind reader. I paid for you to travel – you live in my apartment. My apartment that I only came back to because you wanted to see where I grew up.”

Toni falls quiet, listens as the PA system on Raphael’s end of the call puts calls out for his flight to start boarding. “God. Hurry up and get here, you absolute idiot. We’ll be at the hospital, probably. Ask for Courtney Crueson’s room, they’ll send you up.”

“Why there?”

“Because my niece is dying to meet you,” she says, deadpan. “And also, I promised, but I really want to finally try kissing you. In a romantic way, not a cultural experimentation way.”

Raphael hums eagerly; she imagines he’s nodding on the other end of the call, where she can’t see. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous,” she scoffs.

She feels more alive than she has all week.

Raphael shows up to a hospital room that isn’t overly crowded. Enid and Adelaide are on either side of Courtney’s bed. Enid, her mum, plaits her hair with gentle fingers, while Adelaide hums and paints her nails. It’s not allowed, technically, but they can’t stop her.

Raphael crashes in, more or less, because he’s excitable and is trying to avoid the pitying looks from the nurse, the one who thinks he’s related to the patient. He blinks blankly at the group of women, and is relieved when recognition lights Adelaide’s features.

“Raphael?” she asks, clearly surprised. Toni hasn’t mentioned his imminent arrival, but considering how much she’s been buzzing for the past day, it makes sense. They sent her to get coffee, worried about her energy aggravating Courtney somehow, and only realised afterwards that that might not be such a good idea.

“Adelaide. It’s been too long.”

“As I recall, that’s on you,” she points out, voice dry. “This is Courtney, and her mum, Enid, Ross’s partner. I’m assuming you remember Ross.”

“That depends. Does he still think gummy worms are good for a balanced lunch?”

“Yes,” Enid says, and opens her mouth to say more. She is cut off by Courtney.

“You’re auntie Toni’s Raphael? Is it true a llama spit in your eye twice on one trip?”

“I – yes. But Toni never mentions that she was definitely bribing it to do that.”

“Excuse me, but I believe that’s my good name you’re slandering,” comes the next interruption. Raphael turns a little slower than is ideal, and she makes a noise of complaint in the back of her throat. She places the coffee on the side table near the door, and crosses the room in three steps. Then, she drags Raphael down to kiss him soundly, maybe a little too eager. He hums his approval, and kisses back with vigour.

When they break apart, Courtney claps twice, and rolls her eyes at the way her mum leans over to readjust the cords. Adelaide scoffs. “Not your boyfriend, huh?”

“Oh, shut up, Addie.”

#kwrites #kwriting #kristie writes #kristie's writing #tw terminal illness #tw child illness #ft. toni #ft. raphael

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