#℘. BECOME THE DEVIL SO NO ONE ELSE HAS TO / ･˙ * ( visage ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jimlingss · 4 years ago

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Moirai [Finale]

Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 [Finale]

➜ Words: 8.6k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

You don’t know why you were so afraid of dying. It happened once before. You didn’t even have time to prepare yourself. Maybe you were so petrified because you were left feeling an empty void inside of yourself last time. You never got the chance to fulfill your dreams, enjoy the fruits of your labour, never got to reach the happiness you wanted. You were filled with numerous regrets. Not for the things you did. But for the things you didn’t do. But strangely enough, for the second time, you don’t feel such sadness. Perhaps because your death this time has purpose. Perhaps because you know it wasn’t wasted. Taehyung gets to live, he’s safe and that in itself is worth sacrificing for. You wonder if this is what love feels like. For being so afraid of dying in this lifetime, there was not an inch of hesitation when you risked it again. “Anastasia.” But you aren’t dead. Just on your deathbed. You can hear Lucy sobbing beside you. She’s noisy, practically giving you a headache, but truthfully, your heart aches to hear her. Until the very end, she proves to be one of the most sincere people in all of Ashea. “Please...please, wake up.” It’s hard to open your eyes. Your left shoulder aches terribly and you feel feverish but chilly at the same time. Even with the heaviest blanket overtop of you, you can’t help shivering. You wonder if your wound was infected. If you caught something else. If you’ll make a recovery. It’s hard to lay and rest peacefully when you know someone’s made an assassination attempt on Taehyung. It might happen again. It might happen when you’re laying here. But even so, perhaps your connection to Taehyung will save him. This darkness inside of you just might consume his injuries and hand it to you instead. If so, you’ll readily lend your life to him again. It’s your destiny as his protector. You don’t mind. “Lucy...you should rest.” You can vaguely hear Jungkook’s voice and you force your eyes to open a sliver. Their figures are blurry. “No. I want to stay here a little longer.” Her voice is firm, no longer as timid as it used to be. But Jungkook still coaxes her otherwise. “You haven’t slept and the Duke and Duchess have come. They’re waiting outside. We can watch over her.” You watch as their forms fade away, Jungkook guiding the girl out. Soon, your mother and father are entering the room, steps slow, their voices kept quiet. Your vision starts to sharpen and the bed dips as your mother sits next to you, her expression impassive while she takes your hand. She realizes you’re awake when your fingers twitch and her head whips over to you. “Anastasia. Anastasia,” she calls again and lowers herself to whisper, “You can make it through this.” Your eyes manage to open and your cracked lips move— “I’m sorry.” Her blank visage is ruined by the slight furrow of her brows. “What for?” “I can’t be the crown princess.” The words are mumbled out of you, barely steady on a single breath. “You still can.” “No.” You weakly shake your head. “Even if I live, I...can’t.” “I’m...sorr...y.” The sincere apology utters off from your lips — they’re your dying words. You’ve never apologized to them in your life. You never felt the need to apologize to anyone aside from Taehyung. But marrying Jungkook, keeping the family safe, it’s all they ever wanted from you. Yet, you can’t fulfill their only wish. “Anastasia.” There’s a rough tug at your arm and you wince. Your mother’s eyes are wide, mouth lopsided, she looks...frantic. It’s the first time her impassivity has been spoiled. “Get up. Get yourself back together. It would be worthless if you die here. Everything you’ve worked so hard for will go to waste. I’ll be angry if you keep talking about giving up. Get up right now!” She doesn’t accept the apology. She doesn’t acknowledge it. “Elanor.” Your father grabs your mother’s shoulders, pulling her away from trying to tug you upright. “Elanor! Stop it. Calm down.” “She was sick so many times before as a child and she still lived! She’ll live here too, Herrick.” She whirls around and seizes your father’s collar in tight fists, but then sobs break through her figure. “Stop acting like our daughter is dying!” “I know, I know.” He embraces her. “But if we want her to live, she has to rest. Remember what the healers said?” Your mother nods into his shoulder and your father stares at you. There’s not enough strength in you to stay conscious, so you black out against your will moments later. But you swear you feel him squeeze your hand before he leaves. // Taehyung cracks open the door fifteen minutes after three. The hallway is shrouded in darkness with only a tiny sliver of the moon’s luminescence that will wane away tomorrow. His breath was hitched and only with no one in sight was he able to slip into the shadows. He feels like a child again, having to lurk in the castle’s corridors. But he had to see you. Taehyung comes to your bedside where you’re fast asleep. His left hand grips the arrow that had pierced into your flesh, hard enough that his knuckles turn white, that his entire fist shakes. The silver tip is decorated with loops and ornate designs. He stared at it long enough that the pattern is embedded beneath his eyelids. But for now, he sets the arrow down on your bedside and lifts his hand to hover over your body. Taehyung frowns. He recognizes the dark magic over your soul. He should've seen it, should’ve tried to use his magic to detect it when he had the chance. Not now when it was too late. When it’s suddenly so obvious. The magic spills out of your skin when Taehyung beckons it forward, consuming the room into pitch blackness that chokes him. It’s as if your soul has been encased in it, so thick that he doesn’t know where the magic ends or begins. Taehyung tries to break it, to shatter the magic apart and dissipate the shards. But when he touches it, there’s a spark. A golden trace, like lightning on a stormy day. He sharply inhales as it stings him and he notices your brows furrow. The man quickly seals the dark magic up again. He wonders who did this to you. His right hand tightens on the pink handkerchief frayed at the edges. He kept it all of this time. There just hasn’t been the right moment to give it back to you yet. But he knows they’ll be a day. He’s counting on it. Taehyung murmurs an incantation underneath his breath, a healing spell that has your expression easing again. A soft breath escapes the seam of your lips as if you’re soothed from pain. “I’m sorry.” You hear what sounds like Taehyung’s voice inside your head. He has nothing to apologize for. You’re the one who did him wrong, who pushed him away, who made him out as someone to be feared — you saw him as the villain before he even became one. But when you awake, there’s no one there. // The next morning, you start to feel better again. Your body feels less like a heavy cage against the mattress. Your shoulder doesn’t ache with each movement and your fever has faded away. In the following days, the healers are taken aback at the change but start to become more optimistic, and Lucy smiles with tears in her eyes to see you conscious. You’re well enough to at least be able to sit up too. “Has anyone visited me?” you ask a maid who’s come by to replace your clothes. But the young girl shakes her head. “Is there someone you want to see, Lady Anastasia?” “No…” As if you were speaking of the devil, another attendant enters the room. ��Lady Anastasia, there’s someone here…” The corner of your mouth upturns and you immediately lean forward. But instead of the person you were hoping for, it’s dark-hair and doe eyes. Jungkook smiles and the two girls leave a beat later, giving the pair of you some privacy. He knows you well enough over the years to see your disappointment. “Were you expecting someone else?” “Of course not,” you scoff, leaning against the headboard. “I’m glad to see you better enough to mouth off again.” Jungkook grins and takes his seat on the chair beside you. “But there’s something we should talk about, Anna.” “What is it?” “The engagement ball is coming up.” You stay silent. “The advisors think we should do ahead with the engagement after this incident. There’s some suspicion this had something to do with you being kidnapped and there’s an investigation going on, but the advisors think it’ll be reflected poorly if the royal family doesn’t take responsibility for your injuries.” There’s a pause. A quiet simmer. The corner of his mouth quirks gingerly. “Surprisingly, the Duke and Duchess haven’t said anything about it.” You burst out laughing. “For once.” Jungkook’s smile is short lived. He inhales a deep breath and hesitates. You’ve never seen Jungkook so careful in choosing his words before, but you have a feeling of what he wants to say. “Anna. I care about you, I do. You’ve been a friend since we were children. But I don’t think I can go through with this marriag—” “Stop,” you interrupt and he looks up. Your eyes meet and you smile, taking his hand. “I’ve always said I wouldn’t stop you, Jungkook.” He nods and whispers, “Thank you.” You hold hands, smiling at him. “You’ll always be a close friend of mine.” No matter what path this universe goes down, Anastasia never ends up with Jungkook. And Y/N doesn’t either. It’s impossible when you have someone else who can beckon your heart with a simple gaze.

Half across the castle, Taehyung enters the throne room. It’s decorated with a red carpet, chandeliers, and a throne at the end that sits above all, looking down at the rest. It’s imposing as it is grand. But before he can come closer, the knights refuse him. Their partisan weapons block his way, a criss-cross that doesn’t give him an inch to move. “Let me speak to the King.” “The King is occupied,” one of them states plainly. “Let me speak to him,” Taehyung raises his voice and steps closer. The old man on the throne hears the ruckus. His ears perk and his attention is taken. His deep timbre bellows down the hall— “Let him through.” Only then at his allowance is Taehyung able to walk down the carpet. His strides don’t halt until he’s at the bottom of the staircase. The King doesn’t wear an expression, but Taehyung knows there’s quiet disdain underneath it. A reserved contempt that he tries to mask for appearance sakes. He made the same face at his mother’s funeral. “What have you come here for?” Taehyung throws down the arrow in front of him, the arrow still stained with your blood. The King’s brow quirks. “What is the meaning of this?” “Someone who doesn’t know magic wouldn’t be able to see that this is striking silver. It’s material only used by the palace’s arrows.” “It must’ve been stolen.” “But I found them,” he quiets. “I found the person who fired the shot and I fed them a truth serum and they confessed to me.” Taehyung lifts his head and steps closer to the throne. “You did this, didn’t you?” The deep timbre of Taehyung’s voice resounds through the hall. The scowl he holds carries a deeply rooted loathing he didn’t know he had within him. “You tried to kill your own son.” “How dare you try to accuse the royal King!” His fist bangs against the armrest and it rings in Taehyung’s ears. His face is twisted in appalment, the shout that tears through his throat is spat out. “You would rather believe a servant than the King?!” “Why do you lie to me?” He is used to their scorn, their contempt and hatred. Taehyung knows. He has endured this treatment for a lifetime, since the moment he took his first breath. But when it comes to you… When it comes to you, Taehyung can shut his eyes and still see the moment you took the arrow for him. The arrow inflicted by his own father. It’s been burnt to memory — your expression, your words, the blood that poured from the gaps of his fingertips. It’s been seared to mind. He was the one who put you in harm’s way when he swore to himself he would never ever let that happen. He vowed that he wouldn't see you until he became strong enough. So he stands his ground. Not for his own pride, dignity or his injustices. But for you. A reason that is greater to Taehyung than all other reasons. “You let my mother die and now you’re trying to kill me—” “Silence! You dare stand there and accuse me.” The King abruptly rises to his feet, pointing down at him with a shaking hand. His face is reddened at these allegations, a reaction so tense it can only prove to be true. “You are nothing but an orphan boy! I don’t have a son like you! Guards!” Three knights storm through the throne room. “Arrest him for treason!” The King has commanded the castle at his will, marionette dolls without even needing to tug the strings. As easy as ringing a bell. Or calling a dog. They have always had it easy. A life of luxury that knows no suffering. The deeper the blue shade of blood, the stronger the status. As if heroes are born instead of having their title earned. “Why?” The guards are three steps away, armours clanking, hands outstretched. But darkness sweeps from Taehyung’s shadow and consumes the room, bleeding throughout. He’s not sure where it comes from, doesn’t pay mind to recognize that it’s your dark magic lent to him, but it pours out of his skin, thick enough to choke on. “Why?!” Taehyung shouts from the pit of his stomach, past his gritted teeth. He demands to know, he aches for answers. If all this pain is because of his dirtied birthright — the only thing he couldn’t control and perhaps the only reason he isn’t loved. “Why did you do this?!” “Guards!” The King manages to call out in the midst of his wheeze and they finally get to Taehyung, hands snatching his arms, ripping them from their sockets. The darkness dissipates. “You dare use magic against the King?!” “Is it because I threatened your favourite’s son’s position?! Is it because of Jungkook?!” Taehyung thrashes against the guards. He was a mistake manifested, a reminder of the errors of the King’s ways. His existence taints the pristine reputation of the royal family. But why— “Why did you do this to her?! Why did you get Anastasia involved?! She's innocent!” “That girl will never be yours,” the man spits from his place by the throne, mocking his audacity to covet his brother’s fiancée. “And if you dare to use magic against me one more time, then I’ll make your wish come true. She will be killed next to you.” His jaw clenches. Wrath seethes beneath his skin. The guards yank at him. “Move!” The grand doors slam shut. // Something is wrong. You can feel it — you’re cold, chest aching, experiencing dizzy spells. But it’s not from the wound in your shoulder that’s already closing. You haven’t felt this way since you were young and you were bedridden without explanation. You can only hope it passes quickly like it did then. But the maid notices you pressing against the left side of your chest. “My lady?” You look into the vanity mirror where the young girl stares at you worriedly. “Are you alright? Prince Jungkook already told us that if you weren’t feeling well, you don’t have to attend the ball.” You wave her off. “It’s fine.” She hesitates but then nods, swiftly brushing out your hair to pin half of it up. You’re dressed in a gray gown, a simple ensemble with white flowers decorated sporadically through your hair as if you sat beneath a blossom tree. You’re glad you don’t look sick on the outside. You’re tired of being cooped up inside of your room all day. Laying in bed is only so much fun after two weeks in a row. Not to mention, tonight is important. Jungkook will be making the announcement of dissolving your engagement. It’s the whole reason a ball was set up in the first place. There’s no better time to do it than in public — that way no advisor or even the King will be able to stop him. But most of all, you’re afraid if you don’t leave, you won’t be able to see him. He hasn’t visited and it’s not like you can call for him with the current state of your status and his own. But you still need to talk to Taehyung. You need to tell him the truth. The moment you arrive at the ballroom, your eyes immediately start to sweep the surroundings for brown eyes, dark hair. Your smile is softer than your usual forced one. He has to be here. “Lady Anastasia!” A viscountess greets you. “I’m so glad to see you’re doing well. I heard about the awful incident.” “Yes, well, I’m much better now.” “It sounded so frightening!” Another says, “I wonder who could’ve done such a thing!” You nod and before you can get completely swarmed by the elites feigning concern, you curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me…” “Anastasia!” Luckily, a familiar girl comes through the crowd to save the day. Her eyes are bright and her smile is wide. Some mutter at how she dares to call you so intimately, but you pay no mind to them. Lucy looks like she wants to hug you, but for appearance sake, she merely takes your hand. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? I didn’t know if you were coming, so I was planning to visit you and—” “I’m fine, Lucy. Thank you.” The girl nods, and rescues you. You can tell it was intentional with the way she guides you out of the sea of people and you’re appreciative. You lean on her for support while looking around for Taehyung. You turn your head in each direction, eyes scrutinizing every person, but you can’t find him. “Anastasia, I have something to tell you.” Once the two of you are in the corner of the room that allows for a private moment, Lucy shifts to you with anguish reflected in her eyes. “I should’ve been honest with you from the start, but I was denying it since the last thing I wanted was to hurt you. You’re my greatest friend and I love you more than anyone, so if you tell me to leave and never come back, I will in a heartbea—” “Lucy.” You squeeze her hand. “Jungkook already told me everything.” Her eyes are wide, brows lifted. You know. She lowers her head in shame. “I’m sorry.” The corner of your mouth pulls. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” You expected this to happen. You have been waiting for it since the beginning. So it doesn’t break your heart like maybe it should. And maybe part of the reason is because of one person. You frantically ask her what’s been plaguing you, “Lucy, have you seen Taehyung?” “His Highness?” She shakes her head. “I haven’t.” It’s odd. He’s always been there. Anywhere where you are. You could turn around and see him. The mellifluous violins suddenly stop. Conversations simmer down and you hear a clearing of the voice in front of the room. Jungkook steps up the stairs in his princely attire and commands the attention of the crowd. “I have an important announcement to make.” He looks at you and smiles, nodding his head. Jungkook’s lips part to speak. All your efforts have been put into this one moment. A peaceful annulment of your engagement, the beginning spark of your freedom. After this, you’ll find Taehyung. You’ll find him and— “I also have an important announcement.” The King rises from his throne, smiling at his son, and all turn towards him. That moment’s been stolen away. Jungkook’s smile falls. Lucy frowns. You step forward. “I did not want to soil this good day, but now that everyone is gathered, it is only proper to announce that evil and treachery has once again been dispelled away from this empire.” There’s a clamour. A ruckus of silver armour clanking against one another. Heads turn towards the back entrance where curtains have been drawn. And your breath hitches at the sight. Taehyung. Finally, you see him, but rope wraps around his trembling wrists and he’s dragged in by two guards without regard for his well-being. The sea of people split and he’s tossed down in front of the throne. He winces upon impact, but no one helps. No one bats an eyelash. Murmurs immediately spark throughout the room. An advisor comes forward, reading from his scroll. “His Royal Highness, Taehyung, has been arrested on grounds of treason and attempted regicide committed against His Majesty.” “Isn’t that the eldest son?” — “The bastard son.” — “Treason?” — “How could he do something like that? To his own father?” You push a few aside, coming closer. “Taehyung.” Jungkook comes down the steps, mouth drawing open. Lucy is frozen in her spot. “There has been evidence found of his Royal Highness practicing the dark arts which has been banned in all of Ashea due to its dangerous and intrinsically evil nature.” The malicious whispers swell, fear tangible in people’s eyes as those in front back away. “His Highness has also dared to accuse the royal King of conspiracy. He endangered his Majesty’s life and attacked the guards of the palace, threatening the entire stability of Ashea.” There are gasps. You shove someone aside to get past them. “Therefore, as the punishment fits the crime, he will be sentenced to death immediately.” No. No! The King’s voice booms throughout the ballroom, a grand timbre that has long replaced the mellifluous violins. “Let this be a reminder that justice is blind. That my own blood will not be spared of crimes committed against the empire. But let this also be a celebration.” The King inhales a breath, his shadow looming over Taehyung, his expression full of contempt. His status is as powerful as the countless eyes narrowed in around him. “Today marks the end of tyranny. Today is the end of evil. Today is the beginning of a new era, full of prosperity led by the Crown Princess and the Crown Prince, the only son I have.” Thunderous applause erupts. It’s deafening with the vigour of a hundred. Taehyung’s condemnation has been made into a spectacle, a show for the empire, merely an intermission of tonight’s festivities. No one sews doubt. No one dares to think of it. Not when this is merely a bastard son without title, status or wealth. It is not worth believing anything aside from the royal monarch. In just a few words from the King, Taehyung has been the empire’s villain. It’s pandemonium. The back of Taehyung’s collar is grabbed and he’s brought up to his bruised knees. Jungkook shouts— “Wait!”. But the Prince is held back by two guards who apologize to him, not allowing another step forward, not allowing him to interfere. But you’re within reach. You push people aside, fighting against the current of the crowd. You’re so close, you can see him. You can see him looking at you. “Taehyung!” He smiles at you and your breath hitches in your throat, a painful lump swollen at the bottom. Your chest aches enough that you nearly crumble to your knees. You watch as his arms are restrained, face ripped away from your direction. You see a female attendant approaching with a golden tray balancing a porcelain bowl of emerald liquid. It’s poison. The same way his mother died. And they force it in his open mouth, pouring it down his throat. He chokes on it, sputtering. “Taehyung!” The scream is torn out of your blood-curdling throat. Animosity curls hot and surges from the depths of your soul like a blazing inferno. It’s a hatred befitting of a villainess that has seized your entire being and turned the universe into shades of crimson until it’s all you can see. “Stop it.” It’s a choice. You know now that it’s presented to you. A choice between goodness and Taehyung. Between self-preservation and Taehyung. Between a peaceful life and Taehyung. But you’d choose him every time. “Stop it.” Your hands wrap around the sword handle of the guard trying to control the frenzied crowd. The metal whistles as it cuts through the air and he staggers back. You use the entire strength of your body to push past the guard. “Stop it!” You swing manically until the attendants and servants shriek. Until the bowl slips and shatters on the red carpet, poison spilled like blood splattered. Until they’ve gotten away from him. Heavy pants escape your lips and you’re faced with horrified expressions of countless. There is no hero to save Taehyung. There has never been a hero to save the villain. The sword in your grip clangs to the ground. You lurch towards Taehyung and pull his collapsed body into your arms, crying out his name, clasping his cold cheek in your palm. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at you like he should, doesn’t speak your name carefully like you want him to. “Why?!” Anger oozes from you through the form of hot tears slipping from your eyes. You raise your pupils to the mighty King, teeth gritted, his own condemnations on your tongue. “His mother was poisoned by the Queen and no one thought to comfort him. He grew up alone. Fending for himself. And even now, his other father…And for what reason?!” Darkness bleeds from you. It sweeps from your shadow, pours out of your skin and plunges the entire castle into a thick darkness within a blink of an eye. The dark magic weeps from your soul in the form of a violent wind that has whipped through your hair. The flames of the candles suffocating to death, blazing fires are snubbed to ash and the silver moonlight is brought to an eclipse. “Being born isn’t a sin. Taehyung hasn’t hurt anyone!” Your voice tearing from your throat echoes above the shrill screams of sheer terror, ear-splitting to the senses. There is chaos of women around you grabbing fistfuls of their ballgowns and running blindly, men aimlessly trying to escape and bumping into one another. An undignified stampede. “Help me!” — “Mommy! Where are you?!” — “Someone save me!” — “Please! Let me out!” The walls and ceilings of the palace begin to tremble, specks falling down like the snow of December. The chandeliers swing from their golden chains, crystals clanging together. The King stands from his throne, shouting madly but no one hears or follows his command. Your parents are frightened, yet they still stand by and call out your name, only to no avail. The four walls around the room start to crack, splintering in tens of paths like a mirror colliding against the concrete. And the darkness becomes overwhelming. It consumes your form like smoke, the hue of ink spilled on oil. It wraps its hands around your throat and submerges you completely. You realize this is the end. You and Taehyung still became the villainess and the villain. You couldn’t escape that fate. You were stupid to think you could have any semblance of control. Everything was inevitable. You hug Taehyung to your body as heart aching sobs wreck through your frame. No matter how hard you try, you can’t keep him warm. You can’t stop the cold from taking him away. The little changes you made wasn’t enough to alter the final ending. It was never enough. Nothing’s really changed. The last traces of darkness embedded in your soul spills over. “Anastasia!” And somewhere in the cacophony, you hear Jungkook and Lucy scream your name. It’s funny how even with this horrible ending, you don’t resent them whatsoever. If anything, it’s an irony that the two main protagonists are the only people who know your true nature and Taehyung’s. They’re the only pair that believes in you, that knows Taehyung isn’t a villain. You hope they can be happy together. You hold Taehyung in your arms and before you can be absorbed in darkness, the both of you glow. His skin and yours illuminates like stars on a night sky, burning a warm light. Your brows furrow, the last of your tears shedding down your cheeks and then your breath hitches as a shade of emerald wisps floats from Taehyung’s parted lips. You recognize the colour — it’s the same as the poison. ‘I once knew a woman, a kind but poor woman.’ You get it now. ‘She wanted to do anything she could to change the predetermined fate of her unborn child.’ You finally understand as the priestess’ voice rings inside your head like a death knell. ‘She did a ritual to search for a soul that would protect her son.’ The black magic is saving Taehyung. The poison is being drawn out of his body. But you’re the trade-off. The darkness will devour you to save him. You quickly hug Taehyung closer to you, embracing him against your body. The darkness is consuming your being, but you’re not afraid. You don’t feel scared whatsoever. This is your purpose after all, the reason why your soul is here in this universe. This is where your thread of fate entangles with Taehyung. It’s your final act as his destined protector. Darkness swallows you.

It’s an empty void of pitch black. An abyss of nothing. There’s a pressure on your shoulders. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time. Yet it feels a bit different from being dead. Or at least from what you can remember. It’s as if you’re somewhere between the boundary of life and death. Your consciousness is still sharp and in-tact instead of being hazy. And you feel very much like Y/N and Anastasia rather than just being. Your suspicions that this isn’t death is confirmed when you can make out a figure in the distance. It’s a line of light tracing a body and as you come closer, you’re able to make out a woman. She’s dressed in simple attire, a gray dress that has fabrics layered on top of one another, light enough that they drape down and flow, and there’s a charcoal shawl around her shoulders. Her brunette hair is tied into a bun and as if she feels the pressure of your eyes, her bright irises turn towards you. “I’m sorry I put you through this.” Her voice is soothing. It sounds all around you and awakens a memory of when you were seven, when you saw her at the garden, when she offered you her kindness. And now that you’ve seen her again, she looks so much like Taehyung. The yearning in your heart is painful. “I just wanted to save my son.” “I know.” “But I didn’t realize that if you died, everything would repeat.” The corners of her mouth upturns into a grieving smile, her gaze saddened. “Taehyung would have an even stronger reason for revenge.” Blood drains from your face and you can hear it above you — Taehyung’s haunting voice, the many future paths and possibilities that you had tried to prevent. “You killed her!” — “She was the only person I ever loved!” — “All I wanted was to be with her!” You’ve failed. Even more than the original story. Your existence made things worse for him. It brought the empire to ash by his hand. “I...I’m sorry.” You look at her, voice heavy in your throat. “I was given the chance to know everything, to live through it all, but I still made the wrong choices in the end. All of them. It never amounted to anything. I lost to fate.” “It’s not your fault, Y/N.” Taehyung’s mother closes the distance with three steps and her hand lifts to tenderly cup your cheek. The pad of her thumb wipes away your teardrop. “I am thankful you were the one who was there for him.” She vanishes before you before another syllable can be uttered from your lips. The particles of her body dissipate in thin air as if her appearance was just an imprinted memory embedded in the magic. You grasp the space in front of you and realize that it’s empty, that you’re alone. “No,” you scream. “I-If I could do it again, I’d redo it all.” The last remnants of magic in your soul tingles at your fingertips. It’s wielded in your complete control. And a thought strikes you. Your soul has manipulated space and time before. In this abyss...you can restart it. You can begin it all over again. You can make up for your mistakes. You would start on that night. That night he came to your balcony. ‘I was going to take that secret to the grave, but I can’t stand by and watch you like this. I love you. Be with me.’ You would answer him with a yes. You would take his hands— But no. It wouldn’t be enough. You need to keep turning back time. Before the hunt and the feast. The debutante ball, the night of the Solar Festival eight years ago. Before the funeral and the moment you came to him. You need to save Taehyung’s mom. “My son likes chocolate, but I only managed to get candy for today.” — “Your son?” — “Mom?” If you returned to those days, you would’ve been quiet. You would’ve complied. You would make it so he never had to see you, so you two would never have to meet. You wouldn’t allow yourself to exist. As the memories plague you and time twists backwards, you realize that all those coincidences were never coincidences. The first meeting. The funeral. The Solar Festival. The reunion. It was fate. But you can sever the thread. You can erase yourself from the story. “Anastasia! Wait!” Your wrist is taken and you’re suddenly yanked back into a firm chest before time can be moved to your will. A gasp pulls from your lungs and your eyes lift to meet brown ones. He found you. “Don’t do it.” Taehyung’s grabbed a hold of you. He’s materialized into this limbo, but his skin is translucent, barely held together by his own magic. He gazes at you and begs, “Please.” “H-How are you here?” “I would never let you go so easily.” It must run in the family — mother and son alike fighting against the laws of nature to alter fate through sheer will. Taehyung’s found you through his magic, traveled realms and universes to follow you into this state of uncertainty between life and death. You don’t know if you feel happy or sad, or even laugh at the fact that no matter what you did, Taehyung still became a powerful magician. But you know he’s weakened, that he can’t be here for long. He is still on the side of life after all. There’s only so much time left before he’ll be forced away. He’ll return. And his fate might be worse than it was before. “I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “I don’t want you to die.” Taehyung pulls you into him. His arms wrap around your frame and he tightly embraces you. Your face presses into his shoulder and he sighs against the strands of your hair. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t change anything. Don’t go back. I don’t want to get rid of these memories.” “But your mom.” “It’s okay,” he murmurs, “It’s okay. I still don’t want you to change anything about you or me. What’s done is done. Just come back with me. You saved me so let me save you.” “No one gets to decide what happens to us, other than us.” He promises, “I won’t let it happen.” The urge to trust Taehyung runs deeper than your despair and doubts. So you inhale a deep breath and nod. No matter what happens, you’ll be together. Taehyung smiles against you and before he slips from the realm of nothingness. The darkness around the pair of you disappears. You grab onto him tightly, bracing yourself and once you open your eyes, you find yourself returned to the ballroom, the dark magic no longer present. It’s vanished from your soul. It doesn’t linger in the room. People are no longer screaming. Instead, they pant, pressed up against the farthest side of the room, still shaking from fear. Fragments of the disaster still dwell by the debris, the broken chandeliers, and the cracked walls. The King is disheveled and anger is aflame in his eyes. He inhales a heaving breath and then points to the both of you, bellowing, “Arrest them!” But no one moves. Taehyung keeps you in his arms and faces his father. “All I ever wanted was to be loved. And I finally found the person who can do so unequivocally. I wouldn’t give this up for the world.” Your eyes meet your parents who make no efforts to stop you. They stand still, expressions impassive yet warm at the edges. Then your eyes stray to Lucy and Jungkook, apologetic. Before another word can be spoken, Taehyung disappears with you. It happens in a mere blink. Like the Summer breeze whisking away dandelion seeds to the far off meadow, a iridescent soap bubble in the azure sky popping. The both of you are gone. Just like that. You vanish in thin air with only traces of Taehyung’s magic left behind. Instantly, there’s a ruckus — a clamour from the people. The King’s face crumples and reddens, and he shakes with an unadulterated fury. His voice booms throughout the room as he commands the guards. “Find them!” But they never do. And for that, Jungkook is relieved.

The King falls ill.

It happens shortly after the incident that soils the reputation of the entire empire and spreads across the lands. A tale of a forbidden love between villains — the Forgotten Prince and the Crown Prince’s fiancée. A story that warns children of dark magic and straying off their destined path. And it’s whispered from traders and merchants to the elite of nearby kingdoms. For the rest of the months that the King is alive, he tries to search for his first son. “Your Majesty.” A knight bows. “What did you find?” There’s a held silence. “The trail has gone cold.” The King’s hand curls into a tight fist and he turns, snatching the golden gauntlet off the table to hurl it at the knight who flinches. The gauntlet slams into the floor, skidding off in the room and as the King huffs dryly and moves away, another knight arrives. He immediately bows. “On with it!” he barks. “The traces of magic have vanished. The Magicians of the Tower cannot trace it. They’re nowhere in sight, Your Majesty.” The old man staggers on his feet. He presses his fingers against his pounding temples and before another shout can surge through his lungs and throat, he tilts and collapses onto the ground. The golden crown clatters off his head. “Your Majesty!” It’s a twisted irony. All of Taehyung’s life, he’s been neglected and ignored. Pushed to the corners of the castle — unwanted, unheard, unloved. But when the King is on his deathbed, the healers unable to cure him of his maddened anger that’s strained his health, Taehyung is all he looks for. “Father.” Jungkook is at his bedside, kneeling with his brows tightly knitted. The King turns his head and a dry wheeze chokes out of him. With his last breath, he asks, “Whe...re...is….T...ae...h...y..u..ng?” The question is left unanswered. He dies with his eyes still open, cold hand slipping out of his son’s, arm dropping over the edge. Jungkook’s breath hitches in his nose, his eyes stinging painfully. But he shuts his lids tight and musters strength. In the next moment, he stands and turns to face the grieving advisors behind him. His voice is firm. Unwavering. “Announce the King’s death and prepare for an edict.” The men exchange expressions. “What will the edict be, Your Majesty?” “Anyone who sees my brother and harms him shall be executed under the crown.” When Jungkook reigns, he undos all the indictments made by his father. It’s a surprise to all, an act difficult to understand to Dukes and commoners alike, but Jungkook clears Taehyung’s name alongside Lucienne de Liza Helena who becomes Queen in the following Spring. Peace is once again brought to the empire of Ashea in the coming years. Slowly but surely, the tales of the Prince’s Fiancée and the Forgotten Prince metamorphosizes from the tragic story of villains to children folktales of sacrifice and star-crossed lovers, an ancient mystery never solved. There are those who wonder if they perished together in a meadow. And those who believe that the pair are perhaps still alive and wandering the lands hand in hand together.

[Epilogue] “Cheyenne! Is that eggs?” The young maid looks down at her tray. “Ummm….” “What did I say? Her Majesty will get sick if she smells eggs!” The older girl quickly takes it away from her and puts it down. “Do you want to get into trouble?” “I forgot, I swear!” “You should be lucky that I caught you in time, and that the Queen is so forgiving. But if His Majesty saw…” She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t have any of it. Not when Her Majesty is in such a fragile state.” She nods and the two of them quickly head back to the kitchen. But surprisingly, the head maid tells them there’s no need to deliver breakfast to Her Majesty’s chambers. They instead follow orders to hang up the sheets in the west courtyard. But on their way, the younger stops when her friend beckons her over. The conversation is only a minute before she’s catching up to the older girl. “Slacking already?” The younger maid pouts. “No. Kaylein was just telling me about the strange people.” “What?” “Did you not hear? There were two strange people who came earlier into the castle. Apparently they’re healers from a distant land.” Her eyes light up as she connects the dots. “That must be why Her Majesty isn’t having her breakfast!” “Well thank goodness.” Her eyes dart around and she lowers her voice. “Ever since it was announced she was with child, everyone’s been worried about her health. Even the King doesn’t look like he’s slept well in months.” The younger nods enthusiastically. “But this means Her Majesty will be safe, right?” The older girl smiles. “Let’s hope so.” ... Half across the castle, Jungkook marches down the corridor in determined strides and eyes set firmly to the doors at the end. He’s already dismissed his annoyingly persistent advisors and every castle worker knows better than to interrupt him when he’s beelining straight ahead. No one disturbs him as they rightfully shouldn’t, and he gets to the chambers, opening the door only slightly to slip inside. Inside, there are two cloaked figures, forms draped in complete black. Or at least until they turn and Jungkook sees brown eyes with a meaningful expression and another with a mischievous grin who scoffs, “About time, Your Royal Majesty. Or should I say, late as always?” Jungkook didn’t miss that sarcastic tone. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. “When did you get here?” “Ten minutes ago. You should be lucky we entered properly. I almost told Taehyung to just teleport us inside to save us the walk.” “Well I’m glad you didn’t.” The corner of Jungkook’s mouth curls. “Or else my knights might’ve thought you were intruders and cut off your heads.” “Psh. Uh-huh. If they can even catch us.” “Shush, you two,” Taehyung commands and you glare at him playfully. The man turns back to the Queen who’s upright in her bed and his hands hover over her. Her eyes are shut and she glows for a moment before the light dissipates. When it’s done, she sighs softly in relief and colour seems to return to her features. “Thank you,” she murmurs and opens her eyes. “How is she?” Jungkook rushes to her side. Lucy smiles, clasping her hand on top of his. “I’m fine, Jungkook.” “She should be better now,” Taehyung confirms. “Her energy was off balance and her mana was disordered. But she shouldn’t feel so tired anymore. It looks like the future heir is a magical user.” “How lucky.” You press your nose into the crowd. Jungkook ignores you. “So she should be okay now?” “For the time being. Of course, I’m not a midwife so she should follow their instructions and rest.” “See?” Lucy stands up while holding onto her swollen stomach and her husband rushes to help her. But she waves him off and hoists herself onto her feet. Lucy’s become a lot firmer since you remembered, her kindness almost matronly now. It might be from the experience she’s gained or how she’s going to be a mother soon. But you weren’t wrong when you thought she’d make a beloved Queen all those years ago. “You heard him. There’s no need to fret, Jungkook.” “I know, I know. I just can’t help it.” He sighs and looks at his older brother. “You should stay.” “Jungkook—” “We don’t know when we’ll need you again. All those healers are useless compared to you. It’s better if you’re here. The Magician’s Tower would be happy to have your magical talents and it’s only right if Anna is here too.” “We already talked about this.” You add in, “We have this conversation every time.” Jungkook gives the two of you a look. “Then maybe it’s time that you start considering it.” “He’s right.” Lucy comes and takes your hands within her’s, holding them gently. “Stay with us, Anastasia. I miss you and I want to talk to you often.” Before you can jump in, she beats you to the punch, “and not just through letters. The palace will always welcome you. The people will open their eyes with time.” The corner of your mouth pulls. “Is this a command, Your Majesty?” She sighs softly with a smile and lets you go. “You know it isn’t.” Lucy’s gotten older — all of you have. You’ve grown into your frames, matured, and are no longer children unaware and afraid. When you come here with Taehyung and see them, it makes you feel like you haven’t made such bad choices all along. That perhaps, things weren’t as bad as you once thought. “Stay with us,” Jungkook insists, coming to hold onto Lucy to support her. You look at Taehyung and exchange expressions. Your answer will always be the same. “We can’t. You know we have a new home now.” You come to Taehyung’s side and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. The pair of you know it��s time. You can’t stay for long. “You can always come visit us. I promise the forest isn’t that bad. Taehyung’s already chased off the wild beasts.” “I did.” He looks down and grins at you. “At least think about it,” Jungkook sighs. He looks a bit tired and worn, but in spite of the heavy duties placed upon him as King, he’s coping well. Better than expected. They might thank you and Taehyung each time you visit, but you have more than enough reasons to be grateful to the two of them. It’s because of Jungkook and Lucy that the Devereux house is still standing. You’ve seen them from afar — your parents look happy in their retirement, and Joan and Edith are still very much employed and gossiping about the latest scandals together. It’s because of them that the guilt and burdens have lifted from you. But even if you are indebted equally to each other, you can’t grant his wish. “You know I’ve never liked castle life, Jungkook.” You loll your head to the side. “Our daughter has a bad habit of collecting ladybugs too, so I don’t think she’d suit it either.” You grin when Jungkook glares, recalling the first meeting back when you were children that you’ll never let go. “I just wonder who she gets her troublemaking personality from.” Taehyung’s brow cocks.“Obviously from you.” You look up at your husband and your smile softens. “Your daughter almost set my hair on fire yesterday using nothing but her hands.” “She’ll make a talented magician,” he declares proudly. You scoff and look at the two monarchs who are best fitted for their positions. “We shouldn’t leave her for long in case she floods the rooms again. But we’ll come when the boy’s born.” The pair of them turn to one another and your mouth draws open. “Guess I ruined the surprise! Sorry! But it’s a boy! Congratulations again.” You quickly laugh much to Lucy’s amusement and Jungkook’s surprise. Taehyung shakes his head as if he knew he should’ve just kept it to himself. Before another word can be said, the pair of you disappear again. Right into thin air. // The wooden box of mementos are full of objects and trinkets, little memories made across the lands before you settled in the perfect forest bordering the meadow. But above it all is a neatly folded pink handkerchief that’s frayed at the hem from age. You still can’t believe he kept it for so long. But you look at it with fondness. It was the first right decision you’ve ever made. “Taehyung.” “Hmmm?” “Would you believe me if I told you I came from another world?” He’s quiet for a moment. “I would.” Before you can ask why, he says, “You were the only one who sat next to a crying kid underneath a tree without even knowing them.” You laugh and he smiles, leaning in to plant a soft kiss to your lips as the midnight oil burns. The cottage is quiet with your child fast asleep in the next room. The forest is tranquil too and as thick as the darkness is outside, it’s nothing but comforting. “Do you ever want to go back to that world?” Taehyung asks after a moment. You look at him, smile tender. “Why would I when my purpose is to be with you right here?” This is all you wanted in two entire lifetimes — a long and fruitful life, full of peace and happiness. And it’s only the beginning.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #taehyung x y/n #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst #LET'S GOOOOOOO #thank you for everyone who read every word of this series #I hope you enjoyed it!!!!!

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forever-rogue · 4 years ago

Text

Afterglow - Part 6

A/N: Honey Bee finally made the smartest decision of her life in the last chapter and now...time to deal with the fallout. Thank you guys for supporting and loving this story too! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: None

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Spitting out the toothpaste into the sink, you groaned slightly when you realized that you had left your mouthwash back on your desk. Tilting your head under the tap, you got a mouthful of water and swished it around in your mouth, trying to get the last bits of toothpaste out.

When you were satisfied with the lackluster brushing, you quickly splashed some cold water onto your face to wake yourself up. But it was no use - you still looked as tired and dragged out as you felt. There were dark circles under your eyes, your lips were chapped and cracked, and the joy you normally held in your eyes was all but gone. You had been going through the motions for the last three, feeling more like an empty shell than anything else.

But you felt liberated - free. More so than you had in a long time. That in itself made your current struggle worth it.

Grabbing your toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush, you stalked out of the bathroom, ready to slink back to your office before anyone else arrived.

Looking furtively around the hall, you walked the short distance to your own office, almost making it to safety when you heard your name being called softly. Groaning inwardly, you cleared your throat and turned around, plastering on the best smile you could.

"Ally," you said softly, "y-you're here early!"

"I was just thinking the same thing," she joked, and while you could tell she meant no harm, it still caused you to panic slightly. She was well aware of you calling off your engagement, hell the whole world seemed to know, but she never seemed to pity you for it. Her eyes flicked to the items in your hands as a warmth crept into your chest and blossomed over your whole face, "I'm meeting a client early this morning because it was the only thing that fit into his schedule. Are you..."

You remained silent for a moment, hanging your head before letting out a long sigh, "look, I've just been staying here since things ended with Chad. I'm trying to find my own place, but its been a bit of a difficult go. Turns that a lot of people don't want to rent to you if you happen to have supposedly wronged Chad Williams. It seems like everyone knows him."

She reached out and gave your shoulder a soft, reassuring squeeze. Meeting her eyes, you found a small smile on her face, luckily not one of pity, "I'm sorry he's making things miserable still. I'm guessing your parents are out of the question?"

"Absolutely not an option," you admitted with a stiff laugh, "my mom seemed okay at first but she and my father quickly came to the conclusion that I was in the wrong and making a horrible mistake. They insisted I was just going through a phase because of nerves. When I told them I was sure about my decision and wasn’t going back, they all but...disowned me. Imagine the shame I’ve brought upon them in their minds...they’re so old fashioned. Maybe they’ll come around one day.”

"Yikes," she said as you nodded, "can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I never liked him," she admitted softly, causing you to almost give yourself whiplash as you looked over at her, "there was just something about him that was off. I think - I know, you can do so much better."

"Thank you," you said as you laughed lightly, trying to hold the tears that threatened to well up at bay, "I hope so too."

"I mean it," she insisted, "you're kind, smart, pretty, and you've got a good heart. What more could anyone ask for?"

"Apparently a dutiful, quiet little wife..."

"Very funny," she teased, "why don't you come and stay with us? While you get your own place? We've got an extra bedroom that's not being used, and it's much better than staying here. Have you been sleeping on your hard old couch?”

"Yes..."

"Absolutely not," she shook her head, "come over when you're done for the day. We'll get the room ready for you. Anna will be happy to see you again too. And you know what, it's not an option, its a demand. Just come over tonight and we'll get you settled. I'll have Anna pick up some wine for dinner and everything."

"Ally, you're much too kind..." you said as her phone stared to ring. She looked at the screen and a big smile spread across her visage as her wife's name popped up on the screen.

"Speak of the devil," she laughed lightly, "tonight! No if, ands, or buts!"

You could only nod as she walked away, chattering excitedly as she went to her own office. Before stepping in and closing the door, she gave you a grin and wave that was enough to cause a single tear to roll down your cheek. It had been weeks since anyone had even shown you an ounce of kindness; most people had decided to scorn you instead, blaming you for everything that had happened. Wiping the warm drop away, you stepped foot into your own office, stashing your toiletries away for what you hoped would be the last time. Hopefully that everything you'd finally be able to have a proper, long, hot shower and sleep in a bed, two luxuries that you had been greatly missing.

Pulling out a dress from the small wardrobe, you slipped it on, vowing to stop your little pity party. Sure, things weren't ideal right now, but you were still so much better off than others. That was something you did not take for granted.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Men really can be the worst,” Anna laughed, almost snorting into her wine as you held up your glass in a mock salute, “can you imagine being that pathetic and trying to sabotage someone you supposedly loved? I think it speaks volumes to his character.”

“The longer we were together, the more I realized that it was never about love, even if that’s how it started out. It was always about appearances and trying to please everyone else. It was getting so tiring.”

“I can only imagine,” Ally gave her your leg a small pat as you downed the rest of your glass, “but at least you’re free now. It’s easy to fall into routine and not realize how unhappy we’ve become. We get used to just staying on one path. Usually it takes something big to make us realize what we’re doing isn’t what we wanted in the first place.”

“Okay Dr. Ally,” Anna teased her wife, “we’re not at the office. But I agree...I am curious, and happy, as to what caused you to realize that you deserve more.”

You felt the blood draining from your face almost immediately as you swallowed nervously, mouth dry. You weren’t about to delve into the memories and dreams that had been plaguing you over the weeks, becoming increasingly more frequent the closer your former wedding date had approached. Frankly, you hadn’t even admitted that to yourself yet, not out loud anyway.

How were you supposed to tell yourself, let anyone else, that the reason you realized you deserved was better because you’d been dreaming of your high school boyfriend again? It had been twenty years, twenty long years without him - there was no reason you should have even given him a second thought. Yet...here you were. Still hung up on Frankie Morales, the boy that had earned your heart...and then brought it into a million pieces. You knew, you would be the first to admit, that it wasn’t all his fault, that you were to blame to an extent as well, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Ever since the day that you had run into him again, a day that should have been like any other, he’d been living rent free in your mind. Even if you hated him, even if you were still mad at him after all this time. You couldn’t help but wonder - what if. What if.

What if he had come to California with you and you’d both stayed there? What if you had waited for him while you went to school and he was in the military? What if he’d come back to you long ago? Would you still be together? Would you be married to him? Would you have a daughter or son that took on both of your best qualities? Or would you have eventually fallen out and broken up anyway, only to loathe each with every fiber of your being? Would you have stayed together?”

What if. What if. What if.

It was that haunted you for so long now.

“Umm,” you snapped back into reality and pushed the thought of the boy you had loved out of your mind. You set the glass back down and made a small, noncommittal sound, “it was just a lot of things. The more real things became with the wedding planning the more I realized that I didn’t want this. It was at my last dress fitting actually, that I realized I couldn’t do it.”

“That must have been quite a wake up call,” Anna’s eyes widened as she imagined the scene as you nodded, taking the almost empty bottle of wine and pouring the remainder into your class.

“It was,” you admitted with a long sigh, “you should have been the poor dress maker. I almost ran out on her. But you know, even though things are far from perfect right now, I would still do it all again.”

“Cheers to that,” Ally held up her class, and the two of you clinked yours against it, “now to bigger and better things. You can, and will, do so much better.”

“Thank you both,” just being in their presence, let alone their home, had you feeling infinitely better, “I don’t even know where to begin to thank you.”

“What are friends for?”

“I, however, do have some more good news,” Anna was proud of herself as the two of your gave her an inquisitive look, “I spoke to my friend who is a realtor today, no connection to Chad or anything, and he said he has a perfect little house available! It’s a little on the outskirts of town, a small, quiet neighborhood, but that it would be perfect for you. It’s not big, just a little two bedroom, one bath, but it’s all been redone recently, and it’s quaint. He showed me some pictures and I think you’d really like it.”

“You did...you did this for me?” you felt another wave of tears sting at the back of your eyes as she nodded.

“I’m not trying to push this on you at all, or anything of the sort,” she promised, “but we were talking and it just came up and I thought of you. I thought I’d just tell you in case you were interested...you are, of course, welcome to stay with us however long you want.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” you said softly, “truly. I’d love to see the place. If you like, I’m sure it’ll be great. And honestly, it would be nice to get out of the city and be a little bit out of the way and I don’t need anything much. I just want a place that will feel like home...my own place.”

“Obviously it comes with the stipulation that we will get to help decorate and pick out furniture if you move into it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” you agreed, “it’s going to be nice getting my own things and having it be truly mine.”

“A fresh start,” she agreed, “I’ll tell Elijah that we’ll stop by tomorrow and take a look? How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” you agreed, feeling your heart finally feel warm again, as a wave of calm washed over you, “absolutely perfect.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next two weeks were a whirlwind of moving, although you technically didn’t have much to move, furniture shopping, unpacking, and organizing your new home.

The house was cute, an older little home that had been recently renovated with a small yard and a perfect spot for a garden. You could already picture yourself gardening once the cooler autumn and winter months were over.

It wasn’t huge, but it had a spare bedroom you decided would serve as a home office and occasional guest room, although you figured you weren’t going to have many of those considering how easily everyone had cut you off. It was open, warm, and inviting, and it was perfect for what you wanted. It had brought up the idea of maybe adopting a dog or cat to keep as your friend. It had made you think of something that Frankie always said: anyone who wasn’t willing to share their home with an animal was as good as heartless.

It served as a sharp contrast to your former living situation; everything in the apartment you had shared with Chad had been cold, dark, and minimalistic. Nothing about it had ever felt truly homey, more like an ornate display at an art museum you were afraid to even look at. Chad had never wanted an animal of any sorts, not even a goldfish, claiming that it would take up too much time, too much space, and he just didn’t want something to take care of.

But your new home was the polar opposite, it was romantic and airy and filled with items and trinkets that made it feel like a home. A little animal friend would fit in perfectly. You were fitting in perfectly already.

You’d even made it a point to go around the neighborhood and introduce yourself to people. Your justification was that you had literally nothing to lose, your family had turned their backs on you, your ex-fiance had taken almost all of the so called friends you’d had, and were left to your own devices. In the worst case scenario, you’d have met a few unsavory people, and in the best case scenario you’d get to know your neighbors and maybe make a few friends.

Something in the stars seemed to align, as your neighbors turned out to be kind and welcoming, and you were sure the cookies you offered them weren't a deterrent either. They were mostly either older couples, or small families, a few roommates that lived together. The normalcy of it all was endearing, and to know that you had a place that you were welcome was enough to let your heart rest easy.

The only mystery that remained was your next door neighbor, the one on your left side. Whoever it was had been missing, gone or something, since you’d moved in several weeks before. While trying to maintain a respectful distance, you’d kept an eye on the house to see if you could spy anyone coming or going, see a car...something. But you never did - not even seen so much as a porch light flicker on. It seemed odd, especially in this neighborhood.

One afternoon, in the middle of unpacking the new bits of furniture for your living room and rearranging everything for about the tenth time, curiosity got the better of you. Maybe it was because you were in the middle of watching some true crime documentaries as you worked but you just felt...nervous. You were concerned about the health and safety of this mysterious neighbor that you hadn’t even met. You’d hastily wiped the sweat from your brow before rushing over to the neighbor on the other side of the seemingly nonexistent neighbor.

Unfortunately, much to your chagrin, the other neighbor, an older widowed man by the name of Eddie, who happened to have an adorable dog that you decided you’d offer to take on walks, was just as clueless as you.

He said he’d seen the man, at least you narrowed it down to that much, come on and go on occasion, but that he kept odd hours. He commented that he must have worked evenings or something, because he wasn’t around much at that time and it was always quiet during the day. Apparently it wasn’t odd for him to be gone for days at a time, or at least for no one to notice him. At least he’d be a quiet neighbor if he ever appeared again. But the older man hadn’t seemed too concerned, so figured there was nothing to worry about. You ended finding out that he was likely around your age, with dark hair. That was about all that Eddie knew; he said the man whose name he couldn’t even remember had always kept to himself since he’d moved in a few years ago.

You’d thanked him, given the small fluffy dog a few pets and trudged back to your own place, arms filled with various baked goods, including a delicious smelling loaf of banana bread. Eddie had proudly declared that he had taken up the hobby of baking in his retirement and he always had been plenty to share. You made a mental note to store that little piece of info away for future use.

And yet still, even as more days passed, you still didn’t see hide nor hair of the mystery man. You’d gone to work each morning, wondering if maybe you just missed him and you had conflicting schedules. You didn’t know why you even cared so much, or what drew you to solving this mystery, but you were just inexplicably invested.

One evening, as you were watching some Netflix and unwinding with a glass of wine, browsing the adoptable animals at the local shelter, it hit you. It was like the proverbial lightbulb had been switched on and you came up with a brilliant idea. When you’d moved in, you’d taken some fresh, homemade cookies to everyone in the small cul-de-sac - why didn’t you just make some for him?

It was brilliant, you thought to yourself as you set the wine glass down and almost tossed your laptop to the floor in excitement. You would make your favorite cookies, soft, gooey chocolate chip ones you fancied so much, get them all safely in a container and drop them off when you felt for work in the morning. If they were gone by the time you came home that would mean he had to have been there.

Yes, you thought to yourself, this is brilliant. No one could turn down a plate of fresh cookies.

So you’d spent the rest of the evening, bouncing around the kitchen excitedly, pouring your heart and soul into the every little step it took to make the perfect treat. By the time you’d gone to bed, excited and worn out, the little package was sitting on your counter for your to grab on your way out. This was going to be it, you just knew it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You woke up early the next morning, even before your alarm went off, a smile on your face despite being tired. You almost stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that this was the first, the first time in what felt like a small eternity that you woke up like that. It was a good feeling, and you hoped that you would be able to hang onto it.

Once you’d showered and done up your makeup and hair to your liking, you slipped on a pretty golden dress. It always made you feel pretty, the color bringing a slight bit of joy into your heart. You always felt confident and good in it, and you decided it was just what you needed. If your last session ended early enough, you even planned on stopping by the animal shelter to see if you made a connection with any of the adoptable animals. It was going to be a good day. You could feel it in your bones.

Once you were ready to go, you grabbed your pre-packed lunch from the fridge, along with your purse and the package for your mystery neighbor. Almost flouncing over to his porch because you were buzzing with energy, you hopped up the steps and set it on the front porch and center, in the middle of the doormat, topped off with a handwritten note introducing yourself. The mat was a generic one, and you did a little look around to see if you could find a name or any personal touches around the porch. But there was nothing - no clue as to who it could be. It was no matter, you told yourself, you would have your answers soon enough.

Giving the neatly wrapped container one last fond look, you headed to your car and off to work. Hopefully you’d be busy enough to keep your mind occupied. It was silly to get so invested in something so trivial and yet...here you were. An eternal dreamer and optimist at heart, just like you always had been, even as a teenager. Even if you had to suppress that side of yourself for some time, more so with each passing year, you were still the same girl underneath it all.

The day felt like it had like it went by in a blur as you saw several of your regular patients, feeling like you were finally able to help them properly and give them your undivided attention. It went so well that you did manage to finish up early, which meant you could have your fun and go look at animals. You knew it would be a challenge to meet different pets and not be able to take them all home, but you were willing to give it the old college try.

You hadn’t bothered to stop home and change, opting to go straight to the shelter.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you'd gotten there and started looking at the different dogs, you knew it would be hard.

So many of the sweet dogs came up to you, some wagging their tails in nervous excitement, some just beside themselves, but others were more reluctant, sitting and observing you. You went up to as many as you could, keeping a respectful distance from them and offering them your hand to sniff. A couple of them give you a few licks, letting you reach in and pet them, but getting distracted as soon as they spied other people. Sweet dogs, all of them, but those weren’t the ones for you. As you walked through the various dogs, you were disheartened to find that you didn’t seem to have a connection to any of them. You hoped they would go to good homes soon regardless. Maybe it wasn’t your day to find a companion, which was totally okay with you. You’d just come back some other day and make sure that one of them got a home in your adobe.

But as you neared the end of the last row, you stopped when you spotted a small dog, small for being a pitbull that was, sitting in the corner of her kennel, a sad, dejected look on her face. She was a pretty thing, light tan with white marking on her sweet face, but her eyes contained a deep sadness.

“Hi, sweet girl,” you said softly as you didn’t even hesitate to drop to your knees, dropping on the floor of the kennel, sliding a few fingers under the barrier keeping you from her, trying to coax her to you. She observed you with keen interest, but remained rooted in her spot, “you are so pretty! I bet you’re just as sweet too, aren’t you? I can tell…”

“She’s very sweet,” one of the shelter’s volunteers, a young boy by the name of Lucas that had let you in, said as he walked up to you, “but she’s really shy. She’s less than a year old, but she’s already had a go of it.”

“What happened to her?” you asked gently, keeping your voice down so you wouldn’t startle her, “she looks so sad.”

“She was abused by her former owner, sadly. They found her when they went to raid the owner’s home, apparently he was a small time drug dealer on top of it,” he explained and you made a small in the back of your throat as you just looked at her. It made your heart break to know that this poor animal, and so many others like her, were being abused for no reason - not that anyone, person or animal, should ever have been abused, “it’s made her shy, but she does warm up to people.”

“What’s her name?” you asked as she moved ever so marginally closer to you. You smiled at her, giving her an encouraging little nod.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy,” you called softly as her ears perked up slightly. It suited her, you decided, a soft pretty name for a pretty girl, “hi sweet Daisy. You are a big lovebug underneath it all, aren’t you?”

She turned her slightly to look at as you offered her a small, reassuring nod.

“How about Miss Daisy Mae?” you asked her and you got a glimpse of her tail wagging ever so slightly, “yeah, I think that’s perfect too. May I pet you?”

It was silent, completely so sans for the other dogs in their kennels as you attempted to gain her trust. You didn’t want to scare her off, but you wanted to see if you could get her to come closer. Lucas told you could stay as long as you wanted, and you decided that you would do just that, plopping onto your bottom as you gently spoke to her. You spent some time sitting there, talking to her about anything and everything, and slowly, inch by precious inch, she came closer to you until she was just a few inches from your hand. When you moved your hand and she didn’t flinch, you gently petted her muzzle, tracing over it delicately with a few fingers.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you mused quietly and she gently rubbed her head into your hand, “but you’ve got so much life left to live. So many happy things to come. Would you like to come home with me and see? I have a big bed that I have all to myself, and I could really use a companion to take up some of the space. Would you like to help me?”

She made a small sound as she looked up at you, her tail wagging ever so slightly. That was enough to convince you that you were making the right decision. Giving Daisy one last gentle touch, you slowly pulled your hand back to keep from startling her and jumped to your feet. She was yours, it hadn’t taken much to figure that out, and you were going to make sure she came home with you.

Telling her you would be back in a little bit, you went off in search of Lucas, to tell him to get you all the paperwork so you could bring her home with that day.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as Daisy was all yours, you’d set her up in your car, draping a big, soft blanket over the backseat for her. You were glad you kept one in your car for whatever occasion called for it; this was the perfect time. As soon as she seemed to realize what was happening, Daisy’s eyes had lit up and she already seemed like a different dog, her tail going softly, but nonstop as she stayed close to your side.

You’d stopped by the pet store on your way home, bringing her in with you as you stocked up on the best dog food, treats, several big fluffy beds (one for each room of the house naturally), and let her pick out several toys. Whatever she wanted she got, honestly, and before you knew it before pushing a huge cartful to the counter to the pay. Daisy, now in a pretty yellow collar and leash, followed closely by your side, a little stuffed bear in her mouth. This felt so right, so natural, almost like you had meant to find her. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had felt this much joy in your heart, and you hoped the feeling would never go away.

“And this is where we live,” you told her as you pulled into the driveway, pulling up to the garage and turning off the car. She stood up and went to the window, looking out eagerly. Your break broke a little when you realize she probably never got to run and play like any puppy should, but you vowed to change that. You got and opened the door, not even bothering to stop her as she jumped out and started to sniff everywhere.

Sighing contentedly at the sight of the happy dog, the one that had quickly turned from nervous to optimistic, you started to gather everything out of the car to bring inside. Daisy came back to your side, following you with keen attention as you opened the door to the house and let her explore.

It wasn’t until your last excursion to the car to bring in the last of the toys, that your attention wandered back to your MIA neighbor. When you studied his house, you noticed that all the lights were off, and there was no car in the driveway. The package you had you left for him was still right where you had placed that morning. A small, dejected sigh left your lips as you quickly dashed over and retrieved the package. It was only slightly heartbreaking, but you knew it wasn’t due to any fault of yours. But still...you couldn’t help but wonder. Who was he? Where was he? Maybe one day your questions would be answered, but at least for now you had your new friend to keep you company. Just as you thought about her, you heard a small, almost tiny bark from your door as Daisy poked her head out and looked excitedly at you.

“Coming sweet girl!” you promised her as you ran back over to her. This day was decidedly not a waste in the slightest, you reminded yourself, you had a new friend and that was more important than anything else.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Several more days passed, and Daisy adjusted to life with you without a hitch. She really was the sweetest girl you had met, and she had won a big spot in your heart, and bed, almost instantly. Gone were the cookies you had baked for the neighbor you thought might not actually exist, eaten with some milk as you watched Netflix late into the evening with Daisy snoozing next to you.

Something though, whatever little stubborn streak you had, told you to keep trying.

So you did.

That night you dragged yourself back to the kitchen and repeated the painstaking process of making your now neighborhood famous cookies again. He was going to get these cookies come hell or high water. This time Daisy joined you in the kitchen and watched your every move intently, as you walked her through the process, giving her your best impression of some lofty Food Network chef.

Just as you had previously done earlier in the week, you prepped everything and stuck the same note on the top, making sure it looked perfect. Even if it ended up as another batch that you would eat, you wanted to go through the efforts and ensure it was perfect.

The next morning, you herded Daisy into the car, allowing her to come to your office with you. She had been enjoying coming to your office and greeting your clients, being a good girl and laying on her bed while you worked. Many of them seemed to find her comforting, and as thought she could sense when they needed something, which she probably did, she’d often go to comfort them with wet kisses and nuzzles. Ally had suggested that you look into her having certified as a therapy dog, which you decided was a perfect idea.

You wandered over to his porch and left the little package again and turned to head off to work. Whatever was meant to happen would happen. So if he didn’t come and get the cookies, so be it. You’d stop worrying about it and let it go.

When you got home that evening, you brought everything inside and let Daisy into the backyard to roam around before her dinner time, when you looked through the front windows to try and see your neighbor’s porch. You huffed when you came to the conclusion that you were at just the wrong angle to be able to see anything. Stalking out the front door to get a better look, you sighed deeply when the package was once again there. What had you really expected? You’d struck out for weeks now, the man was an enigma to yourself and everyone else around, it was a far cry that you’d ever really see him.

Grumbling at yourself for being too hopeful and optimistic, you trudged over to his porch, ready to take the cookies back again and enjoy them for yourself. Maybe you could bring them, and Daisy, over to Eddie and see if he would enjoy them and the dogs would get along. It wasn’t terribly exciting, but it was something anyway.

You bent down to pick up the small container, ready to head back home and get on with your day. But just as you swooped up the container, you heard the door unlock, causing you to jump back in surprise, dropping the container and letting it clatter to the ground. You took a step back and looked up, finding the door open, but the screen closed. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out the person on the other side but found it almost impossible.

“H-hi,” you stammered nervously, hoping the person wouldn’t think you were stealing or snooping around, “I-I moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago, and I was just...I made cookies! I was going to introduce myself but I hadn’t seen you or anything, so I figured I’d leave them for you. They-they’re not old though, I made this batch last night.”

Nothing but silence met your ears for several moments as you nervously picked up the container to display it for him. You were nervous suddenly, terrified that you had somehow offended him, or...something.

“I-I’ll get going,” you said as you set the cookies on the bench that was near the door. Unsure why you felt the need to keep speaking you gave him your name, letting it linger in the air for a moment, “I live right next door, so I guess maybe I will see you around. Yeah...well, umm...goodbye!”

But before you made it off the porch, you heard the screen door open, and swing shut. You swallowed the lump in your throat, ready to turn around and make a proper introduction when you heard your name whispered so quietly, that you thought you might have imagined it. That voice...that soft, gentle voice caused your heart to skip a few beats. You knew that voice.

Turning around slowly, you came face to face with the man that had been on your mind for weeks. You brought your eyes up to the man’s face and a small gasp of surprise left your lips.

“F-Frankie?” except this wasn’t the Frankie you’d known. No, this man was tired looking, nothing but sheer exhaustion on his face, dark circles, parched lips, no trace of facial hair, his hair flattened from what you knew was a signature hat. This was a different man, a world weary man, a man who you never intended on seeing again. But you knew that voice, you knew it so well, you’d recognize it anywhere, even after all this time. But there was something about him, how he was looking at you that broke our heart.

He remained silent as his dark eyes watched you, wondering how and why on earth you’d ended up as his neighbor. It was like some force was at play, some weird thing that kept bringing the two of you together.

He remained silent as the two of you looked at each other, his eyes quickly flicked to your left hand. You straightened up when you noticed that and got ready to walk away, unsure of how to feel in that moment. Once again, your life was thrown in a complete tailspin.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to find any words.

But before you could leave his porch, his hand went to your wrist, taking it gently in his large hand as you immediately turned around and gave him a wide eyed stare.

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you looked at him in silent question, and he did the same.

This was Frankie - your Frankie. After all these years, he was still yours.

Before either of you could say anything, he gently grabbed your face and studied it for a moment before crashing his lips onto yours. It took a moment for you to react, and for a few beats before you kissed him back, not even having to think about it. But just as quickly as it had started you came to your senses and while part of you was screaming to continue to kiss him, the logical part of your brain took over and you pushed him away from you. Immediately realizing what you were doing, he let go of you and took a step back.

“Don’t,” you insisted sharply, your voice crackling on the singular word, “don’t. You don’t get to do that. I shouldn’t have done that. Not anymore. Never again.”

Before he could say anything, you dashed away from him, running back over to your house. This had to be some sort of weird dream, surely life couldn’t be throwing another challenge at you. Surely you’d been through enough.

Surely you weren’t neighbors, after all this time and years, with Frankie Morales.

Life couldn’t be that cruel...right?

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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sgrayonderii · 3 years ago

Text

nom de guerre

SSM21 Day 17: a gentle man

In which some titles are more accurate than others. Samurai-esque AU

It is common knowledge that for a noble title and a swath of land, her mother was sold to a warlord.

Haruno Sakura had the great misfortune of being born as the daughter of a destitute samurai family. Their master had long been vanquished and their lands long sold to make ends meet. And yet still longed for days yonder.

But her mother also had the great fortune of being born a beauty, so when the opportunity arose; a passing hegemon looking for a bride, Sakura’s parents took a chance.

They say that the young warlord was so mesmerized by her mother that he immediately accepted the terms of the expensive bride price and took her as his wife.

On their wedding day, mother was dressed in her finest robes while her father arrived late in a full suit of blood soaked armor.

The ceremony itself was a soleum affair. Her parents pledged themselves before the gods and swear to their union.

And so Haruno Sakura becomes Lady Uchiha no Sakura, the wife of Lord Uchiha no Madara.

----

Sarada has faint memories of her father; more often than not her father is sent to the battlefield and only returns a few days to weeks at a time between campaigns.

The Uchiha clan is one of the important noble families of the Konoha and known for its long history of bloodthirsty warriors. Her father is no exception.

Whenever he returns home, Sarada hides behind her mother’s skirt. Her father is an imposing demon-like man, larger than life, and taller than a mountain. Someone more suited for stories and legends than real life.

They call him a man more fearsome than Susanoo-no-Mikoto itself. So violent, so blood crazed, it is a wonder that Sakura lived as long as she did when a male heir had yet to be born.

Thankfully, it seems that as a daughter, her father pays very little attention to her. Whenever he returns from the borderlands between here and Oto, he barely spares her a glance.

However, whenever his eyes meet her mother’s through his helmet, he beckons her over.

“Sakura,” he commands, voice deep and low, “bring some tea to my quarters.”

Sarada always remembers her mother looking angry but determined then. Sakura dutifully follows her husband into the inner chambers. She doesn’t emerge until late morning.

Sarada is usually having lessons during this time, but one day she sneaks out of her etiquette classes to find her mother.

She searches almost the entire unusually empty manor before finding Sakura in the kitchen brewing tea. Her mother’s clothes are covered in blood and her hands are covering her tears.

Sarada has never seen her mother sob so terribly before.

From then on, she decides that her father must be an especially cruel man.

----

Whenever her father returns from war, her Papa also comes home.

Today she finds him on the engawa overlooking the gardens. He is sipping some tea while looking over some scrolls. He appears injured, bandages wrapped around his torso, but otherwise in good health.

If her father is the devil incarnate, then Sarada’s papa is a handsome devil.

No wonder her Mama is so taken with him. Sometimes when she is supposed to be asleep, she can hear her Mama fuss over Papa. They hold hands when no one is looking and share secrets no other soul knows.

Despite the cold manor they reside in, Mama is an affectionate woman at her core and her Papa is receptive to all she has to give.

And Papa must be someone important too; after all he is allowed to leave and enter from the inner quarters that a normal Uchiha foot soldier could not.

Sarada pads over to him, he looks up and beckons her closer.

“Have you been a good girl, little peanut?”

Sarada scoffs. “ I’m not a nut.” But she holds out her hands anyways.

Her Papa chuckles and pulls out some dried persimmons from his sleeves. “Don’t tell Sakura.”

Sarada smiles at their little secret before taking a bite. “What are you reading?” Her Papa allows her to climb onto his lap and drapes the scroll over her. Sarada squints, only understanding a fraction of the words on the paper. She points and reads aloud the characters she recognizes.

“Good girl.” He slips her another dried persimmon.

That is when her mother finds them.

“Sasuke-kun!” her mama enters the scene in a huff, “I told you to stop that, you’ll ruin her dinner.”

Sarada quickly shoves both persimmons into her mouth. Her papa has the decency to look sheepish.

“You can’t keep spoiling her like that! She is going to get an upset stomach!” Sakura continues.

“Do you want me to spoil you too?”

Her mama sputters, all red and flustered. Her hands move to cover her flaming cheeks.

Sarada meanwhile uses the distraction to hold out her hands for another treat. Her gentle papa instead leans down and kisses her forehead.

---

For the past year, her father and his retainers had been defending the borders between Oto and Konoha. After the dissenters were finally defeated, a grand celebration is held in her father’s honor.

She remembers that her father was hailed as the second coming of Madara, the legendary clan head from the distant past. The comparison is uncanny, both bloodthirsty and merciless but dauntless in the face of adversary. Soon it becomes her father’s mantle; Lord Uchiha no Madara, the slayer of the Orochi.

Sarada hadn't been invited to the banquet due to her age but that night she is much too excited to sleep. She has never seen so many people gathered in one place in her life. And even though her father’s presence makes her nervous, she loves the tales about his exploits.

The banquet hall is rowdy and the envoy’s drunken singing could be heard from down the halls. The fuzzy silhouettes of her father’s soldiers line the banquet hall, she has a hard time making out who is who. Everything is quite blurry even with the multiple lanterns.

The only one Sarada could identify for sure is her mother. Sakura’s features are distinct, like a lone flower against the night sky. Her mother sits obediently at the head of the table beside the man that is her father.

He has forsaken armor this time, but there is still a sword at his side. From the distance, her father doesn’t look particularly like he was enjoying the festivities.

He appears bored. Perhaps his blood is not used to peace, after all a beast belonged in the wild and a warrior to the battlefield.

Sakura every once and a while would refill her father’s sake cup or serve him more of the feast in front of him. Occasionally, when her mother would lean over and her father would whisper something into her ear.

Her mama would stiffen and her face would become strained. At first Sarada can’t make out the expression, until a small smile blooms on her mama’s visage.

Sarada goes to bed soon after, not quite understanding their interactions.

---

Her earliest memory of Papa is halfway past her fourth year.

Father had been back for a few days now, not that she had really seen him. And to be perfectly honest, her father is a scary man and she would rather not run into him.

But Sarada is also curious so she puts on a brave face and finds herself outside her mother’s quarters.

Peering through the crack in the paper screen door, Sarada spots her mother’s figure and a man she doesn’t recognize.

Her mama is leaning on the man’s shoulder while he serves her sake with his free hand. Back then, Sarada found it a strange role reversal that a man dressed in such luxurious robes was pouring her mama a drink.

Sarada has seen some men in her father’s army throw a tantrum when a pretty lady wouldn’t attend to them. Even Sakura during official functions knows to serve her father first before anyone else can even eat.

But this man sat with her mama so nonchalantly and closely, breaking tradition as if it was nothing!

Her shock was audible to where her mother and the man turned to see her crouched by the entryway.

Sarada felt as if she interrupted a private moment, but man’s expression morphed into something soft and Sakura giddily rushes over to pick her up.

“Sarada! Come, come! Papa is here, see?” Sakura hands her over the stranger’s awaiting arms. She doesn’t want to leave her mama’s embrace but the man’s is just as warm.

“Hello little peanut, have you been good while I was away?”

How is she supposed to answer him? She opts for a nod and reaches for the familiarity of her mother.

“Sasuke-kun…”

“It’s alright, she probably isn’t used to my face.” He leans over regardless and kisses her mother’s forehead. Then he looks Sarada straight in the eye. “I am you papa.”

Sarada thinks she likes this ‘Sasuke-kun,’ this Papa. Someone so kind to her mother can’t be a bad man.

----

As she gets older, Sarada becomes privy to the rumors about the current acting head of the Yamanaka clan. How her son looks nothing like her deceased husband but has the same eyes as the court painter.

And Sarada has her own theories about her mama and the man that is her papa.

She just hopes that her father never finds out.

---

Even though her mother is essentially the lady of the house, Sarada still hears whispers of her lineage. Even more so now that Sarada begins wearing glasses.

Before her father leaves for his next campaign, he gives Sakura his inkan.

As the wife of the lord, Sakura officially acts as his surrogate in any official business even if some of the family retainers aren’t happy about it.

Fortunately, many would rather swallow their pride that incur her father’s wrath.

All except one.

Uchiha no Shin, a rather minor branch clan member, always disapproved of her father and even more so now that he left his wife in charge of the estate in his absence.

It all comes to a head when Sakura denies him funding for a rather ill thought out building project.

“You dirty wench! ”

Sarada can hear the screams from her room. She rushes to the scene. Sakura is still standing her ground when she arrives.

“I don’t see any benefit in this strategy and I doubt my dear lord husband would either.”

“What do you know?! You are nothing but a plaything you stupid bitch, I’ll teach you some manners!” Shin chooses that moment to raise his hand at her mother.

Sarada feels the anger seep into her bones but her mother chooses that moment to retaliate and punch Shin square in the face herself.

Shin falls back unceremoniously. Sarada is slack jawed.

“How dare you!” he seethes. Shin tries to get up only for another person to rush to her mother’s aid.

Shin’s screams are agonizing and it takes Sarada a moment to realize that not only had her father returned, but he had drawn his sword and stabbed it clean through Shin’s arm, effectively pinning it to the tatami.

“Sasuke-kun!”

Sarada blinks once. Twice.

“Are you alright Sakura?” Her father, her papa asks, completely ignoring their screaming relative.

Sakura nods and he turns to her as well “Are you okay Sarada?” his voice deep and low but the same kind cadence up close as her beloved papa.

Suddenly her father’s mysterious and distant features that were always hazy to her meld with the papa in front of her now.

Sarada adjusts her glasses. She feels really stupid in that moment.

---

This time, Sarada is invited to the banquet.

It’s an annual harvest festival and her father is the guest of honor. The local leaders once again announce him as ‘Lord Uchiha no Madara’ much to his chagrin.

“I really hate when they call me that.” Sasuke tells them later when the food is being served and drinks are flowing freely. Sakura is on one side while Sarada is on the other. Habitually he is discreetly putting any sweets that make it his way and the tenderest pieces of meat onto their plates.

“Anata,” with time Sarada notices that her mother only ever uses this term in public when her father needed more placating than usual, “they are just just in awe of how great you are!”

“I wish they had chosen something different, Madara was such a pain in the ass.”

“Sasuke-kun!” Her mother tries to be scandalized but can’t help but devolve into a fit of giggles.

As her father continues to look on adoringly at his wife, Sarada can’t help but agree with him.

A name like that is unfitting of her gentle papa.

A/N: Happy Sasusaku month 2021! My brain is mush right now so excuse the multitude of grammatical errors. Thank you for reading!

And just to note in historical Japan, men tended to change their names depending on significant life events. For example, Minamoto no Yoshitsune's childhood name was Ushiwakamaru.

@ssskmonth

#sasusaku #SSM21d17 #SSM21 #Sasusaku Month #ssskmonth

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randomhanabananas · 3 years ago

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Art credit: https://twitter.com/dysonlogos/status/1126622490267140096 An iconic and dangerous dnd item, it has the capability to save parties and end lives.

What does it do?: A deck of many things is usually found in a box or leather pouch. Each deck contains a number of cards or plaques made of ivory or vellum. Each is engraved with glyphs, characters, and sigils. As soon as one of these cards is drawn from the pack, its magic is bestowed upon the person who drew it. The character with a deck of many things who wishes to draw a card must announce how many cards they will draw before she begins. Cards must be drawn within 1 hour of each other, and a character can never again draw from this deck any more cards than they have announced. If the character does not willingly draw their allotted number (or if she is somehow prevented from doing so), the cards flip out of the deck on their own. If the jester is drawn, the possessor of the deck may elect to draw two additional cards. Each time a card is taken from the deck, it is replaced (making it possible to draw the same card twice) unless the draw is the jester or the fool, in which case the card is discarded from the pack. A deck of many things contains 22 cards. The effects of each card are fully described below.

Roleplay: To simulate the magic cards, tarot cards are the best in my opinion. If no tarot deck is available, playing cards can also be used. In parentheses next to the cards title is the equivalent tarot and playing cards.

Cards:

Balance (XI. Justice, Two of spades): The character’s mind suffers a wrenching alteration, causing its Alignment to change. Lawful becomes chaotic, good becomes evil, and vice versa. If they are true neutral or unaligned, this card has no Effect on them.

Comet (Two of swords, Two of diamonds): If the character single-handedly defeat the next Hostile monster or group of Monsters they encounter, they gain XP enough to gain one level. Otherwise, this card has no Effect.

Donjon (Four of swords, Ace of spades): The character disappears and becomes entombed in a state of suspended animation in an extra dimensional Sphere. Everything that they were wearing and carrying stays behind in the space they occupied when they disappeared. The character remains imprisoned until they are found and removed from the Sphere. They can't be located by any Divination magic, but a wish spell can reveal the Location of their prison. This character draws no more cards.

Euryale (Ten of swords, Queen of spades): The card's medusa-like visage Curses The character. They take a -2 penalty on Saving Throws while Cursed in this way. Only a god or the magic of The Fates card can end this curse.

Fates (Three of cups, Ace of hearts): This card enables the character to avoid even an instantaneous occurrence if so desired, for the fabric of reality is unraveled and respun. It allows them to avoid or erase one event as if it never happened. The character can use the card's magic as soon as they draw the card or at any other time before you die. Note that this card does not enable something to happen. It can only stop something from happening or reverse a past occurrence. The reversal is only for the character who drew the card; other party members may have to endure the situation.

Flames (XV. The Devil, Queen of clubs): A powerful devil becomes the character’s enemy. The devil seeks their ruin and plagues their life, savoring their suffering before attempting to slay them. This enmity lasts until either the character or the devil dies.

Fool (Three of cups, Ace of hearts): The character loses 10,000 XP, discards this card, and draws from the deck again, counting both draws as one of their declared draws. If losing that much XP would cause them to lose a level, they instead lose an amount that leaves you with just enough XP to keep their level.

Gem (Seven of cups, Two of hearts): Twenty-five pieces of jewelry worth 2,000 gp each or fifty gems worth 1,000 gp each appear at the character’s feet.

Idiot (Two of pentacles, Two of clubs): The character’s Intelligence is permanently reduced by 1d4 + 1. They can draw one additional card beyond your declared draws.

Jester ( XII. The Hanged Man, Joker): The character gains 10,000 XP, or can draw two additional cards beyond their declared draws. This card is discarded when drawn.

Key (V. The Hierophant, Queen of hearts): A rare or rarer Magic Weapon with which the character is proficient appears in your hands. The DM chooses the weapon.

Knight (Page of swords, Jack of hearts): The character gains the service of a 4th-level Fighter who appears in a space they choose within 30 feet of them. The Fighter is of the same race and gender as the character and serves them loyally until death, believing the fates have drawn them to the character. The character controls this fighter.

Moon (XVIII. The Moon, Queen of diamonds): This card sometimes bears the image of a moonstone gem with the appropriate number of wishes shown as gleams therein; sometimes it depicts a moon with its phase indicating the number of wishes (full=four; gibbous=three; half=two; quarter=one). The character is granted the ability to cast the wish spell 1d4 times.

Rogue (Five of swords, Jack of spades): A nonplayer character of the DM's choice becomes Hostile toward the character. The identity of the new enemy isn't known until the NPC or someone else reveals it. Nothing less than a wish spell or Divine Intervention can end the NPC's hostility toward the character.

Ruin (XVI. The Tower, King of spades): All forms of Wealth that the character carries or owns, other than Magic Items, are lost to them. Portable property vanishes. Businesses, buildings, and land The character owns are lost in a way that alters reality the least. Any documentation that proves the character should own something lost to this card also disappears.

Skull (XIII. Death, Jack of clubs): The card summons an avatar of death-a ghostly Humanoid Skeleton clad in a tattered black robe and carrying a spectral scythe. It appears in a space of the DM's choice within 10 feet of the character and attacks them, warning all others that they must win the battle alone. The avatar fights until the character dies or it drops to 0 Hit Points, whereupon it disappears. If anyone tries to help the character, the avatar summons its own Avatar of Death. A creature slain by an Avatar of Death can't be restored to life.

Star (XVII. The Star, Jack of diamonds): Increase one of the character’s Ability Scores by 2. The score can exceed 20 but can't exceed 24.

Sun (XIX. The Sun, King of diamonds): The character gains 50,000 XP, and a wondrous item (which the DM determines randomly) appears in your hands.

Talons (Queen of pentacles, Ace of clubs): Every magic item the character wears or carries disintegrates. Artifacts in their possession aren't destroyed but do Vanish.

Throne (Four of staves, King of hearts): The character gains proficiency in the Persuasion skill, and doubles their Proficiency Bonus on checks made with that skill. In addition, the character gains rightful ownership of a small keep somewhere in the world. However, the keep is currently in the hands of Monsters, which they must clear out before they can claim the keep as theirs.

Vizier (IX. The Hermit, Ace of diamonds): At any time the character chooses within one year of drawing this card, they can ask a question in meditation and mentally receive a truthful answer to that question. Besides information, the answer helps the character solve a puzzling problem or other dilemma.

The Void (Eight of swords, King of clubs): This black card spells disaster. The character’s soul is drawn from your body and contained in an object in a place of the DM's choice. One or more powerful beings guard the place. While their soul is trapped in this way, their body is Incapacitated. A wish spell can't restore your soul, but the spell reveals the Location of the object that holds it. They draw no more cards.

#d&d #critical role #dimension 20 #dungeons and dragons #dm #deck of many things

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xxxdragonfucker69xxx · 4 years ago

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@lyhoradka tagged me in that post about five bits of text from written media that are burned into your brain and, kindly, gave me a theme of places. i am going to annotate this because i am a bitch

1. holy places are dark places. the wisdom that we get in them is not thin and clear like water but thick and dark like blood. - cs lewis, till we have faces

im almost certain ive misremembered this one but its better this way. clive what the devil fuck were you trying to say with till we have faces. burn it down and start over with this. i have a sidenote about hope faith and love but thats beyond the scope of this discussion

2. night falls. the workers put down their tools and point to the sky. “there is the blueprint,” they say. invisible cities, italo calvino

again idr if its sky or stars. this is the description of thecla from invisible cities, kindly appointed to me by my good friend venus. this is not the strongest one but it is a strong one and its for Me and i remember it. inna thought i was going to make this whole post about haunted houses and this one is completely the opposite; i’ll consider it aspirational

3. walk to the east till you can walk no more. swim east until you pass the sunrise; swim east until you pass the stars; swim east until you come to the edge of the sky. there you will find yourself on the shores of a different land. even in that place, they shall know your name, and mine. - adel, kc danine/unlikely flowerings, jenna moran

sorry i cheated on this one bc i looked up the attribution and found my memory was wrong. but i cut it up to match what i thought. this one is actually a combo with

3a. the sea will be the color night behind glass. then, slowly, it becomes green: first rain-wet slate, then darkest jade. green as fresh emeralds. green as remembered rivers - the sun beneath the sea, sunless seas

again ive hashed the first part of that but green as remembered rivers lives in my head rent free. these two live under the heading “an exile in the uttermost east”

4. THIS IS NOT A PLACE OF HONOR. NO HIGHLY VALUED DEED IS REMEMBERED HERE. NOTHING OF VALUE IS STORED HERE.

the warning continues of course but the basis is here. the idea that we cannot produce something so horrifying and terrifying that it does not also fascinate us, as you might guess, fascinates me. nightmare and obsession are such close brothers

5. a woman drew her hair out tight/and fiddled in the violet light/and upside down in air were towers/tolling reminiscent bells that kept the hours/and voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

in my head sean bean reads these lines in his civ vi voice. why did so much weird fiction pattern weird bits of worldbuilding after this bit. not that i am immune. voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhauuusted wells

BONUS CONTENT

so many things i wanted to add that werent written or that i didnt have memorized perfectly enough

1i. the, like, entire first half of to tundra by los camp, which i will reproduce below

meet me at st nicholas among the oaks behind the church that sway like pigtailed girls as summer wind whistles around your bare-shin knees and the forsythia leaves in the shade lay with me tickled by the feather reeds thats where the trees grow old under the ivys hold as you in my two arms equally safe from harm and in a hazy daydream our bodies married the stream and we broke down into pebbles and silt the water ran from the fields until the oceans we filled and found the seabed the comfiest quilt

there was more life in the weeds than in the few hundred seats that rose from transept to chancel to nave [...]

2i. prim leaves her father’s house. i won’t reproduce the whole story here but there’s a girl prim and her father is the god hansa and they live in a house of iron nails and one day her dad is killed and she has to go bury him and takes nothing but his corpse and a single iron nail. and she traipses all across creation and the void looking for somewhere to bury him but every time she tries his corpse shouts at her for being shit at it. and eventually she collapses, and drops the nail and it springs right up into the same exact house, and she imagines crawling in there with her fathers corpse to die next to him and freaks out and then

A pale face came before her and she was abruptly struck from her despair as though by a great hammer. A beautiful stranger had appeared, mild and tall, of milky flesh, spare in figure, but radiant in voice and visage. "I know you," said the stranger in a small voice, "you are Prim."

"I was Hansa's orphan, the slave, Prim," croaked Prim in response, "and now I am nobody, just a small dirty thing in great emptiness and here I will die."

"No," said the stranger, and the clarity and firmness of her voice and smile send a shock through Prim, "you are Prim, and Prim only, and Prim you shall be." And Prim there realized her tears had made a great pool and she was greeting her own reflection. And she fell into that murky pool and straight away it turned clear as crystal and Prim vomited forth a great black knot from very deep within her, and her body was scoured and lashed by the icy waters of that pool, and great draughts of poisonous filth and despondency were drawn in rushing gasps from her wounds, and her skin was sealed and her soiled trappings were purged and the caked illness and death was ripped away and she rose from that pool fresh and humming. Her back straightened and she scarcely thought on her father's corpse or the faintest echo of that iron house. That is how Prim left her father's house.

so basically abaddon scooped all of tsiy and every other haunted house writer in like five thousand words

3i. berenike

From my words you will have reached the conclusion that the real Berenice is a temporal succession of different cities, alternately just and unjust. But what I wanted to warn you about is something else: all the future Berenices are already present in this instant, wrapped one within the other, confined, crammed, inextricable.

4i. a ghost does not come to stand in the dark doorway of your room because it is an 18th century orphan girl named annie. a ghost comes to stand in the doorway of your room because the doorway is where things come to stand. - i am in eskew, david ward

the formats all fucked up now huh. this has influenced my thoughts on both psychogeo and necromancy. what a fucking guy. theres also the pope lick bridge one but

5i. i hope you will forgive me for including a bit from tsiy

I opened my eyes. I was kneeling at the base of a tree, at the top of a grassy hill, under starry night. Dad was standing a little ways back, head craned back to look at the tree. "What is this place to you?" he asked, looking around. The island came to an abrupt stop at the edges; it wasn't a floating island in space or anything, there just.....wasn't anything beyond the edge of it. Like looking past the edge of your own eyesight -- not the blackness of eyelids, but the colorless place beyond.

"I'll die here someday," I said, and meant it.

i really need to work on getting places and haunted places into the new draft. im slacking. but im also not allowed to go back and change anything rn or ill just never get anywhere

#visible cities #also sprach #christ this took a million years

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angelicichor · 5 years ago

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Since I’m in the mood for angst - let’s go.

Slashers dealing with their S/O having a mental break down because hell knows I need it.

TW: hysteria, mental trauma, mental break down (obviously), abuse, paranoia

Jason Voorhees:

♦ It was becoming so cold outside, way colder than it has ever been in the city, the wind howled outside, making you aware of just how alone you were in this very moment.

♦ Jason was still outside, hunting a pair of drug dealers that wanted to make the old camp ground their hideout for the season, you heard gunshots and that was probably why it was taking so long.

♦ Guns couldn’t kill your zombie, but sure as hell made his job this much harder to complete, especially if they hit his head.

♦ You knew that he would come back any time soon, yet your body shivered even with the fire still burning strong in it’s stone nest. The old wood around you creaked, groaned, like an old man, it’s bones threatening to crumble under any pressure.

♦ And you gasped, shivering at the thought of this whole thing caving in on you, burying you under the rubble, splinters adding to your pain as you drawled your last breath.

♦ It wouldn’t fall and even if it did, Jason was close enough to get you out of the ruins before you died. At least you tried to assure yourself that he was and that he wouldn’t even need to, a nervous laughter escaping your clenched throat.

♦ You were alone.

♦ Alone and scared.

♦ Like all those helpless nights at your home, trapped in your room, too afraid to move from it, still hearing the thuds and screams of your family arguing, your eyes red from tears, panic building in your tiny heart.

♦ And there was nobody to cry to. No one would help you.

♦ Your breathing hiked as you clenched the soft material of your sweater, similar to the one Jason put at Pamela's shrine.

♦ She died alone too, was she as scared as you were this night?

♦ Your body shook, mind going hazy, trying to remember the mantra of “I’m fine, he’s going to come back, I’m loved, there’s nothing to fear.” until it broke.

♦ You weren’t fine, you were alone in an empty old house, surrounded by the roaring of an incoming storm, and the man who was supposed to be with you tonight was bleeding far from you, struggling to murder people, who wandered where they shouldn’t have and you were pissed. Not at Jason, never at him, but at those two men. It was their fault you were so scared, left without comfort.

♦ Or was it your fault for being too weak to handle some stronger wind? It was that, wasn’t it?

♦ “Oh god...” you whimpered, feeling your heart rise to your throat, unsure of why it wandered there anyways, it should be in your chest. “No, no. “ There was this familiar feeling of anxiety building up where your heart was before, as if it moving opened a door for something buried deep inside. “Please...” and when the tears rolled down your cheeks it was already too late.

♦ Three times you breathed, each time more encumbered, suffocating on air that was supposed to bring you life, your face flooding with the saltiness that your eyes produced in overabundance. Your hands shook and you could focus only on that, all your emotions becoming a blur, a swirling mess in your overstimulated brain.

♦ It wasn’t a quiet night, yet everything seemed to still when a tormented shriek left your mouth. A noise that you couldn’t hear, not anymore, lost in the newly found panic.

♦ Your eyes were wide open, but you saw nothing, every new memory your senses tried to create vanishing in milliseconds. Your own body shutting down, making you unaware of the humongous figure that kicked the door in, entering in a hurry.

♦ The throat that usually let you speak fluently was collapsing, only letting small groans and quieter shrieks leave, and you placed your hands on it, gasping for air, trying to fight the thing choking you, oblivious to the fact it was your mind refusing to calm your self down.

♦ There was a sudden pressure on your shoulders and you shut your swollen eyelids, kicking and screaming at whatever was trying to hold you down, each thrust meeting with something hard and solid.

♦ Then you were forced onto the bed, the same thing that was holding you down now wrapping all around you, refusing to budge despite your nails digging into it, something warm covering your agitated fingers. Panicking as something lowered itself next to your head with a pained groan.

♦ And finally your movements slowed, your suffocating lungs bursting with a sudden surge of air, eyes lazily regaining focus, making your head ache with the flood of information your brain was collecting again. Just as quickly as it began, it was over and you whimpered softly, tired hands flopping down from whatever it was that they were elevated on

♦ Another whimper and one moan of confusion as you let your palms cover your eyes and massage the exhausted skin around them. The thing on you expanding and shrinking dreadfully slow.

♦ You looked up to see what in the hell it was. Your heart shattered.

♦ Jason’s bright eye was looking down at you, his crooked lips quivering in fear, hairless brow furrowed, huge hands reaching up to your visage, a terrified smile rising on his own as he realized that you can finally see him. He was shaking. Trembling as he lowered himself onto you, making it hard to breathe once more, but this time it was a welcome sensation.

♦ A soft whimper echoed in your head, coming from the undead relaxing onto you, as you look at your still warm finger tips, blood drying on them, just how it was on his neck and back from wounds that you opened.

♦ The realization that hit you couldn’t be more heartbreaking, as you understood what happened piece by piece.

♦ You blacked out in panic, screamed and he heard you, he came to you and was welcomed by your own self clawing at your now red forearms, so he tried to stop you the only way he knew how to, sacrificing himself so you would be fine.

♦ “ Oh, Jason.” you whispered, your palms finding his bald, uneven head. He shook slightly with a sharp intake of air. “ I am SO sorry, oh my darling.” a cry escaped you, the salty trails returning, but he was much the same, trembling and swallowing his own quiet cry.

♦ His hands tightened around your waist and you curled up to sit and hug his sobbing head, shielding his exposed face from the world around him.

♦ “I was... Jason I am so... I’m horrible, this must’ve been so scary...” you whimper and he shakes his head almost aggressively, glad that you’re fine now, that you calmed down and that he could’ve been there to help you, that he was useful to you in at least this way.

♦ “God, I love you so much. Please forgive me.” His breath shakes at your self-flagellating words and he rises, love and worry mixing on his face as he coups your own, leaning in to kiss your pouting lips, you returning his soft comfort in kind.

♦ Don’t even try to thank him, this is the least he can do for you, to somehow repay you for loving him, despite his disgusting face and his uncomfortable silence.

♦ Both of you were shivering in each other’s arms, unable to voice how precious you were, how much you loved every single thing about each other, a pair of idiots, fools in love.

Thomas Hewitt:

♦ Not every day in the Hewitt’s house was good, you knew that. Your first day there, for example, was terrifying to say the least and life changing to be an optimist about the disaster that was your initiation into the family, not as a member yet, but as a honored quest.

♦ So yes, not everything was always perfect, Luda Mae could sometimes be a nag and Monty was a pervert to say the least. Thomas turned out to be an absolute angel though, or a very polite devil if you considered some situations, pulling away at his dark feathers.

♦ But Charlie, no, Hoyt, oh Hoyt. He was something else, alright.

♦ You’ve grown used to him bossing everybody around, crowning himself the man of the house, even though that tittle should be rightfully given to Thomas.

♦ But there was one thing that you couldn’t get used to, a nasty quirk, bringing back way too many unwanted memories, flashes of the past that you swore you had repressed strong enough to never meet with again.

♦ That gross, old, saggy ball sack was one hell of an abuser.

♦ Everybody else in the house was aware of your bad mood these past few days, even Monty, that bastard, that son of a gun, had brought you tea on multiple occasions, knowing it calmed your nerves ever so slightly.

♦ But Charlie was oblivious to anyone’s problem, but his own.

♦ And he had a problem, alright. The problem with “YOU BEING A FAT, LAZY BITCH THAT CAN’T EVEN BRING A MAN THE RIGHT FUCKING BELT!”, as he roared in your ear way too loudly, gaining him the attention of other co-habitats.

♦ “Charlie!” Luda wanted to stop his words, but it was already too late, his motor has started.

♦ “Don’t CHARLIE me! I’m sick and tired of this WHORE slacking off and just slumping around all damned day! Tell ya what, sweetie.” he spat through his teeth, poking you in the shoulder, hard enough for it too hurt. “If not for our boy, I’d have you made into a delicious batch of Lard, since that’s what you already fukin’ are! A dumb lard ass!” he growled, this time shoving you back.

♦ “God damn it, Charlie! Leave the poor girl alone!” the old woman pressed him, but he just waved her off, crossing his veiny arms under his non-existent pecs.

♦ “A GOOD FOR NOTHING!” his voice echoed in your head. “STUPID, DISRESPECTFUL!” Another whispered a scream much similar from the back of your head. “LAZY PIG!” Hoyt’s voice sounded again in a snarl. “FUCKING RETARDED IDIOT!” the same one called back in your mind, this time closer.

♦ “SHOULDA KILLED YA THE FIRST CHANCE I GOT!” The oldest Hewitt roared and again the voice in your head was anxious to answer. “A WASTE OF LIFE AND NOTHING MORE!”

♦ And with that the thin string in your brain snapped, letting a horde of unwanted demons out and about your mind, your eyes shooting up to meet Hoyt’s something in the way you gazed making him catch whatever words were trying to roll off his tongue, his wrinkly head tilting and shaggy gray brows furrowing in a silent question, letting his bewilderment show.

♦ “shut up...” you let out a sigh, shoulders tensing, backed against an ancient wall. The sheriff’s eyes widening in rage.

♦ “Whadya say to me, ya little shit?” he growled and you let your vision coat in red, letting rage triumph against other emotions.

♦ “ I said, shut. The. FUCK! UP!” You screamed in his face, grabbing the unplugged lamp on the stool next to you and smashing it against his head, making him tumble at the sudden impact, Luda Mae and Monty gasping and groaning, you weren’t sure which one did which. “You fucker... you piece of shit, disgusting asshole.” words flew out of your mouth in abundance, tone shifting between a whisper and rage-full roars, hands shaking with the offending item still in your grip, a crooked smile erupting on your face as you noticed the sudden fear in the old man’s eyes. “You boss us all around like you’re tough shit but without us ya’d be nothing!” you hiss, stepping towards him, holding the lamp in both hands, smashing it against his covering arm, shattering the glass of the bulb. “YOU DISGUST ME!” you scream, body read to fall on top of him and smash the object against his face.

♦ “(Y/N)!! Child, stop! Oh God!” Luda Mae cried out and you looked towards her, your brain giving you a moment of clarity, stopping your movements so you could consider what was happening and you were about to listen, when Hoyt heard a heavy thud enter the room.

♦ “TOMMY, GET YOUR CRAZIED BITCH OFF ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT!” The wannabe officer screamed, pulling you back into that frenzied state, the lamp closing down on his throat in rapid speed.

♦ “FUCKING DIE YOU ASSHOLE!” you cried, expecting blood to gush onto your countenance after tears blurred your vision fully, fighting against the wave of bad remembrances that this man brought upon you, but nothing happened.

♦ Instead your arm was caught into an iron shackle and your whole body flew against something hard, huge and moving, breathing rapidly, unevenly, in a panic. “Let me go...” you whispered, eyes regaining focus for a second, still filled with that familiar bloodlust, but the wall behind you still breathed, unwilling to let you lash out. “THOMAS GODDAMIT LET ME GO!” you roared, your brain recognizing the Behemoth by his smell and presence, as well as the lingering threat of iron that always followed wherever he went. The scent of blood.

♦ Hoyt had gotten up and was sneering at you, only fueling your fire. “Good, damn it Tommy, that whore almost cut my thr--” A thundering hit shook the room, moving the air and silencing the old bastard, who followed it to it’s source, Thomas’ fist and a new hole in the wooden wall. “What in tarnation...?” The sheriff breathed and once his met the piercing gaze of the dark haired man, only fear remained on his pale face. The youngest Hewitt’s rage silencing everybody, even you, as you let your head hang, no longer struggling against your lover’s hold.

♦ Then came a voice, but one that nobody expected to hear, rasping, struggled, low, a growl of an agitated beast. “LE--AVE...” Thomas managed to order, his eyes predatory and body protective, throat already hurting for forcing the letters out.

♦ There was a hesitance to Hoyt’s response, but soon enough he left the scene, breathing curses under his nose, going god knows where. Reading the room, Luda Mae took the handles of Monty’s wheelchair and rolled out of the house’s heart quietly, leaving the two of you alone, listening for the second click of the door, announcing their leave.

♦ The moment that happens, you’re being forcefully turned around and with a loud thud one of Thomas’ knees hit the wooden floor, his large frame kneeling before you, sharp, angry eyes focused on you as you try to look away, one strong hand gripping against your jaw to turn you towards him.

♦ And you do, tears storming out of the corners of your eyes, everything in your stance pointing to anxious anger and fear.

♦ He never manhandled you like that, it wasn’t needed, but attacking his family, even IF it was just Hoyt, was the line that you should never cross.

♦ “Let me go, Tom.” you sneer through your teeth, still shaking and sobbing, he only gives you a shake of his head and his other hand finds it’s place on your shoulder, gripping enough to bruise as the man forgets to check his own strength, too focused on the alien emotion behind your eyes.

♦ “LET ME GO!” you roar, flinching from pain, but he still refuses, the pressure forcing you to fall onto him and you realize you’ve been struggling against his pull. “Thomas!” you cry, tugging on his shirt around his broad back, his grip loosening and now a palm pressing you into him, silently telling you to calm down. A hiccup escapes you, body trembling, as rage fades into sadness and that bring forth clarity, that then turns to fear as the realization of your actions hits you like an arrow to the neck and you suffocate in it, pulling, whimpering and nuzzling into the giant holding you safe, telling you it’s fine without words, letting his relaxed body speak for him, already understanding what happened, he was a very good listener and your breath told him everything.

♦ You’ve told him before about your life, about your father’s abuse and how those harsh words could bring something dark out from inside you, that you were sent away to your grandmother for it and how it haunted you every night, your gasps of terror waking him up every time to hush your sleeping self, not even aware you needed him.

♦ This time was no different and you relaxed under his touch, one of his hands petting your messed up hair and the other holding your waist, gently, as if you could shatter under the lightest of his touches.

♦ He knew Hoyt was horrible for you, brought up those dark memories and that he should’ve been there the moment he heard his scream, stop him before all this happened, but he was busy with the last victims, a useless excuse that brought only guilt and shame to the pit of his stomach.

♦ “I’m sorry, Tommy...” your words met with a small nod from him, his heavy breath pointing that he understood. His own rage was too much sometimes, but he’d only ever lash out on the victims or himself, the many scars on his body being proof of that, but he’d never tell anybody, it’s better that people thought it was from the meat’s struggle to remain human.

♦ “I just... I hate him so much... He’s just like...” he made a hushing sound, shifting you slightly, one of his arms moving beneath your buttocks, and lifting you up, as the other still held your head, pulling it gently towards his face, planting a soft kiss into your forehead, the leather of his mask scratching you slightly, but you didn’t care, whimpering at the softness of his touch.

♦ He brought you upstairs to your room, sitting onto your bed and only then letting you off him, to fall onto the soft covers, hugging into them instead in instinct. Thomas stayed a while longer, letting his thick fingers run through your hair, his thumb collecting your falling tears occasionally, a low humming sound resonating in his chest while he waited for you to switch off fully, sinnging his mother’s lullably in the only way his body allowed him to.

♦ Then at no less than 10 minutes of attending your need for comfort, he stood up, looking down at the hand that shoot up to his in desperate fear and he smiled, slipping it off lazily, kneeling down to brush a lock of hair from your image and planting a kiss on your nose, before standing back up and signing to you in his own way, that he’d be back soon.

♦ “Okay... I’ll wait for you.” your voice croaked, tired from everything that happened and he huffed in approval, closing your door behind him.

♦ Now he had an old man that needed to be taught some god damned MANNERS.

♦ For once Thomas would be the one to teach somebody discipline in this house and he knew damn well that he didn’t even need to use violence to achieve that.

♦ Hoyt was a pussy, after all.

This turned out so long oh my gosh ;; I wanted to do Michael and Bubba too, but that would be too much for me right now. Maybe later if anybody wants that.

#jason voorhees x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #jason voorhees #thomas hewitt #slasher #slashers #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #virgo writes #angst #fluff #sfw #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm #tcm: the beginning #break down #this was a rollercoaster

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heterochromatica · 4 years ago

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Anonymous said: pro!verse: You’re at a charity event and you hear other pro-heroes speaking ill about Bakugou. Would you speak up for him or mind your own business?

Truth be told, Todoroki had never been someone to actually give a damn about the media and the paparazzi that keep flashing their cameras right into their faces at whatever chance they got. After a while, working as a pro hero, it became a rather mundane thing that wherever they were going, the press seemed to be following them. He was not surprised the slightest that, of course this gathering was filled to the brim with cameras, eagerly expecting their arrival. He never quite understood it, but apparently this was how all this stuff worked. He’s not the biggest fan of those charity events anyway, not just for the mentioned reasons but the repetitive questions he’s got to answer time and time again. He doesn’t even know how many times he’s been asked how he felt being a former classmate of the current number one hero. He still attends them, if invited of course, because he knows they do good for people in need and he’s able to appreciate and respect that.

What he can’t respect tho, is someone disrespecting the people he cares for. Especially those close to him. A voice, some sarcastic laughter and- “How does someone like that even call himself a hero? Explosions? That’s like destruction delivered right to your front door if you still possess a front door that is...”

Of course, he could, like everyone else usually does, play it cool or, like Izuku likes to do it, prove them wrong or try to talk things around all the bla bla. Shoto has never been very good at doing so. He knows, by now, that he shouldn’t get riled up by anything those people say. They don’t know them. Them as in his friends. The people important to him but something about this particular comment rubs him all the wrong ways. He shouldn’t even be listening. Its wrong, its not his business, its their conversation, not his. He just profoundly decides to ignore all that and walks over anyway.

He’s heard them loud and clear. Two people standing at the buffet talking about Ground Zero aka Bakugo, who else could they mean. His former classmate, his friend and soon to be...that is apart the point. Yes, Shoto knows he might be biased. His brain is simply running on autopilot. Does it excuse any of the following actions? No, certainly doesn’t but he forgets to care. Its a young woman and a guy in a expensive looking suit, he’s heard his voice before but doesn’t remember the name.

“Excuse me you’re talking about Bakugo Katsuki?” Shoto starts politely, getting a few slightly confused nods in return but then, in a split second he turns- his fist collides with the guys visage, shattering the equally expensive looking sunglasses right then and there. Shrieks, gasps and the sound of broken glass accompany the slight shake of the youngest Todoroki’s hand that rightfully aches but he couldn’t care less. The dude is send stumbling backwards onto the table, tumbling, turning, pushing over multiple bottles of champagner and other intoxicating fluids, glasses and wine gets swept off, splattering across its surface, staining the white tablecloth, dripping onto the floor. He’s staring at the young pro hero like he’s seen the devil, staggering, blood dripping from his chin, trying to get a hold of himself but Todoroki is not done yet. The room has gone silent within the blink of an eye. All heads have turned around now, gaping in awe at the scene. He doesn’t think about it any further and takes a good hold of the mans collar.

“If you speak like that about Ground Zero again this wasn’t the last punch you’ve received-” then all out of the sudden arms wrap around him and pull him backwards concerned voices growing louder, people rushing in and everything becomes a blur but Todoroki doesn’t regret a thing.

#long post #todobaku #this is for all the Bakugos <3 #pro-hero Todoroki

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tomesandsuch · 4 years ago

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The Long Way

How many times have you found yourself swept into this pointless game?

How many times have you made such attempts to eke out some manner of victory from this doomed cycle? Worse than attempting such a hollow victory is claiming such when it was never truly won to begin with.

His hands traced along the haft of the polearm, a smooth, deep-green length of lacquered wood. Its blade curved into a shape like a witch's crooked fingertip, ending in a thin point. When the dim lamplight hit it, the reflection of that meager flame wobbled across the surface, curving back and forth in serpentine arcs. Dull, faded patterns, etched in shallow crevasses of the weapon's surface.

Slowly, insidiously, I have seen your reason eroded. To you, the changes are too gradual to notice. From your perspective, this ebbing is natural.

His lips stretch into a thin frown, and fingers cross where his arm meets his shoulders.

They didn't leave any marks of true consequence, this you must understand. You were never at risk. How much value can one life carry if it is offered up at every opportunity, taken at none? Yet still, you remember those old squabbles. To you, it was a miracle that those coils did not ensnare you for good, but in the eyes of those who were at the center, it was never in doubt that your presence was temporary. Your interest in their troubles only as deep as finding another foe, another thing to be slain.

Once the final blow was struck, did you find yourself dealing with the aftermath? Did you care to linger? To lend your assistance towards matters far more complicated? Or did you depart, satisfied with the breadth of your role? It is customary, after all. The drifter departs only once the work is done, and even if it is not, the final result is hardly of any consequence to one who has long since moved on. One who has exercised the luxury of banishing it from his mind.

In the end, the victims of those troubles, those they had bound and tormented, were left to salvage themselves whilst you sauntered away with another trophy. Do you even remember them? Can you remember their names? Can you remember any of it?

When the man breathed, the swell of his lungs was long and deliberate. His shoulders tensed, rolling back and stretching beside his head. He loosened his buckle and pulled the cluttered tool belt from his waist. Halfway past where it met his hips, there was a small scabbard of leather in a comparatively pristine condition, save for the shallow horizontal gashes that ringed its side. Its blade was hidden by the leather sheath itself, but the pommel was of a vibrant green gem, the handle carved of smooth wood, the hilt detailed and exquisite, even the small parts of it that peeked out past the comparatively shabby sheath.

A fine weapon for a fine contribution. Did you believe, all that time ago, when you tried and failed to end the would-be corsair king, that such things would spiral into what they did? That you would find yourself in the midst of a war that you tried and failed to avert? There you fought, there you spit iron and water with the rest of them in the midst of your very own failure.

It was a true unwillingness to understand the world around you. The dread Queen and the throngs of broken things she’d left in her wake, acts so wicked that the living barked and clawed at each other to reach some manner of closure from them long after she had returned to the darkness.

Did bringing the terrors of her late reign to an end ever interest you? You could only ever see the most tangible of those ripples, those that only went so far as producing another sword arm possessed by ill will. Another adversary, another trial. For them, it seemed like the culmination of all their misery, one final piece of their history to spar over until the end came. Do you remember why they fought? Do you remember what it was that compelled them to let their corpses pass into the boundless sea?

The man sat on the edge of the rock, a finger prying itself between his eyepatch and the curve of his brow, placing the garment down next to the lantern that shone a dim light in the shadow of the stone barrier at his back. At times, he would simply stare into the lantern’s base, watching how the shifting flame created a ring of moving shadows at the bottom. When the light wasn’t enough, he would close his eyes and lean back against the rocks, taking in the way that the wind-chilled stone made his back stiffen, how the sensation banished lingering, unclear thoughts from his mind. At the very least, it steadied him somewhat.

Now you stand here. Worn, wasted away. Your body, your mind appear stronger, but the time has taken its toll. I have seen it in your resolve, how it has faded, replaced by ire and desperation in equal measure.

As your resolve fades, so too do your circumstances change, becoming all the more muddled, unfortunate.

There are few who would try to contend that the Master of the Coils was anything less than a worthy foe that deserved the end he was given. The Black Captain was a more complicated issue in of himself, but at the same time his fate was preordained. Now, here at the ends of the world, who is it that you truly wish to raise your hand against? You fight on the behalf of one you hate to destroy those whom only ever wronged you in passing. It is plain to see. Your arms cannot reach, and they grasp for the nearest to what they seek in lieu of it. You cannot reach a satisfactory end with the willful shunning of true understanding. These tales of heroes and devils banish themselves from your mind the moment your part is done.

Can you remember any of it? Can you remember why you are here?

I can't remember it all. But I remember enough.

I remember a great winged beast with a man's visage at its heart. The face of a man so twisted by hatred for the one he once loved that he cast his heart away and became a demon.

I remember the face of a long-dead warrior whose heart began to beat once more. How his heart drew him across nations in pursuit of what he'd been promised in life, and how eventually he returned to his grave having never found what he sought. Did he deserve that? It's one thing to die, but utter defeat is something else entirely.

I remember that wicked one whose heart troubled the living long after her demise. How it drove lost souls to a place long-abandoned and nearly swallowed them up. How her will persisted long after her body ceased to be and troubled the living until those islands returned to the sea.

Now I stand here, and after all this, I can see the path’s end in sight.

Out there, drifting, I see another heart, a small spark of light against the formless dark. I see faces around it, hands that cling to it. They’ve taken the long way. They’ve fought, wept, clawed and suffered through a thousand trials to be right here, at this moment, in this place. Whether or not there ever was another path for them, there’s no stopping what happens next. Even now, I feel the crooked limbs of old men pushing these gears along. To me? It's unmistakable, sickening familiarity.

The longer I look at them, the less I see. Their faces shift and their features fade. Soon they become simple shapes in my vision. “An imperfect understanding is bound to crumble with time.” Eventually, I see nothing. Empty forms, devoid of will, devoid of feature. The path continues all the same. I only have so much time.

#FFXIVHeartless #Gwannes Oskwell #uhhhhhhhhhhhhh

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fallendom · 4 years ago

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Zarina placed the book on his table, her hand resting atop of it as she sighed and spoke up, calmly and without the same dare and arrogance. “You won. Naturally so, of course, but I believe it’ll be better for me to speak of it before tomorrow’s breakfast as to not cause questions. I will be preparing the meal, after all.” The faux visage shatters like glass, the exchange student knew it was the end of her game she shouldn’t have expected to win. “I thought you’ll grow tired of my visage and send me back into the human realm, but I was wrong. On this, I surrender my role, but I’m sure you knew you’ll be the winner. As you made it clear, I’ve yet to master the intelligence befitting the Devildom’s environment.” Her hand was lifted as she fixed her glove, placing her hands on her hips then. The wild contrast to her usual behavior was obvious: strong yet cold golden gaze, aura of apathy, straight stance and calm yet collected words. “I lost.” She will not submit but she will give away the game of pretend, it’s his win and she came to that conclusion after his last words. Her pride was still intact but different, she stood tall but not arrogantly like usual, she was more business-oriented and straight-laced. “I hope you enjoyed fully the bratty game. Sadly, I do not possess the resilience to continue it. But I am not submitting to you, I’m doing this to ease the burden off my shoulders and survive.” A hand placed over her heart as she gave him a slight bow. “I never expected to be forced to drop the act I built over the years. I wholeheartedly despise losing to you, but you gave me a valuable lesson in accepting loss. Will you miss me causing the usual havocs brimming with arrogance and energy, I wonder? Just a genuine question before I go meet with Solomon. It makes me wonder if you’ll be disappointed or relieved. I can’t read you as well as others.” A tilt of head, the woman was not making fun of this, only asking. So many preferred the clown over the true self of winter land’s born. “Or should I not wait for answer and go?”

UNPROMPTED ASK. ( ALWAYS ACCEPTING )

SUCH A PITY it truly was though he expected these would become the results, possessing no fault behind the tricks used. Being strategic requires years of practice and the avatar doesn’t ever believe anyone’s capable of doing so. An advantage this woman lacked is age, the morality to progress long enough to understand what is truly transpiring. For that...LUCIFER can declare she was ignorant like a child and simple enough to stop. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t pleased with her submission solely from the prideful status the eldest possessed in his nature. He truly adored seeing others, especially ones who PLAY THE DICE OF THE DEVIL, admit their defeat when daring to challenge PRIDE. The AVATAR OF PRIDE only sighed behind each statement though dares not to speak a single word. Such is the liberty he’s willing to permit and granting a venomous tongue of hers to speak. Black-gloved hands settled down the book, pressing them to each other in contemplation. Here lies quite the pitiful HUMAN who had the arrogance to assert herself within DEVILDOM. No doubt the companionship behind her and a certain sorcerer were the utmost suspicion he had, still not lingering away from their sights. That combination alone was a disadvantage than any of his BROTHERS forming a PACT with this woman. Of course, the rejection itself were persistent as she terrorized DEVILDOM in its wake.

AN OVERWHELMING SCENT marked this woman with the aroma of PRIDE which naturally draws LUCIFER in. He was the only one who could handle such an undignified mortal, handle that rotten soul of hers and make her submit. Crimson hues settled before the apologetic bow but felt it harbors emptiness like a hollowed rib cage. It mattered not to deal with idiotic antics on a daily basis since he took care of six other demons, not wanting to admit such a loss of one would be missed. Even so...the prideful demon would play his pieces correctly within this game of theirs---it was not over. Such deception suits the majestic, the ONES WHO ARE DESTINED TO OVERCOME WITH EFFORT. The pride that pulsed within his own chest was a poisonous substance that pumps his lungs. Even demons must feed off these sins of theirs, especially the main embodiments of the SEVEN DEADLY SINS OF MANKIND. They were the purest when others directed their attention but at the same time the most cursed. It’s natural for the eldest to harbor a strong desire to guard everything by those two, the ones who deceive with their cunning lips. He cannot wash away those doubts with apologetic waterfalls when they hold no strength. It was weak, weak as they were underneath his grasp.

DARKENED IMAGERY of the demon’s hands clutching around her neck were the only breathtaking thing of her to him. He relished before the concept of sucking away a soul to join the endless sea of souls the avatar accumulated. By centuries, LUCIFER committed those deeds behind the royal prince’s awareness as a means to control himself. What this woman lacks is truly AGE, TIME, KNOWLEDGE, PATIENCE AND DEMEANOR. Everything could be picked apart as it’d be simple to rip off those clothes...one layer after the other. His eyes darted to the side to witness the joking guise being torn through, knowing full well this wasn’t the single mask to break. It’d take more punishment and disciplinary techniques to thoroughly break this woman until the eldest accepts his triumphs. Which is why, after growing lost in thought, the demon gives rise to one of his gloved hands. A gesture to have this HUMAN cease her talking was necessary while a brow raises in absolute disbelief. Never shall the fallen angel be fooled over arrogant character, never shall he let go, never shall the hunt end until he is satiated. His PRIDE wouldn’t forgive the avatar if he didn’t commit to this full-heartedly.

“I’LL ACCEPT my victory when it’s appropriate since I truly despise leaving games unfinished. Do not dare to make me believe I’ve managed to shatter all your masks---I’m well aware you aren’t finished and your OTHER MASKS are needed to be broken by my hands ZARINA. Seems like there’s one misunderstanding you have as to why I’m the one who gives you the utmost attention.” Gloved fingers soon grasp underneath the woman’s chin, pulling her close for crimson hues to have their demonic glow. LUCIFER pierced through her soul like a natural meal to devour. “Your scent and mine are familiar. Every HUMAN possesses each of the sins in their own right, however there’s a special circumstance where some carry our scents to know they’re precisely like us. Why else do you think your arrogance has lured me in? You yourself have brought your body into my arms...and it won’t be long until I am given another bow from you.” The hold was released to stand from the chair, walking past an abnormally calm woman though spoke more. “I see no reason to revert back to a destroyed mask. Feel free to appear whatever masks you have...just so I can shatter each and every one, ZARINA.” He departs with a confident smirk that belonged to the AVATAR OF PRIDE.

#zorkaya #♚ ┇ ❝ ` INCOMING DDD CHAT ` / ( INBOX :: ANSWERED )#♚ ┇ ❝ ` THE DEVIL HAS A CHARMING & HELLISH SMILE ` / ( IC )#( luci's practically saying 'bitch pls. i know you got more to offer' )#( : ))) he just senses it with her scent---- )#( yes he adores his disciplinary tactic working but lucifer knows this isn't a victory....just a temporary win. )#( that's not a satisfying win and knows she didn't fully lose either. )#( that's just how his pride is..... )

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headoffices-a · 4 years ago

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@duledivine said

Alright, fine. If no one else is going to be bothered, then Gabriel will take up the torch, so to speak. So... he does just that, deciding to wrap his arms around Lucifer in a tight hug. He recognized that it could be an inadvisable move, but he also recognized that he didn't care much. His heart was too heavy. " ... I owe you one, " he explained before any questions could possibly be raised. " I would've asked first, but I feel like poetic justice would've kicked me in the ass on that one. So... "

to say this was a shock to the system would have been an understatement. lucifer went stiff as a board the instant arms wrapped themselves around his middle, ready for the- what he believed to be -inevitable pain to blossom in his back. such was what he deserved, frankly, after having let his guard down enough to allow the younger this close this suddenly. and who better to do it, too, than someone he’d already tried to kill.

that night at the hotel came flooding back like a tsunami. unwanted and unbidden and so very, very awful.

“ you know, i never understood you pagans. you’re such... petty little things. ” oh, how the little sparkle of fear twinkled in mercury‘s eyes fed the fire in the devils belly. he so loved it when the insects realized their mistakes. he loved watching the gears turn in their heads, the pieces fall into place, the ‘ oh, shit ’ moment. he loved watching this sad excuse for a god telling itself ‘ this was a mistake. i’m going to die. i thought i would be spared but i will not. ’. it gave him the warm and fuzzes. “ always fighting. always happy to sell out your own kind. no wonder you forfeited this planet to us. ” he’d pointed at the ‘ god ’ behind the desk. “ you are worse than humans. you’re worse than demons. and yet you claim to be gods. ” and just like the, the roman god of messengers dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. all the others followed quickly there-after. at least, until he’d gotten to that fiery little number. then it all went to hell.

why did he have to be there? of all the beings in this world, of all his brothers, why did it have to be gabriel.

“ so you’re willing to do die, ” no. wrong. the words coming out of his mouth felt so wrong. “ for a pile of cock-roaches? ” well, those felt right. “ why? ”

“ because dad was right. ” don’t say that. not you. anyone but you. michael, raphael, but not you. “ they are better than us. ”

“ they are broken, flawed, abortions- ”

“ damn right they’re flawed. ” that’s his thinking face just then. human meatsuit in the shape of a pagan worm or a wave of celestial intent, he knows how to read his baby brother. “ but a lot of them try. to do better. to forgive. ” lucifer couldn’t look at him anymore- eyes turn down to the floor lest his heartache overflow from his mouth. “ forgive what?! ” he’d wanted to scream at the top of incorporeal lungs. “ forgive who?! michael?! father?! you?! you, who neither helped throw me in the cage nor stood by my side, but ran away, turning your back on us- on me! ”

“ and you should see the spearmint rhino. ” moment over. ice-cold gaze found his brother again. “ i’ve been riding the pine a long time, but i’m in the game now. and i’m not on your side or michaels. i’m on theirs. ”

lucifer closed his eyes, head shaking slowly, mind far off in a better place, a better place, a happier time. “ brother, ” his voice was soft. pleading. begging. he was crying. “ don’t make me do this. ”

“ no one makes us do anything. ” lucifer deflates and he knows his brother is lost to him. knows there’s no more point in trying. gabriel has become tainted by the filth that is humanity and its sins and its darkness. he knows this. but that’s not going to make what comes next hurt any less. won’t make it any easier. ruined and twisted as he may be, this is still his baby brother. the youngest of the four princes, light on his feet and with a wit sharp as any thrown long before roses came into being.

“ i know you think you’re doing the right thing, gabriel. ” so had he, once upon a time. this would be a much more merciful fate than what he’d been given. “ but i know where your heart, truly lies. ” lucifer steels himself. this is the oldest trick in the book. the blade is raised behind his back, poised to strike him down. but, while gabriel was always so very quick, as one must to be the messenger of god, lucifer still had him beat. he’d twisted on the balls of his feet, arms reaching up, hands grabbing and pulling down with all his might. the blade sunk into gabriels vessel like a hot knife through butter. it made him sick to his stomach. the sound, the look on his brothers face, the blood seeping through gabriels clothes and onto his fingers, dripping down his forearms. “ here. ”

a glance over his shoulder to watch the visage of the younger fade away. gaze returns to what he believed to be the real thing. his eyes held no softness anymore. no chance for forgiveness. it had been one thing to run, to turn tail and hide in the shadows. it was a whole other to raise his blade against his older brother. “ armature hocus-pocus. ” his head was shaking, disbelieving what he was seeing. what he was doing. what he’d done. who he’d become. “ don’t forget- ” voice caught in his throat as he stared gabriel in the eyes. how are he express such betrayal in his tears. “ you learned all your tricks from me, little brother. ”

he twists the blade, lips curling into a snarl. he does not blink from the light exploding from gabriels eyes and mouth. he must watch, must be witness to what he’s done. what the other made him do. his hand had been forced, but it was still his hand. he pushed the body to the floor.

when the light faded, the anger went with it to a point. in its place came waves of sorrow and heartbreak and, maybe, just a touch of guilt. a breath he’d been holding blew from his mouth in a rush. he sucked in another, exhaled, inhaled, backed away, blinking the tears from his eyes. yea, there was more than just a touch of guilt. he stared down at the imprint of wings spread out over the floor and one table, of the halo scorched into the other.

he was no better than michael. he’s worse, really. the realization settles into his mind like a cloud, dark and stormy and cold. he hates it so, so much.

taring his gaze up and away, he stared past the ceiling of the hotel, tears steaming freely down his face, teeth bared in rage. “ this is what you made me into! ” lucifer screamed to the heavens. to michael, and to their father. “ you made me do this! you- he- he gave me no choice! ”

unneeded lungs take in a sharp, painful breath. no pain flared in his back. nothing split his flesh. there were only hands and arms and a body against his front. blue hues blink a few times, bringing the present back into focus. the look down to a nest of soft brown hair slicked back from the face against his chest. lucifer doesn’t know how long he’s stood there, ramrod straight, prepared to die. when he comes to terms with the fact that he’s not, the floodgates open.

bending down just a touch, the morningstars own arms come up to grab desperately a gabriels shoulders, hands clutching the youngers clothes as though for dear life. as though the other would fade away into thin air should he let go. a sob racked his body. it’s harsh and ragged and ancient. head bows down into the crook of gabriels neck as ethereal wings manifest from his shoulder blades, white as a freshly fallen snow in the dead of winter. they close around their bodies, grace rolling off them like a waterfall at the end of a raging river. it washes over the two of them with a force that pushes lucifer deeper into his brothers embrace. it surrounds them, cold and sad and desperate and so, so sorry- another sob gouges its way through his chest and throat. arms tighten their grip, wings pressing in close, both shaking.

he wasn’t owed this. didn’t deserve it, frankly, but he’d take it. he’d take it all, even if it had come with a knife in his back.

#tbt. drabble #if it makes you comfy; you could call me god. | lucifer ic #duledivine #wonder if you might help us with our inQUIRIES? | answered ask #implied death #tbt. trigger tag #good morning i spent the last two hours putting my depression to good use #make that three oop #not totally happy with it but i guess it's good enough

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goljath-a · 4 years ago

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fernweh (n ) the ache for distant places: the craving for travel

fernweh ( n. ) - the ache for distant places: the craving for travel.

MARIA MAY LAY IN RUINS, but her embrace is as welcoming as ever: no homecoming could compare to the reassuring weight of her strong arms unfurling over miles of overgrown landscape / her calloused fingers gliding effortlessly through fields of what once-were grain and flax, yet now yield bountiful harvests of wildflowers and shy saplings. While her touch may be colder ( that is to say tentative, to say hesitant / resentful of her lessons harshly-learned ) hers remains a gentle caress, a familiar presence / familial, almost, in the way she lingers always in the background, an anchor of self-contained history. THE CROOKED BARS OF THIS GILDED CAGE DAZZLE IN THE MIDDAY SUN. And he ( though some bastard cousin / an unwanted-unneeded wretch of creation ) cannot quite bring himself to bitterness, as quietly adoring of their great smooth, stone façades as he is. Maria holds an allure that few would recognize out of anything other than respect - but here, enveloped in her bustling winds, there is kinship. Concern. A whispered ‘welcome home’ tucked into the cartilage of his tapered ear. Oh, how I’ve missed you. Where did you go ? Has my sister treated you well ? Why did you leave ?

Jäger will admit to some ... restlessness. His foray into Rose had been ill-planned - not planned at all, exactly. He had merely answered her call for help, her pained outcry. He had felt her anger as clearly as he felt his own / the two of them, interchangeable. HOW DARE THEY, HOW COULD THEY - THOSE MONSTERS, THOSE DEVILS !! The rallying demand for justice had been all he could act upon / and so he had ventured into her sprawling city, a predator lured in by the promise of fresh meat - and what a feast it had been !! But perhaps he had been overzealous, blinded by his own bloodlust and overcome with violent instinct: open season had proven to be his undoing, ignorant as he had remained to all the trappings of captivity / promptly rendered unimportant in the face of such enthralling chaos. The adjustment period in which his imprisonment had spanned the months of May and June had been a more stilted affair - awkward with the lengths to which humanity’s caution exceeded their curiosity. He’d accepted it with all the same dignity of a feral animal backed into a corner, ( that is to say with bared teeth / with raised hackles / with glazed eyes. I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY- I’M NOT, I’M NOT, I’M NOTHING AT ALL- )

Still. It’s almost naïve of him to hope ( and hope, always hoping ) that in the time since then, they have come to terms; camaraderie on account of their shared foe / agreement as the consequence of their bizarre circumstances. They, the soldiers he once so emphatically avoided, accommodated him uneasily - but brought him into their fold nonetheless. It’s far more than he has ever deserved, that being a blade buried hilt-deep into his neck. So often the image had come to mind of his carcass splayed out over a dirt trail, the marrow of his bones popping and crackling as it disintegrated into the air / human-birds ( carrion ) and their relieved expressions: finally, we put the damn thing down. He still can’t say for certain if that isn’t his ultimate fate / but it is not in his place to say anything at all, mouth mangled as it is beyond the capacity for any intelligent speech. ( HIS OWN NAME SITS A CUMBERSOME BURDEN ON THE TONGUE: Hunter, they call him. Hunter, they murmur in large, hateful mobs, voices accusing and fingers pointing. Hunter, they laugh, breathless tones betraying an overwhelming relief. WE OUGHT TO HAVE SOMETHING TO CALL YOU- )

Maybe that is why he does not question the Captain’s sudden appearance on his shoulder / the man’s vigilant mien lingering just outside his periphery. He knows better than to mistake that neutral wide-eyed expression on Levi’s face for something akin to relaxation, but the soft ‘tch, not bad’ that slips from his lips is a surprise, one he does not know what to make of. Humans and their complicated emotions are so easily misconstrued - he does not think himself patient enough to wait for an explanation, not that they are ever so likely to give him one. ( He knows nothing but anger and grief and the gnawing ache of memory long-lost; he knows his place in this world as a creature incapable of compassion / his capacity for cruelty exceeding all else. “I’M OF THE OPINION THAT PAIN IS THE MOST EFFECTIVE TEACHER ... OI, YOU CAN STILL FEEL PAIN, CAN’T YOU, BRAT ? IF NOT, YOU WILL SOON ENOUGH-” ) So instead he simply turns them towards the open fields, closing his eyes against the breeze that whistles through the gaunt hollows of his monstrous visage. He hums, but there is no questioning lilt to it, no underlying expectation for more. In this way they can coexist, more quietly than before. His chest rumbles at a frequency that is rapidly approaching excitement. But it’s best not to comment on it.

For a moment he allows himself to think longingly of the great Forest from whence he came / allows himself the yearning he has tried so desperately to deny until now, that desire to be engulfed in its fantastical depths once more / swallowed whole. He had felt small in that place, though not insignificant. There had been ... a certain reassurance that came with knowing there was a world bigger than his body / that he was not just some miserable thing doomed to tower over all, his dark shadow looming and lurching over the countryside, forever synonymous with WAR TERROR HUNGER HELPLESSNESS. He wonders ( briefly, fleetingly ) if Levi shares that feeling, or if the sheer magnitude of earth overwhelms him / further estranges him from the concept of freedom, that perhaps one day the Walls may become nothing more than a distant fixture in the horizon, a childhood home with its doors wide open, always ready to reaccept them should they ever tire of their grand adventures. Either way, Jäger has no opinion. He will remain here for as long as Humanity has need of him / UNTIL ALL OF THEIR ENEMIES ARE DESTROYED.

Still. He can’t help but glance back, encouragingly. Beyond the forest there is Maria’s open wound - still bleeding, still in anguish - but it is their belief she can still be saved. And beyond Maria ... Well. He blinks, casting his gaze southward, oddly content. If I am to fight this battle with you - I would like to see you live long enough to reap its rewards. Sir.

uncommon words.

#holy heck is this just one long rambling mess lol #me @ jager and levi hanging out: what could be better than this? just guys being dudes :')#adrais #ENCHAINED.#ALL THAT EXISTS WILL BE DESTROYED.#he's trying to be casual abt how excited he is to Explore

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indiavolowetrust · 4 years ago

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THE LOCKED=ROOM MURDER OF MR. DIAVOLO: Choose Your Own Adventure

Guidelines

The story will be updated in approx 1000 word segments on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, with two to three choices at the bottom in [this format.]

Depending on the feedback – comments, DMs, reblogs, etc. – I will write the next portion of the story based on the choice. You will have until 6 p.m. Central Daylight Time of the following days to make your choice: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Available here on AO3.

If the MC dies, the player (you) will be allowed to rewind back to the previous choice. Perhaps there are even secret choices.

Previous part here. Or start from the beginning.

Portrait of a Young Man: Part Five

[Answer in kind. You are a guest here, after all. Despite your circumstances, you must follow social obligations.]

You hate him. You hate him. Good God, you hate this rapacious, scheming devil. You detest this devil with every fiber of your being, every bone in your body, everything you could ever pour your soul into. You hate this conniving beast of a devil with every last ounce of hatred you could ever muster in your body. Just the sight of him sets you on edge. Here you are, having paid dearly for what must have been a boost in his career. Your partially scarred visage, burned body, and want of a leg can attest to that much. What would have become of your academic ambitions and your father’s empire lies in burnt shambles around you. While you have no solid proof of his role in your father’s death, surely the great wealth and business that he has accrued is more than enough for you. Had it not been for your father’s generous donations -- and events, business dinners, strategic alliances -- you highly doubt that the demon before you would be enjoying the fortune that he possesses now.

And yet here he is, untouched by time or any semblance of guilt. If you were a halfwit, you would have sworn that this devil before you simply stepped out from the fabric of your memories.

Despite the intensity of your hatred for Mr. Diavolo -- and your nagging, incessant urge to scream profanity at him and hurl accusations -- you are a guest. Guests do not act in such a manner.

You grit your teeth. Hopefully it passes for a smile.

Mr. Diavolo begins to descend the stairway, his hand on the banister. “It’s been years, hasn’t it?” he remarks, looking you up and down with interest. “You’ve grown up to be quite a fine young lady, I see. How fares your mother?”

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

“She’s doing well,” you lie. “Much better than she was.”

“Wonderful! That’s good to hear.”

He reaches the bottom of the stairwell much quicker than you had hoped, nearing you with long, easy strides. You nearly fall over when he claps you on the back. Thankfully, you manage to retain your balance. Then there is that great, wide businessman’s grin again on his features, as if you two are truly old friends, and you feel the rage beginning to writhe in your core once more.

You want to burn that face of his to ashes.

The dark-haired man steps forward somewhere in your peripheral vision. You turn slightly to regard him. His gaze flickers towards you once, maybe twice on account of your missing limb, but once more he ignores you.

“While I appreciate this reunion, I believe the hour is quite late.” He nods respectfully to Mr. Diavolo, as if to signal his leave. “And we’ve quite the number of guests who haven’t arrived yet. Surely such reunions and introductions can be set aside for tomorrow.”

Asmo huffs. “Just because you retire so early doesn’t mean that it applies to the rest of us. You’re no better than an old man!”

“My apologies, I wasn’t aware that simply needing sleep insinuated that --”

Mr. Diavolo claps his hands together once, interrupting the dark-haired one in the middle of what would certainly incite an argument. “Perhaps Lucifer is right,” he concedes. “Even the professor has yet to arrive, and I believe he was set to reach the estate by tonight. We’ll have it all sorted it out by tomorrow.”

And so it is Asmo that insists on leading you to your room, your suitcase in tow. The both of you pass even more vast swathes and stretches of corridors, each one appearing to be more expensively decorated and lavish than the last. When you finally reach what you assume to be your room, your remaining leg throbs from the strain. Asmo sets your suitcase to the side as he knocks on the door -- and then he swings it open with a flourish, revealing the four poster bed and gilded mirror within as he does so.

“Ta-da! One room for one young lady.” Asmo passes the threshold to place the suitcase beside your bed, and you follow him in. “I do hope it is to your liking.”

Again there is that dramatic flourish. and --

You realize that you’ve yet to thank the man for helping you up the stairs, much less for bringing your things to your room. Or for making conversation with you, given the dark-haired man’s -- Lucifer, you recall -- complete refusal to speak to you. You can only imagine why.

A sheepish expression graces your features. “I don’t think you need to mention that,” you say, tring to force down the embarrassment. It proves to be ineffective. “I believe I forgot to say thank you, by the way. For helping me up the stairs and whatnot.”

Asmo simply waves off your attempt at social grace. “There’s no need to thank me. What sort of gentleman would I be if I were to refuse extending aid to a lovely young lady such as yourself?”

Your embarrassment only intensifies. Perhaps it has been much too long since you have dabbled in society.

“Besides, we are friends here, are we not? I take it that you’ve no clue as to whom the others would be.” He leans casually against the frame of the door, overlooking a trinket on the rather massive wardrobe. A sidelong glance. “I know only a few of the others, but I’ve got the slightest inkling that your invitation was a bit, ah, unexpected. That you’ve no idea why you were brought here. Am I correct?”

He’s rather perceptive, you note.

“You are..”

There is a slight pause as Asmo turns the trinket this way and that, his attention preoccupied with what appears to be a carved bat. Or a winged animal of some sort. His visage is turned away from you for only a moment, breaking his hold on your gaze -- but he regards you once more soon enough.

“Then we’re allies!” he declares. “Or, ah, how would you say it -- we’re in the same boat. I was told that this was an opportunity to meet another of my trade here, but I highly doubt that such an opportunity would include that arrogant peacock of a politician. Or you, Miss Georgine. You don’t seem to be much of an actress, I’m afraid.”

His rather cheery demeanor belies only the slightest hint of the unspoken question. Of his sharp curiosity. You respond in kind.

* * *

You wander the halls of the manor after a quiet, private breakfast. Sleep had evaded you in the long hours of the night, despite your needful attempts, and so it was after a restless battle that you had finally given up on such a notion. If sleep did not consider itself your companion at the moment, you would not chase after it. A butler -- a rather reserved man by the name of Barbatos -- had allowed you to fix your own breakfast at your behest, leaving you alone in the cavernous kitchen. Dawn had broken sometime later, a soft, gray sort of sunlight streaming through the curtains, and you had made sure to draw the curtains before you left the room. A silent thank you to the butler.

You cannot help but be somewhat surprised at the emptiness of the corridors. Surely there should be someone else awake at such an ungodly hour of the morning.

Then again, you are thankful for the respite. The coming days will likely be filled with nothing but blunders in social grace, awkward conversation, and generally unpleasant experiences. While you had looked forward to the taste of your old life, the reality of the situation is a bit more than jarring.

It is not long before a great door looms before you, drawing your attention. Unlike the other doors or corridors that you have passed -- which could very well lead to only more doors and corridors -- this one seems to be of some significance. Two snarling bronze lions are positioned at its center, rings hanging from their teeth. The door itself is much more sizable than the others as well, rivaling even that of the great entrance hall, and you feel almost stifled by the sheer size of it. Its suffocating presence only further serves to indicate the importance of what must lie beyond this door.

That, and the fact that there is an engraved sign that reads LIBRARY beside the door. You decide to step inside.

,Much like the rest of the manor, the library bears an extravagant touch to nearly every aspect of the room. Not an inch of space lies fallow. Bookshelves tower far above you, crammed nearly to bursting with novels, manuals, and encyclopedias of all kinds. An imported rug of rich crimson sits at the center of the room, and upon the crimson rug sits a single desk composed of dark mahogany and brass. Muted sunlight streams from windows that reach the ceiling, and heavy, embroidered curtains line nearly every fingerbreadth of the glass. Aside from the rather impressive skylight above -- which somehow does little in the way of visibility -- there appears to be no other source of light in the room.

There is a sound somewhere out of sight. It is indiscernible, given its brevity -- but you are quite sure that you have not misheard. You squint and peer into the darkness in an attempt to identify its source, but the shadows are far too thick for you to do so. If you desire to find the source, you will have to step further into the library.

Do you venture into the darkness?

[Of course! It could very well be another guest. The curtains here need to be drawn open, besides.]

[Oh, yes, let’s go frolicking in the shadows of that accursed devil’s library. Surely that’s not dangerous at all … No, you’d rather keep your head on your shoulders.]

[Perhaps you should try calling out into the darkness first. If it is truly a guest, they will answer.]

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me group #obey me diavolo #obey me fanfic #obey me writing #fanfic #writing #the murder of mr. diavolo

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